TOO HOT TO HANDLE

by Robin Kaye

  "Put your pants on, and I'll drive you to your car."

  Mike sat up, and his head felt as if he'd had massive brain injury compliments of Jack Daniel's.

  What had he been thinking getting shit-faced the night before the biggest interview of his career? Oh right, he thought that his life was over. The memory of what happened blindsided him again, and the pain of it just about knocked the wind out of him.

  "You wanna tell me what happened now that you're relatively sober?"

  "No."

  "I take it the proposal didn't go well?"

  "There was no proposal. It's over."

  "Hold on there, Mikey. One minute you're all, 'I love her, Vin. I'm gonna marry her.' And now you're sayin' 'it's over' and you're not gonna tell me what the fuck happened?"

  "Why? So you and Nick can say I told you so? I don't think so. I've had my fill of humiliation for one lifetime."

  Mike gave up searching for his socks—it hurt too much.

  He found his shoes, slipped them on, and turned to Vinny. The guy acted as if Mike had just cold-cocked him.

  "I don't make a habit of kickin' guys when they're down. I'm sorry it didn't work out. If you, ya know, change your mind and wanna talk about it, I ain't gonna be the one sayin' I told ya so. I will tell you a man don't fall out of love over a bottle of Jack, though. I know that for a fact. And, if you love her as much as you said you did, you won't let nothin' stop you from gettin' her back."

  "This isn't nothing. This is something so big, I don't see a way around it." His eyes burned, either because he was about to cry or they were too bloodshot. Either way, he needed to change the subject. "I'm sorry. I can't talk about this now. I have to get down to that interview and see if I can move the hell away from New York. Being a hundred miles away from her won't be far enough, but it beats Coney Island."

  Vinny grabbed him and pulled him into a guy hug. That did it. He lost the battle against tears. Shit. Vinny let him go and was nice enough to pretend not to notice he was crying like an idiot.

  They drove to the restaurant in silence. Vinny gave him back the keys to Nick's car and didn't mention Annabelle again. Not that the lack of conversation kept him from thinking of her; remembering how she drove, how she smelled, how she tasted, and finally how she looked while she shattered his heart. Damn, he still worried about her, then he reminded himself that she wasn't in love with him. She was in love with a dead guy who looked like him. Unfortunately, it didn't make him love her any less. He didn't even know who he could call to check on her without her finding out. God, he was a dumb shit. A dumb shit who was still in love with his dead brother's girl.

  Mike drove back to his sorry excuse for an apartment and realized he hadn't been there much in the last month. When he hadn't spent the night at Annabelle's, he'd slept at the hospital, or not at all. His place smelled stuffy, which didn't help his stomach any. He opened the windows, grabbed a fresh towel, and jumped into a cold shower—and it wasn't cold by choice. He really needed to get the hell out of his old apartment, his old neighborhood, and his old life.

  Chapter 17

  Mike made the two-hour drive from Coney Island to Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, at the crack of dawn with only his iPod and two venti Starbucks to keep him company. The coffee worked its magic, and the Visine he bought at the convenience store where he stopped to fill up the gas tank did its job. Now all he had to do was get some food in his stomach. Luckily, he arrived early enough and hunted down a diner along the main drag. He hadn't eaten in … damn, since lunch the day before when he'd grabbed a couple of street vendor hot dogs that he'd been burping up ever since. Everything ingested after that had been liquid. He parked, got out of the car, and stretched. His head ached, his body ached, but most of all his heart ached. God, he'd never thought he could hurt so badly.

  He'd driven past Eastern Heart Specialists three blocks down. The four-story building was impressive. The only question in his mind was the proximity to his biological father. If Becca knew he existed, it wouldn't be long until his father knew, and the last thing Mike wanted was to be rubbing shoulders with the old man.

  After getting a copy of the Philadelphia Inquirer out of a machine outside the diner, Mike took a seat at the counter and checked out the local real estate listings while he ate. He wouldn't be able to afford a house for a few years. Main Line prices were outrageous. But, it wasn't as if he had to worry about having a wife and family any time in the next century. He had a feeling it would be at least that long before he could get Annabelle out of his mind.

  After breakfast, Mike went to his interview. In the parking lot, he straightened his tie in the car's reflection, donned his suit jacket, and grabbed his briefcase. He didn't look like he spent his evening getting his heart stomped on and then shit-faced, he just felt as if he had.

  He entered the office and introduced himself to the receptionist. She stared at him openmouthed.

  "Is there something the matter?"

  She quickly shut her mouth and shook her head. "No. Nothing, Doctor…"

  "Flynn. Mike Flynn. I have an appointment with Dr. Connor."

  "Yes. If you'll just have a seat. I'll tell her you're here."

  "Thank you." Mike took a seat and checked his cell phone to make sure it was on vibrate. The last thing he wanted was to get a call in the middle of an interview. A woman who walked with an air of authority stepped out of the elevator. "Dr. Flynn?"

  Mike stood. "Yes."

  "Hello." She shook his hand. "I'm Shirley Payne, Dr. Connor's assistant. I'll take you up. If you'll come with me?"

  "Certainly." Mike grabbed his briefcase and followed her into a waiting elevator. She slid her key card through the reader, and the elevator took them to the fourth floor.

  Shirley led him to what looked like the boardroom, offered him coffee, and left him alone to await Dr. Connor.

  He'd done his research. Dr. Connor was one of the managing partners, in her early fifties. She'd made her name in the area of geriatric care and was voted the number one geriatric cardiologist on the East Coast by other cardiologists.

  When Dr. Connor entered, he stood and shook the hand of a surprisingly petite woman. She couldn't have been any taller than five feet, but her bearing in no way equaled her diminutive stature.

  "Dr. Flynn, thank you for agreeing to come down for an interview."

  "I'm flattered to receive an invitation."

  She motioned him to sit, placed a file on the conference table, and then fixed herself coffee from the thermal carafe on the bar.

  "We've recently merged with another practice and gained a new managing partner. He brought with him a full patient list, leaving us in desperate need of another pulmonologist. He strongly suggested we interview you. We've heard great things about you."

  "That's quite a compliment."

  She turned to him and smiled. "I'm told it's well deserved."

  What did one say to that? "I like to think so."

  "I've looked through your file. I know you've done quite a lot of research. You held either the number one or number two position in your class all through medical school." She sipped her coffee and checked the notes in her file. "It says here, you received one of the most sought-after fellowships in your field and obtained glowing reports from all you've studied under." She closed the file and pushed it aside. "We didn't look into your present situation for fear we'd raise suspicions, in case you weren't interested in making a move."

  He let out a breath of relief. "Thank you. I appreciate that. I was told that a Mr. Tuggle spoke to one of my nurses regarding my work habits. When she asked what it was in reference to, she was told it was a survey of pulmonology practices."

  Dr. Connor shrugged. "We wanted to make sure you were easy to work with. We're a close-knit group and are very particular when it comes to the partners we invite in. We look for team players and want to make sure you'd be a good fit. Your nurses raved about you. Though you don't have patients in the area, your youth and background make u
p for that."

  She handed Mike a presentation folder. "Here's what we'd be able to offer you. I'll give you a few minutes to look it over, and then another managing partner will be in to speak with you. There are four managing partners at present, but unfortunately, due to the holiday, we're the only two available to meet with you. We do have the authority to make you an offer today if all goes well. He'll be in to see you in a few moments."

  She closed the file, left it on the conference table, and rose. Mike stood and shook her hand. "Thank you. It's been a pleasure meeting you."

  She covered his hand with both of hers. "I hope it all works out. I think I'd enjoy working with you. I'll see you before you leave." She left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Mike opened the offer and was glad he was sitting down. Maybe he would be able to buy a house after all, though, what would be the point? He'd be living alone in a big house. The practice didn't require a buy-in, had a more than generous salary, profit sharing, partnership in two years, and with the benefits, the position, if offered, would be impossible to turn down. Especially when he took into account the distance it would give him from Annabelle.

  The door opened, and Mike stood. He held on to the table to keep upright. Dr. Christopher Larsen was obviously the new managing partner Dr. Connor spoke of. Christ. Mike had seen his pictures, even imagined meeting him in the flesh, but was totally unprepared for the reality.

  "I see by the look on your face you know who I am."

  "Yes. I've known who you were since before I can remember. It's not news."

  "I find myself at a disadvantage. I only found out about you a few weeks ago."

  "If you hadn't been cheating on my mother with your fiancée, you would have found out much sooner."

  "I never wanted to marry Bitsy. My family forced the engagement, and I just went along."

  "Sure you did. People get engaged every day and don't mean it." Heck, his own father had been engaged to two women at once, and Mike couldn't even manage one.

  "It was never real, at least not in my mind. It always felt so far away, and then I met your mother. I was in love with her, and I knew I had to come clean."

  "You didn't come clean with my mother. She didn't know until she saw the announcement of your engagement in the Times."

  Larsen blanched at that and took a deep breath. "No, I told Bitsy I was in love with Colleen and wanted out. Everyone was in an uproar. My family cut off my trust fund, and a couple of days later, Bitsy said our parents announced our engagement behind our back. I had nothing to do with it. I found out years later that it was all Bitsy's idea. She said she'd put them up to it. That's when I divorced her."

  Mike reached for his briefcase. "I have nothing more to say to you." He slapped the offer down on the conference table and stepped away.

  "Now wait just a minute." Larsen stood in front of the double doors, blocking the only exit. "Let me explain." Christopher raised his hands. "I ran back to New York to tell your mother that the announcement was a mistake, but she'd already left. Your grandparents spit in my face."

  "You deserved it."

  Christopher hung his head. "I did. I should never have let my parents force me into a relationship I never wanted. I'm not perfect. I was young, and they held the purse strings. It was easier to go along to get along.

  "Colleen's parents told me she'd gone back to Ireland and had already married someone they approved of. They threatened to call the police if I ever showed my face again. I wanted to go over there to find her, but she was already married. I was too late."

  "Well, that's a lie."

  Larsen looked stricken, "Michael, I'm not proud of myself. Believe me, I've paid for that mistake every day of my life. I'm not lying. Unfortunately, I did what was expected and eventually married Bitsy."

  "Mum was never married. That was a lie. You left my mother pregnant, alone, and brokenhearted. She was thrown out of her home and disowned by her family all thanks to you. She went back to Ireland to stay with the only person who would have her—her aunt. That's where I was born."

  Mike's father pulled a chair out and sat. "She didn't get married?"

  Mike shook his head.

  "Oh Christ. They said she was married. If I thought there was a chance … I loved your mother. I loved her, damn it. I loved her."

  If his father was lying, he was the best actor Mike had ever seen. Shit, the man was on the verge of tears. Mike didn't know what to think. He sat and watched the man who fathered him try to pull himself together. He looked at Mike through glassy, pleading eyes.

  "Is she okay? Colleen?"

  "Yes, she's … we're fine."

  "I need to talk to her, to explain. I … I … Jesus Christ, I would never have married Bitsy if I thought there was a chance for us."

  "Bitsy? You're kidding me, right? There are actually people named Bitsy?"

  "Yes, there are. We're divorced now."

  "So you did marry Bitsy."

  "Yes, I did, a couple of years after your mother left. I married her and had children—twins. Is your mother … is she married?"

  "No. Never. How did you find me?"

  "Your sister found you, actually. You have a striking resemblance to your late brother, Chip. She saw a picture of you at a wedding." Larsen raked his hands through his short, graying hair. "Becca brought me your picture demanding to know if you were somehow related to us. She told me your name. I knew you were my son." His eyes were glassy and distant. "I still can't believe your mother never told me." Larsen stood, pushing his chair back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dumped all this on you so suddenly. Can I get you a water?"

  "No, thank you. I spoke to Becca last night. She called me after … well, after I found out about her and Chip. I found a painting of Chip at my girlfriend's apartment. You can imagine my shock."

  "You do have an amazing resemblance."

  "Annabelle never told me."

  "Annabelle Ronaldi? What does she have to do with any of this?"

  Mike had never seen such hatred on anyone's face. "I dated her seriously for the last month or so."

  "Shit, she's got her hooks into you, too. She lost her meal ticket when Chip died. I guess when she found you, she worked the same scam."

  Mike stood. "Hold on, I don't care who the hell you are. I won't let you or anyone talk about Annabelle like that."

  Larsen held up his hands in surrender. "I don't know what the girl's got, but whatever it is seems to appeal to the Larsen men."

  "I'm a Flynn." All the anger he'd tapped down last night returned and threatened to overflow.

  Larsen smiled. "Damn, you've got your mother's temper, don't you? You must feel as if you've been run through the ringer. I've known about you over a week, and I still have a hard time, but then I look at you." He shook his head and then stared at the floor. "I'll be right back. Please just give me a minute. I have something to show you."

  Mike nodded. He wasn't sure what he was riled about. It wasn't as if Annabelle cared for him. She only saw him as Chip's replacement. He backed into a leather chair and sat.

  Larsen returned a moment later with a file. "I had my assistant pull this for me." He opened it. "Here's my divorce decree. You'll find my marriage date listed there."

  Mike looked at Larsen and then took the paper he offered. At the moment, he could really care less when Larsen married. The date highlighted was less than a month before Mike's second birthday. At least the old man hadn't lied about that.

  "I know you don't owe me anything, but I think working here, at the practice, would be a good move for you. I'm aware of the problems you're having in your present position."

  Mike picked up the proposal folder and ripped it in two. He calmly set it back on the table and slid it to Larsen without a word.

  "Now, calm down. I merely asked a few friends in the area if they'd heard about you and what they thought. I'm told there's a rumor going around that you're causing problems over an incompetent partner. Lucky for you, you're not
the only one who has noticed his incompetence."

  Mike nodded. It was the truth.

  "Come here and work. I won't say anything about our relationship if you'd rather I didn't."

  Mike let out an incredulous laugh. "That seems kind of senseless doesn't it? When I walked in the building, the receptionist was stunned speechless. I don't know what Becca looks like, but it seems I look as much like you as Chip did. I'd be surprised if news of your bastard son hasn't hit the society page of the Philadelphia Inquirer by now. You can bet you'll be the topic of conversation at the country club."

  Larsen winced and shook his head. "I'm not concerned with what the Inquirer says, or anyone else for that matter. The only people I care about in this whole world are you, your mother, and your sister, Becca. And as for you, you can bet your life you would have been born a Larsen had I known about you. What your mother and I had. well, it should have lasted forever."

  "Yes, well it didn't, and my mother and I have done quite well on our own."

  "I'm glad. I'm so proud of you both. It couldn't have been easy. Believe me, if I could turn back time. But I can't. What I have done though is make sure you're given your birthright."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You are my son. That makes you and your sister the beneficiaries of half the Larsen estate. The house automatically gets passed on from first son to first son. I'm still living in it. I thought I'd give it to Becca once she married. But since I've found you—"

  Mike sat. "I don't want your estate or your money."

  "I'm sorry, but it's not mine. It's yours. I've only been a steward of the estate. It's been held in trust for years. It was never mine. I only control it. I'll need a copy of your birth certificate for the lawyers."

  "Inheritance? Are you serious?"

  "Yes, I am. You have a rather large inheritance. I can get you an exact figure if you like."

  Mike gripped the arms of his chair. "No, a ballpark estimate will be sufficient."

  "I'd say somewhere in the neighborhood of seven million dollars. That's not including the value of the estate."