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She frowns but doesn’t insist. “Your cab is due to arrive in twenty minutes. I came in to see if you wanted me to take care of anything before you left.”
“No, thanks,” I reply while dread pools in my stomach.
I have to be at the clinic in an hour to do a repeat check-up of the one I did with Johnny the other day. As part of the IVF cycle, I have to get ultrasounds every few days to monitor my ovaries and follicle growth. The exam won’t be with John this time, but he will still be there. Or not. He could’ve already gone home for the day. He has a daughter, after all. He’ll want to spend time with her.
Edna still stares at me with a concerned look. “All right, boss, I’ll buzz you when the car arrives.”
“Thanks.”
I stare at the KPI report on my laptop screen and shut it. I lack the concentration to deal with employees’ performance reviews now. I need a plan to avoid running into John at the clinic. Is there a side entrance? Maybe, but I’ll still have to register at the reception. In the open-space lobby where I’ll be totally vulnerable.
Move fast and break things? I guess I’ll just have to walk fast and hope for the best instead.
An hour later, I emerge from the cab in front of the clinic. The heavy glass doors loom in the distance, daring me to cross them. Behind the clear glass, the lobby seems empty except for the receptionist. I walk inside, my belly laden with dread, and all but run to the reception desk. “MarrissaMayerheretoseeDr.Townsend.”
The receptionist blinks at me. “Excuse me?”
I take a breath. “I’m Marissa Mayer and I have an appointment with Dr. Townsend.”
The receptionist smiles. “All right, let me just check.” She types on her keyboard and then looks back at me. “Yes, I have you down at six o’clock. Unfortunately, Dr. Townsend is running a little behind with his appointments today.” As usual, she gestures at the row of leather chairs lining one of the glass walls. “Would you mind waiting for him in the lounge?”
“Yes!” The receptionist’s head draws back quickly. “I mean, no. I meant that—” What did I mean? That I have to get out of here. “Is there a restroom I could use in the meantime?”
“Sure, down to the right, at the end of the hall.”
I follow her directions and shut myself in a metal stall that smells like lime detergent. After ten minutes, I come out again.
I head toward the reception desk, perhaps with a too-eager expression because the receptionist smiles at me in that slightly patronizing way receptionists have perfected to state that no, it’s not your turn yet.
She points at the lounge chairs. “He’s still with his previous patient, but he’ll be with you soon.”
I just nod, my throat dry.
As I sit, the elevator doors swing open, and in walks a petite brunette with pink highlights. Behind her, exits Johnny Raikes.
The woman says something and then heads toward the restroom, while John keeps heading in my direction.
On instinct, I turn my face, pretending to be very interested in studying the traffic out of the glass walls. Maybe he won’t see me.
“Marissa? Is that you?” The question is posed in a rich and deep tone sleazy exes should have no right to possess. And since when have scrubs become so sexy?
I keep facing the street and pretend I haven’t heard him. Maybe he’ll think he was mistaken and move on.
“I can see you, sitting there pretending I don’t exist.”
My shoulders stiffen, but I keep still.
“Mari.” His tone is hard to read, but not unkind. Still, it infuriates me more than if he’d called me a dirty name.
I jolt upright and point a finger at him in a totally uncool way. “You have no right to call me Mari, I’ve already told you.” Then my brain-to-mouth filters must get infected by some kind of nimble malware because they suffer a major malfunction, and I add, “And you had no right to buy back the house next to my parents.”
12
JOHN
The moment the words escape Marissa’s lips, she covers her mouth with one hand and blushes.
I raise my eyebrows. “You mean the home where I grew up and spent my entire childhood?”
