Between Me & You: An Enemies to Lovers Workplace Romance (Remington Medical Book 3)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  And Harlow was nothing if not a good businesswoman. After all, she’d learned from the best.

  “I’m going to cut right to the chase, here, Dr. Langston,” she said the nanosecond the door to the man’s office had clicked shut. “I don’t do business with criminals, and I definitely don’t do business with liars. Bradshaw absolutely has to go.”

  “I understand that you’re taken aback,” Langston said slowly, seeming to choose each word with surgical precision. “Mr. Mattigan’s ambush is…unfortunate. But the information he so ungraciously made public doesn’t have anything to do with the goals we’ve set for the clinic, nor who we hired to attain them.”

  Harlow’s father, who stood next to her in front of Langston’s huge mahogany desk, lifted his brows in shock, and yep, that made them a pair of frickin’ bookends. “Wait. You knew about this?” she asked.

  Langston sent a stare through his gold-rimmed glasses. “Of course I knew. This hospital vets every single one of its employees with extreme care before they’re hired.” He lifted a hand, more in a request to hear him out than any sort of ill-mannered not-your-turn-little-girl move, which was the only reason Harlow continued to listen. “Connor requested a meeting with me after his first interview with the hiring department four years ago, during which he told me what I’d find during my background check. When he joined the Air Force, he’d decided to begin going by his middle name in order to avoid what recognition he could. Although he wanted his identity as Duke Bradshaw’s son to remain private, he was upfront with me about the blood relationship from the beginning, just as he made it very clear that it would have no impact on his ability to do his job. And it never has.”

  “Until now,” Harlow pointed out, her pulse accelerating without her consent. But her father was standing right beside her, taking in every syllable of her strategy. He’d trusted her with the clinic, and—like an idiot—she’d trusted Connor. She couldn’t budge.

  “It was different when no one knew he’s Duke Bradshaw’s son,” she said. “But now, everyone knows. There’s no chance this won’t impact his ability to do his job, or the clinic’s reputation. Duke Bradshaw stole millions of dollars from the retirement investments of innocent people—medical professionals, no less. The optics on having his son run the clinic are a nightmare. Not to mention, we don’t even know if he can be trusted.”

  Langston’s stare narrowed. “You’re talking about a military veteran with an impeccable service record, years of training, and a very specialized skill set. He can absolutely be trusted. Connor has been an exemplary employee for the entire time he’s worked in this community. He’s damn good at what he does.”

  “Perhaps. But all of that is secondary,” Harlow argued. “No one’s going to see past who he is.”

  Especially not with the way that ingrate Mattigan had dropped the news like it was Beyoncé’s mic at the Grammys. God, this was an absolute dumpster fire. She should’ve known Connor was balking at having the press conference for a reason.

  “You mean, you’re not going to see past who he is,” Langston said pointedly, and Harlow shook her head.

  “If you’re trying to point out that I don’t like him or trust him, then you’re absolutely correct. Connor lied to me about something that has a crucial impact on my business dealings and let me get ambushed by the press, thereby making Davenport Industries look uninformed. That is unacceptable. But we’re dealing with an even bigger issue than whether or not I’m ever going to see past who he is. Perception is everything.”

  She gestured to the window, beyond which the news vans all still surely sat as the reporters inside of them hoped against hope for some sort of statement. “The whole point of a press conference of this scope was to create positive buzz for the clinic. If Connor Bradshaw remains as co-director, now that everyone in the city knows who he is? We’ll never be able to get out from under that shadow. We already have far too much to do in order to turn the clinic around. Keeping Connor in that co-director’s role will only stack the odds further against us.”

  Unfortunately, Langston was unmoved. “Connor Bradshaw is the right man for this job. The board made its choice, and it’s a choice you supported until fifteen minutes ago.”

  He could not be serious. She’d only said she supported the choice because that obliviot Mattigan had backed her into a corner. Admitting otherwise—even though it was true—would’ve been a terrible business move.

  “A lot has happened in those fifteen minutes,” Harlow said, but before she could continue, her father chose that moment to break his silence.

  “Actually, Dr. Langston has a point.”

  Shock filled her in a cold burst. “I’m sorry?”

  Her father continued, his expression unchanged and unreadable. All business. “You sit on that board, even if you have taken a temporary leave from your position, and you also represent Davenport Industries. Both entities agreed to offer the co-director’s position to Mr. Bradshaw, and you just gave him your personal endorsement at a widely publicized press conference.”

  Harlow bit down on the urge to point out that she hadn’t made the choice so much as it had been made for her on both sides, nor had she chosen such huge publicity. As accurate as both of those things were, trotting them out now would only make them look like excuses, and she had to rely on the facts. A business decision had been made to offer Connor the job. She hadn’t liked it, but she had accepted it as such.

  Speaking of the facts, though… “His father engineered the biggest business fraud Remington has ever seen.”

  “Duke Bradshaw was acquitted of all charges,” Harlow’s father said evenly.

  “On a technicality,” Harlow returned quickly, grasping for her waning composure. “Everyone knows he stole that money.”

  It was the proverbial insult on top of injury. Not only had the man so clearly committed the crime, but he’d skated when his smarmy lawyer had gotten key evidence thrown out on a fairly controversial technicality.

  Her father shook his head. “Not in the eyes of the courts. Anyway, if Connor—I assume he’ll continue to go by Connor?” This, her father directed at Langston, who nodded.

  “I can’t imagine otherwise.”

  “Right. If Connor had been accused of these crimes himself, it would be a breach of ethics. But he wasn’t. He’s an accomplished medical professional with a distinguished military record. We can’t release him from the co-director’s position—especially after we’ve endorsed him so publicly—simply based on the fact that he’s Duke Bradshaw’s son.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Harlow breathed, but her father simply arched a graying brow at her.

  “Oh, I’m perfectly serious. I may not like it, and I certainly don’t appreciate having been left in the dark with regard to something that negatively impacts Davenport Industries’ image.” He paused to punctuate things with a glare at Langston, who took it impressively well, all things considered. “But we’re a month behind schedule, and the clinic is failing more by the day. We need to make strides, and we need to make them now.”

  “How can we possibly make strides with optics like this?” Harlow asked. For God’s sake, every news outlet in the city probably had the details tattooed across their social media accounts at this point.

  Her father’s stare was all calculation. “As you said, perception is everything. We’ve got to stop the damage before it spreads and spin the facts to work in our favor, which means time is of the essence. We’ll need a statement of support from the board within the hour. No mention of Duke Bradshaw at all.”

  “Of course,” Langston said. “We’ll focus on Connor’s service to the community, both here in Remington and in the Air Force, as well as the clinic.”

  “It’ll be a start,” Harlow’s father amended. “Davenport Industries will also issue a similar statement. I take it from his past ten years of secrecy that Mr. Bradshaw is fine with the statement ‘no comment’ with regard to questions about his father?”

  La
ngston nodded. “I don’t make it a habit to speak on behalf of others; however, in this case, I feel confident Connor would agree.”

  “Good. Dwelling on the past won’t do our future any favors, and we have a lot of work to do. On that note”—the back of Harlow’s neck prickled as her father turned toward her—“May I have a word with Harlow privately?”

  “Of course. I’ll get started on that statement so the board can approve it as soon as possible.”

  “Explain to me how we got here,” her father said as soon as Langston had closed the door behind him, and dread claimed Harlow’s stomach in less than a blink.

  Not that she let it show. “The fact that we were lied to doesn’t help.”

  “That sounds an awful lot like an excuse, and I taught you better than that.”

  Harlow flushed, but damn it, she would not let her emotion show. “Connor came highly recommended by Dr. Langston and the rest of the board, and his record is excellent. I did a thorough review of his personnel file, and there was no suggestion, not even a hint—”

  Her father interrupted. “It’s a huge miss, Harlow. One that has the potential to hurt us greatly. Duke Bradshaw might not care about honor or reputation, but I certainly do. I don’t care if the board vetted Connor six ways to Sunday. We should have done better.”

  “You mean, I should have done better,” she said, and her father’s silence, the way he looked at her so impassively, his blue eyes practically glacial, told her all she needed to know.

  And damn it, he wasn’t wrong. This had happened on her watch. She’d had that niggling feeling she knew Connor, and she’d believed what was in front of her instead of her gut.

  Not happening again.

  “I trust that you’ll be more careful moving forward,” her father said, but Harlow was already nodding.

  “I will. The clinic is going to run successfully. You have my word.”

  Connor was ninety percent certain his head was going to explode. Bracing his forearms over his thighs, he leaned forward in the conference room chair and pinched the bridge of his nose to try and relieve some of the tension in his brain pan.

  Nope. No joy. The only thing that would do that would be chopping down his family tree and selling that shit off as discount lumber.

  Although nobody wanted rotten goods, he supposed.

  Okay, he needed to form a strategy so he didn’t lose his goddamn marbles, here. He pushed back to a seated position—much to the chair’s chagrin, if the ominous creak it gave up was any indication—and tried to focus. Mattigan had clearly wanted to go for maximum effect, which, unfortunately, had worked like a motherfucking charm.

  He must’ve practically run an excavation to uncover Connor’s connection to Duke. Connor had made sure there were no ties between his identity now and the man he’d been ten years ago, going exclusively by his middle name as soon as he’d dropped out of Remington University and joined the Air Force. He’d deleted all of his social media accounts and stayed a minimum of two time zones away for six years, effectively creating a new life from scratch. Duke had never once acknowledged him after the conversation that had led to his abrupt enlistment and departure, either in the press—and yeah, Connor had checked, just in case he’d needed to do damage control—or privately.

  For a little while, mostly during the trial, reporters had speculated on Connor’s whereabouts. With his mother living in San Diego and wanting nothing to do with the ex-husband who had so thoroughly alienated her or the son who had so thoroughly sided with the man in the custody hearing, Connor had been Duke’s only relation of note. But Connor’s presence, or lack thereof, had been a paragraph on page eleven compared to the front-page charges against Duke and the way his attorney (the only man on the planet sleazier than Duke himself, if only by a mere degree) had gotten the case tossed on a technicality that had made even the judge shake her head in apology. By the time it had all unraveled, Connor had been a dim afterthought. Forgotten, exactly as he’d wanted to be.

  At least, until now.

  The throbbing at his temples started up again in full force. Langston had come in a few minutes ago to let him know they were handling the fallout, and to lie low for now. In truth, Connor had been half-shocked that he hadn’t been marched directly back to the ICU. Not that he’d have considered that a terrible thing. But now that he’d been offered the chance to help more people in bigger ways at the clinic? He wanted that. Badly.

  He owed the people of Remington at least that much.

  The conference room door opened, and Harlow walked in. Closing the door firmly behind her, she made her way to the seat across from him at the conference table, her movements a combination of strength, poise, and—yep, there it was—just enough fire banked in her eyes to turn Connor on, even though he knew she’d probably just as soon kill him than kiss him right now.

  “You lied to me,” Harlow said, turning on her designer heels, and guess he should’ve known she wouldn’t pull her hits.

  In return, Connor’s guard slid right into place. “You never asked me if I was Duke Bradshaw’s son,” he pointed out. “Plus, Langston knew.”

  Harlow planted a hand on her hip. “I see. And is Langston your co-director?”

  Ehhhh, she had a point. Connor had known Langston would never tell Harlow, or anyone, the truth about who his father was. They’d agreed keeping quiet on the subject was best for the hospital’s reputation. “No. But I didn’t lie to you.”

  “Well, you damn sure didn’t tell me that your father is the city’s most notorious and well-hated criminal.”

  “And this is exactly why,” Connor shot back, unable to keep his sudden burst of emotion at bay. “If you had known who my father is, you never would have given me a chance.”

  “A chance?” Harlow got as close to a snort as she probably ever had in her high and mighty life. “Your father stole millions of dollars from God knows how many medical professionals. The scheme he orchestrated ran so deep, the Feds practically needed mining gear to uncover it. Trust fraud, money laundering, insurance fraud, theft…he ruined good people’s lives and called it good business.”

  “He did that,” Connor said through his teeth. “Not me.”

  “But you knew it would matter with regard to this position at the clinic, yet you didn’t say a word,” Harlow volleyed. “And you want me to give you the benefit of the doubt?”

  Connor was out of his chair before he realized his legs would move to get him there, pressing to standing so he could look her right in the eyes across the conference table.

  “I’m friends with people like the ones he ripped off, close enough that they’re my family. My only family.”

  His chest tightened as he thought of everyone who had assembled to cheer him on. Now that they knew who his father was, they’d probably kick him to the curb, too. Not that he’d blame them. Fuck.

  Guilt by association was still guilt.

  “I specifically asked you if there was anything I needed to know going into this press conference,” Harlow said, not pulling back so much as a millimeter even though Connor had planted his palms over the conference room table to lean in toward her. “And you said no.”

  He stuffed back the thought of his friends in favor of the frustration building in his chest. “Because the only thing you need to know is that I earned this job on merit, Harlow. Those six years I put in at the Air Force, the four years after that, here at Remington Mem? That’s who I am. It’s why I didn’t say anything about Duke. He has nothing to do with me, or how I do my job.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that his being your father just made both of our jobs a hell of a lot harder, particularly because there was no damage control in place for the information becoming public. It couldn’t have come out in a worse possible way.” The heat in her eyes turned to focus, shrewd and smart, and hell if that wasn’t hot as homemade sin, too. “If I’d known, I could have been able to control at least some of the bleeding.”

  “If you’d k
nown, you’d have given me a one-way ticket out of the clinic,” Connor countered, and funny, Harlow didn’t disagree.

  She did, however, argue like a boss. No shock there. “We cannot have any more surprises. Especially where Duke is concerned.”

  “Fine by me. I haven’t been in contact with my father since the day after he was indicted.” Come on. This is business, Dannyboy! People lose money. Shit happens. Connor shook his head. “That isn’t going to change.”

  “Are you sure?” Harlow asked, and finally, an easy question.

  “Very.” Father/son connections were nothing to Duke in the face of business, and Connor had betrayed his father in both. Not that the son of a bitch hadn’t deserved it. Or that Connor was going to fly that flag in front of Harlow right now.

  He said, “I might not have left a forwarding address when I joined the Air Force, but if Duke had wanted to find me at any point, he could’ve.” Connor may have gone out of his way to keep his family tree close to the vest, particularly in the four years since he’d returned to Remington, but he also hadn’t gone all WITSEC identity change. It wasn’t as if the old man didn’t have the means to hire a private investigator, anyway. Not that he’d ever bothered. That whole dead-to-me bit was a thing. “If my father had anything to say to me, he’d have done it a long time ago.”

  “He’ll know you’re in Remington now,” Harlow said carefully. “Accessible. Close.”

  Accessible, maybe. Close? Not even a little. “I’ve been right here for four years.”

  “So has your father.”

  The reminder that the man was still in Remington—doing business as usual, no less—stuck into Connor like a ten-gauge needle. “Duke likes to burn bridges. Believe me, you don’t have to worry.”