TOO HOT TO HANDLE

by Robin Kaye

  "Nick, I caught the errors. I changed the orders. It's in the files. When he eventually screws up—and he will—I'd be left holding the bag by virtue of keeping my mouth shut. Besides, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I can't let him continue to practice this way."

  "What if you threaten to turn in not only him, but the rest of the partners as well? That way they'll pay up, you'll cover your ass and assuage your conscience, and they're on their own."

  Mike had to admit that didn't sound like a bad idea. "That might work."

  "If you need a good attorney, I'm sure my firm has someone who can handle it."

  "Nick—"

  "Hey, you know it's there if you need it. If you don't, good. So stop with the Mr. Independent crap—you're wasting precious time. Have you started looking for another position?"

  "I don't know what I'm going to do. After this experience, I'm not sure a practice is where I want to be. I did due diligence. I checked out the practice, and look where it got me. Plus, I'm definitely not going to be Dr. Popularity if word gets out, and I doubt I'll leave with a good recommendation."

  "You're doing the right thing. How can they hold that against you?"

  "Very easily. The more I think about this, the more ominous the situation looks. I might get a job at the hospital. They're always looking for critical care doctors."

  "You might want to do that before you threaten to rat out the partner. Just a suggestion."

  "Yeah, thanks for that."

  "Hey, what's a best friend for?"

  "How about letting me use the house in the Hamptons over Memorial Day … oh, and loan me a car to get there?"

  "Are you planning to go with Annabelle?"

  "What do you have against her, anyway?"

  "I don't know. One minute she's engaged to a fuckin' mortician and the next she's going hot and heavy with my best friend, the doctor. It makes me wonder if she's trading up. Ya know? Her mother's a piece of work, and she's been trying to marry both Rosalie and Annabelle off since they turned eighteen."

  "You married Rosalie."

  "Yeah, but she never wanted to get married. It's different. She only married me because she can't live without me. Not because her mother wants her to be married or because I have money. She married me because she loves me. I'm irresistible."

  "And I'm not?"

  "How the fuck do I know? All I know is if you had any idea how much her mother pushes them to marry well, you'd watch your back and practice safe sex."

  "That's enough. Christ. You don't know a thing about Annabelle. You need to back off. What makes you think she'd be more willing to listen to her mother than Rosalie was?"

  "She was engaged to an asshole. Why would she plan to marry an asshole if she wasn't getting pushed around by her mama?"

  "I don't know. But what I do know is that there's a hell of a lot more to Annabelle Ronaldi than meets the eye, and I'm enjoying uncovering the hidden pieces."

  "I'm sure you are. But shit, Mike, you couldn't uncover some other chick's hidden pieces? You had to choose my sister-in-law? If this ends badly, it could be really awkward."

  "And if it doesn't, it could be great. I like her. A lot. And no matter what you say, I'm not backing off. So you might as well get with the program. Now, are you going to let me use the house or not?"

  "You gonna take Dave up there?"

  "Yeah, I guess, if Annabelle agrees to go, we'll take Dave."

  "Christ. Now we have to Dave-proof the beach house, too."

  "Annabelle and I can do it when we get there."

  "Yeah, right. Why do I have the feeling you're going to be too busy exploring each other's hidden pieces?"

  "I don't know … maybe because you're no dummy."

  "Fine. I'll send my assistant and her son for the weekend. They can Dave-proof the beach house."

  "Thanks, Nick."

  "Yeah, well. Just, you know, be careful. I don't trust Annabelle."

  "Nick."

  "I'm sorry, man. But like you said, I don't know her. I just have a bad feeling about this."

  "I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

  "Yeah, right. But if this comes back and bites you in the ass, don't say I didn't warn you."

  "Okay. I stand warned. Now let's drop it. I'm getting on the subway anyway."

  "Let me know what happens with the partners, and I'll make sure Lois has all the information in case you need to get a lawyer. Just ask her, and she'll take care of everything."

  "Not necessary, but thanks."

  "She'll get you the keys to the beach house when you pick up the Dave car."

  "Dave has a car?"

  "Yeah, I drive the Mustang when I have him with me. No need to get Dave hair all over the others. Besides, he likes the vibration of the engine."

  "Has anyone ever told you you're crazy?"

  "Yeah, my wife lets me know on a daily basis."

  "Later, Nick."

  Mike ended the call and went to work with a smile on his face. His career might be in jeopardy, but at least he had a great weekend coming up if Annabelle could get away.

  Annabelle was not in a good mood. She awoke alone with her ankle throbbing and nothing but a note on Mike's pillow saying he had fed and taken Dave out and had to run home to change for work. At least he signed it with XXX. She was pretty sure that meant kisses.

  The buzzer for the security door rang, and she slipped out of bed. Hobbling across the apartment to the door, she pressed the intercom button. "Yes?"

  "Annabelle, it's me, Becca. Open the door."

  "Becca?" Annabelle pressed the security door release and began unlocking the door. A curse and then a thump sounded as she backed up to pull the apartment door open. There stood Becca, with luggage.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Becca kicked her bag in, blew her blonde hair out of her eyes, and hugged Annabelle. "I know you're thrilled to see me, no matter what you say." She stepped back and examined Annabelle from foot to head. "You look like you're in pain. Satisfied, but in pain. I'm here to take care of you. Now go lie down while I have a look around."

  Annabelle's head spun. Oh God. "But, Becca—"

  Becca shooed her into the bedroom and plumped the pillows as she waited. Annabelle followed like an obedient puppy, and when she got close enough, handed over her crutches and sat on the edge of the bed. Becca motioned for her to lie down, so she did. There was no talking to Becca when she was on a Florence Nightingale kick.

  "How's the patient? Obviously, Dr. Flynn hasn't let you out of his sight long enough to call your best friend."

  Annabelle resigned herself to Becca's questioning, all the while wondering how to prepare her for seeing Mike. "Oh, sorry, Bec. I've been on these painkillers, and they make me all fuzzy, but yeah, he came over after work, fixed me the most amazing meal, and stayed over. Except for the fight we had and the fact I had just hurt my ankle, it was a really nice night."

  "You fought?" Becca kicked off her shoes and curled up on the end of the bed, careful to avoid Annabelle's Ace-bandaged ankle and foot. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knee.

  "We had a misunderstanding … well, several misunderstandings. I was a little wigged out about not being able to get around. Not only that, but I swear those painkillers had me acting like a lunatic. I even mentioned Chip. I never talk about Chip."

  Becca grabbed a pillow and placed it between her and the old metal bed's footboard. She nudged Annabelle with her foot. "You need to. Maybe the painkillers didn't make you crazy. Maybe they made you less repressed."

  Annabelle covered her face with her hands, remembering everything she and Mike had done right here in this very bed. God. "Yeah, well, repressed is not how I'd describe myself last night. I've never been so uninhibited in my life."

  "Although I'm happy you're finally getting laid and enjoying it, there's more than one way to be repressed. You've made it a full-time occupation. I swear you need a shrink." Becca ran her fingers through
her almost platinum blonde hair, letting it fall back into place. She had the perfect style—a blunt A-line cut shorter in the back, longer at the jaw, with choppy bangs.

  Annabelle would kill to have hair like Becca's. Becca was one of those perfect women with perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect height and weight, and a great personality. She was so nice that a girl couldn't even hate her. Well, not much anyway. "Italians don't go to shrinks—we go to confession."

  "I can see that's working really well for you. You need to deal with Chip's death. Does your family even know about him?"

  "What am I supposed to say? I lived in sin with a man for two years until he died, and then I came home? That'll go over well. My mother would probably just move into St. Joseph's. She's got her own pew there as it is."

  "Chip just stayed with us for several months, so it wasn't like you were 'living together, living together.' It was more like he just crashed at our place. You weren't really living in sin technically until I moved out.

  "When you were living together, I understood why you hid it. But since his death, they'd never know unless you told them. And what about me? Don't you think it's weird that we've been best friends for four years, and I've yet to meet your family?"

  Annabelle groaned. "Why would you want to meet them? You know what a nightmare they can be."

  "Because I love you, you ninny. You met my family."

  "I could have lived a long and happy life without ever setting eyes on that mother of yours, and your dad is just as bad, in a quieter, more ominous way. Besides, why do you need to meet them? I talk about them all the time. It's like you know them."

  Becca slid off the bed and walked around the bedroom picking things up and putting them back down. "It's not the same, and you know it."

  "Do you want to talk about this again, or do you want to hear about last night?"

  Becca glanced over her shoulder at Annabelle and waggled her eyebrows.

  "Mike thought I was using him for sex. Do you believe it?"

  Becca turned, leaned against the dresser, and crossed her legs. "You are."

  "Yeah, but I like him, too."

  "Oh, and you're so good at expressing your feelings that he knew that?"

  Annabelle flopped back on the pillows. "Fine, I'm repressed. I admit it, okay? I'm working on it. I told him I liked him. A lot."

  "That's nice. So now I guess it's official. You have a boyfriend. I told you so."

  "Yeah, you usually do."

  Becca picked up the framed picture of the two of them together. "Maybe you'll start taking my advice. It's not going to kill you to talk about Chip. You have a lot of baggage there." She turned her attention from the frame to Annabelle. "Mike doesn't seem to mind that you're nutty and repressed. He probably thinks it's quirky. Some guys get off on that."

  "Becca? So, after you, you know… How long before you can do it again?"

  Becca resumed her place at the foot of the bed, but this time she lay on her side across the bed. She pulled the pillow under her head. "Just taking a stab in the dark here, but are we talking about intercourse?"

  "Yeah. The night of the dinner … it was over, and we were lying there. together if you know what I mean. Then a minute later, I could have sworn he was ready to go again. And I thought, 'Wow—okay!' But he got up and went to the bathroom."

  "I assume you're using protection."

  "Yes."

  "Well, if you're using condoms, you're not supposed to do it more than once without changing them."

  "Oh. But when he came back to bed, nothing happened."

  "Did you let him know you wanted to make love again?"

  Annabelle sighed, "No."

  "You know, the man is a doctor, not the Amazing Kreskin."

  "When he came back and didn't do anything, I went to sleep."

  "Live and learn. At least you're having sex. I am going through the world's longest drought. I've worn out two vibrators since the last time I saw a real model. Maybe Mike has a brother."

  "No. He's an only child."

  "Bummer. I can't wait to meet him, though. Is he coming over tonight, or are you going to bring him down for a weekend? Maybe we can meet at the beach house. Since the divorce, Mother and Father don't use it much—no need to hide their lovers anymore."

  "Remember when I met Mike, I said he looked a lot like Chip?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, I wasn't kidding. I'd swear you guys were related. He looks like Chip's twin."

  "Oh, come on, you must be exaggerating."

  "I'm not. I even got one of my paintings out because I thought I was on the Insanity Express rounding the bend to Psychosis City. I don't want you to freak if you meet him."

  "If?"

  "I don't know when I'll see him again, and it's not as if you're moving in. I'm going to work, so you're going to take the train back tomorrow, right?"

  "Okay, I'll go, as long as you promise to bring him down soon."

  "Mike works a lot, and I'm not going anywhere for a while. He said I had to wear this ugly air cast or stabilization boot and hobble around with crutches for a few weeks. I'm not hitting the beach until I'm good as new."

  "Too bad Neimans or Bloomies don't have a medical supply store. They'd design a boot with some style or at least color."

  Annabelle rolled over and saw Mike had left a thermal cup full of coffee, a glass of water, and her painkillers by the bed. She took a sip of hot coffee and had to admit Mike staying over did come with several perks, the least of which was coffee—and to a caffeine junkie like her, that was saying a lot.

  She took the prescription painkillers. "Maybe I can decorate it."

  Becca laughed out loud. "That I'd like to see."

  Becca cleaned Annabelle's apartment, not that it needed much. Either Annabelle had turned over a new leaf, or she had a cleaning service come in. But since there wasn't anything else to do, she busied herself by straightening an already-clean place. She was worried about Annabelle, and cleaning was a perfect stress reliever, even if it was hell on the nails, which is why Annabelle always avoided it at all cost. Becca didn't mind cleaning, and she couldn't believe it, but she felt a twinge of jealousy knowing Annabelle didn't really need her anymore. Maybe Mike did more than just cook. Hmm … interesting. She got out the Comet, scrubbed the already-spotless kitchen sink, and then looked at her nightmare of a manicure. It wasn't as if she kept her nails up anyway. Long nails and clay didn't mix. She thought of her latest sculpture and wished she didn't have to leave it. Her appointment with the gallery owner was in two weeks, and she wanted to get pictures of the new piece to add to her portfolio.

  Annabelle had already expressed interest in her work, but in Becca's book that was cheating. Annabelle loved her work because Annabelle loved her, which is why she refused. When she finally made the big time, she wanted to know she'd made it on her own. When she rubbed her mother's nose in her success, she'd do it without ever having to wonder if she'd made it up the ladder by her own steam or because of someone else's.

  Becca sprayed Windex on the bathroom mirror. She studied her reflection between the bubbles and smiled, happy with herself for the first time in her life. She liked the person she'd become. She'd come into her own in the two years since Chip's death. She'd taken the time to look at her life and turn it into something to be proud of. Therapy and time had helped. She no longer worried about Chip. He was in a better place. She no longer played the referee between her brother and her parents, or between her mother and her father. She took care of herself, and for now, that was enough. Sure, she missed having a relationship. And she missed the sex that went along with a relationship. A lot. But, she didn't miss the bad relationships, and since every guy she'd dated thus far had been Mr. Wrong, she had no problem not looking for Mr. Right. At least right now.

  Now, she only worried about Annabelle. The girl didn't have great taste in men. First, there was Chip. Although Becca loved her brother, he hadn't been the most attentive boyfriend. Before he got sick, she r
eamed him for being an ass. Granted, considering the relationship their parents had, his behavior wasn't surprising, but that didn't mean Annabelle didn't deserve better. At least Chip had been willing to marry Annabelle, though she'd refused. The last thing Annabelle wanted was to prove their parents right. They'd said she was only interested in his money, and she wanted none of it.

  When Annabelle had called to say she was engaged to Johnny, Becca had been hopeful. Unfortunately, Johnny made Chip look like Prince Charming. That's why she'd wasted no time jumping on a train to New York to check out Annabelle's new main squeeze. At least this guy sounded like he knew his way around a woman's body. Not surprising; after all, he was a doctor. He should know something. He also brought flowers, cooked, and from the look of Annabelle's apartment, cleaned too. Always a good sign. She'd sampled his soup and had to admit she was impressed. The man could definitely become a chef if the whole doctor thing didn't work out.

  Becca checked on Annabelle—still passed out on painkillers. She was a true lightweight. Becca started tackling the study and straightened the computer table. Annabelle had tossed all her papers in a heap on the table, and Becca went through them just like the old days when they shared a place. She tossed out junk mail, stacked the bills, and it saddened her that she didn't find sketches on every spare piece of paper. She noticed a sketch pad, but when she thumbed through it, she found every page blank. She set the box of pencils on top of the sketch pad and accidentally moved the mouse.

  Annabelle's computer came out of sleep mode and a slideshow began. Becca watched the pictures and smiled when she saw a picture of Chip and Annabelle. It wasn't one she'd seen before. Amazingly, he wore a dark suit and danced with Annabelle. Their bodies pressed together intimately, and the look on his face…

  Becca clicked on the picture and it bled into the next. Shit. She pulled up iPhoto and opened the library, searching through every picture until she found the gorgeous man who looked like Chip but wasn't. Becca couldn't believe her eyes. She printed the close-up of his face, and the picture of him standing beside his friend, the groom. If it weren't for the color of his eyes, the break in his nose, and the mouth, he'd be Chip. Amazing. They say everyone has a double, but she'd never seen anything as close as this without major plastic surgery.