He sighs, walking back over to his desk and sitting.
This must be serious. I follow and sit in the chair across from him.
“I didn’t want to have to mention this to you, but I have no choice.” He steeples his hands in front of him. “Pembrooke Financial is in trouble.”
It takes me a minute to understand his words—almost like when you have bad Wi-Fi and you type something into your browser, but that little circle thing keeps going.
“What does that mean, in trouble?” I ask.
“I won’t get into the particulars but suffice to say that if the company doesn’t see a large influx of cash in the next year, there’s a chance it won’t survive.”
My hand flies to my mouth. I had no idea the company was having financial problems. Since we’re not publicly owned, we don’t have to report our earnings to anyone, but the IRS and I always assumed things were fine.
“You can’t speak a word of this to anyone. Not even your mother. I don’t want to worry her. And if anyone who works here finds out, they might jump ship and leave us in an even worse situation than the one we’re in now.”
My hand drops as I think of all the people who fill this building. I picture their spouses and children and everyone else who depends on them to bring home a paycheck each week, who count on them for medical and dental benefits and their retirement contributions.
I nod. “I understand. I won’t tell anyone.”
“The only reason I’m telling you is because I need your help.” He reaches across the table and holds out his hand.
I stretch to place my hand in his. “You need money from Grandpa’s estate.”
“I do. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t shocked when Harold laid out the terms of the will. I’d expected to get everything you did, and that would’ve allowed me to get this company back where it should be. But now…”
“Now it’s all gone to me.”
“Normally I wouldn’t dream of asking this of you. Your mother and you shouldn’t have to worry about these things. That money is yours to do what you want with and we can certainly draw up terms for it to be a loan. But I can’t stand the idea of all these people here losing their livelihoods. We’d be fine, but a lot of them wouldn’t.”
I nod like a bobblehead. Al, Sally, Mallory all come to my mind. People who rely on this company. “Agreed. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“I think you know what it takes.” He looks at me from under his eyebrows.
The terms of the will. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.
“I have to get married,” I whisper.
“And soon.” He nods as I open my eyes.
My mind swirls. It’s not like you can go to the grocery store and pick out a husband. There’s no number dispenser like at the meat counter, or someone to ask if I’d prefer a leaner cut like chicken or do I like my men a little meatier, like a steak?
“I don’t know how, but I’ll figure something out.”
He squeezes my hand again. “I hate that I have to ask this of you, sweetheart.”
“Dad, I can do this. I promise.” Though I have no idea how. I’m not even dating anyone. Since my divorce, I’ve kept my love life as barren as the desert.
He smiles and releases my hand. “I knew I could count on you.”
I stand. I need to get out of here. I’m more shell-shocked than when the paper printed pictures of my ex-husband and his plaything making out at a restaurant.
“I better go.” I don’t wait for my dad to see me out, rushing toward the door instead.
I can do this. I can step out of his office and act as if everything is exactly the same as when I walked in. No one will be the wiser.
“You got it, kid. Let me know if you need me to help in any way.”
I turn away from his encouraging smile and step out of his office.
Now I just have to figure out exactly how the hell I’m gonna do this. I cannot let my father or all the Pembrooke employees down. Too bad there’s not a 1-800-GROOM number for me to call.
Four
Nick
Dr. Schwartz told me that the hospital PR team will handle an official statement to the press and that I’m to say nothing if I’m asked about it. Not to the press and not to my colleagues. Regardless, I head down to Ollie’s office to fill him in. He’s the most trustworthy guy I know, so I don’t have to worry about him opening his mouth to anyone, except maybe his fiancée, Jemma.
I can’t lose this job. I love emergency medicine and I’m fond of my life here in this small city. If I have to go back to Boston, back to my family and that lifestyle, to find another job—Christ, there’s nothing worse than that. I left the city to leave all that behind and I have no desire to return. Not to mention how smug my brother would be if he knew I was fired. There’s not a chance in hell I’d give him that satisfaction.
Rather than wait for the elevator, I put my nervous energy to use and take the stairs the few flights down to my buddy’s office. When I arrive in the reception area, his secretary, Rowan, is behind the desk, hard at work.
“Hey, beautiful.”
She looks up from whatever she’s working on and smiles. “There’s the future father of my babies.” She stands and rounds her desk to come give me a hug.
I chuckle. “I think you and your husband already have enough.”
She chucks me on the chin. “Sure, but once I leave him for you, we’re going to want to start our own family, of course.” She winks.
Rowan is happily married and at least a decade older than my thirty-six. Not that I see anything wrong with an older woman. But this is what we do. Flirt shamelessly with each other because it’s fun and because it drives Ollie nuts.
“Leave Rowan alone. I don’t need a sexual harassment lawsuit,” Ollie calls from his office.
His words sober me, and I step back and glance at his open office door. “Bossman have a few minutes for me?” I ask Rowan.
She nods. “His next patient isn’t due to arrive for another ten minutes.”
“Perfect. Just kick me out if I overstay my welcome.” I wink and head into Ollie’s office. I shut the door behind me.
“Uh oh. This must be serious if you’re shutting the door. What happened? Some one-night stand give you a venereal disease? Do you need me to write you a script?”
I roll my eyes and sit in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. “I just got called up to Dr. Scwartz’s office.”
Ollie removes his glasses and sets them on the desk. “Why’d he want to see you?”
I sigh and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and pushing my hands through my hair before I look back up at him. “Apparently footage of me making out with a nurse in the break room somehow made it to the newspaper and they’re spinning it to make it look like I spend all my time screwing the staff rather than tending to patients.”
“C’mon, man, you know better than to—”
I raise my hand to stop him. “I do. And I don’t fuck around when I’m working. This one nurse has been pretty brazen, and she basically jumped me in the break room.”
Ollie leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “And?”
“And I went with it for a minute. I mean, if you’re surprised by a set of double D’s being pressed into you and a tongue in your mouth, the first instinct isn’t to push them away.”
He gives me an unimpressed look. He’s always had more willpower than me.
“Well, it’s not my first instinct. Anyway, the tape doesn’t show the part where she surprised me or when I pushed her away. The hospital board isn’t happy about the bad press, especially after that thing a few months ago with that nurse dipping into patients’ records when she shouldn’t have been.”
“I can imagine. What did Schwartz say?”
“He said I need to clean up my act. Get myself some good press to turn this thing around. Even if I did come forward with the truth, the optics aren’t good if I throw the nurse under the bus.”
&n
bsp; Ollie lets out a long whistle. “That’s a big ask.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
He tilts his head and looks a bit incredulous. “You’re not exactly living a pious life.”
“No, I’m not. But I’m a single, successful man. Why should I be?”
“Agreed. But what is celibacy going to do to you? Will you be able to handle it?”
I raise my hands. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down there. No one said anything about celibacy.”
“How else do you think you’re going to clean up your image? You can’t do that by sleeping with a different woman every week.”
I push a hand through my hair. Shit, he’s right.
“It’s celibacy… or monogamy,” he says.
A full-body shiver racks my body. I’d rather work the ER shift on Halloween night with a full moon and deal with all that crazy than participate in either of those.
“Damn it.” My phone rings in the pocket of my lab coat, so I dip my hand in to retrieve it in case someone from the ER department is calling, rather than paging, me. I don’t recognize the number, so I swipe to accept the call. “Hello.”
“Hi, is this Dr. Nick Ryan?”
“It is.” A crease mars my forehead.
“This is Stacey from the Boston Herald. I wanted to see if you had any comment about your behavior on the tape—”
“No comment. Don’t call this number again.” I hang up and look at my friend. “That was the Herald looking for a comment.”
“Shit. Obviously, they’ve picked up the story from the local paper. I’m sorry, man.”
I shake my head. Un-fucking-believable. I suppose I can expect a call from my mother— or worse, my father—any time now. Once the story makes the rounds through their social circle, they’re going to be all over me. It’ll be like when I was a teenager all over again. As long as Keith doesn’t call me, I can handle it. I have nothing to say to my asshole brother.
“Jesus. This is gonna be a mess. If I get fired—”
“You won’t.”
“I might. The hospital would rather pay me to go away quietly and bury the story than deal with any more bad press. If I seem like a liability, they won’t hesitate to kick my ass to the curb. Trust me. I’ve seen it before.”
I grew up in Boston high society, so I’m well aware how important optics are to some. My family has more money than they know what to do with, but I’ve seen time and time again how easily money can corrupt someone. Which is why I left it all behind.
My phone rings in my pocket again and I yank it out, sliding my thumb over the screen and bringing it to my ear. “I told you no comment!”
No one says anything at first, then some shuffling before a voice I wish I could forget but has haunted me for years says, “It’s me.”
It takes me a minute to regain my balance. Ollie’s studying me as if I’m one of his patients.
“Don’t call here again.” I hang up the phone and put it on silent before standing and shoving it back in my pocket.
“Another reporter?” Ollie asks.
“Yeah,” I lie, heading toward the door. “I need to get back to the ER. Let’s grab a beer this weekend. I’m not on shift.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he calls.
I wave with my free hand as I open the door, but I don’t turn around to face him. He knows me too well and I’m afraid he’ll see something on my face that will tip him off that the last phone call has shook me.
“See you, Rowan.”
She’s on the phone and gives me a wave. I quickly leave the office, heading directly for the stairwell. Once I’m alone inside it, I lean up against the wall, my head resting against the cool concrete.
Why the hell is Mazzy Pembrooke calling me? I thought I made it perfectly clear the last time I saw her that I never wanted to speak with her again.
Five
Mazzy
I hold the phone. Well, that went exactly as I’d expected but not how I’d hoped.
I’m not surprised Nick hung up on me, though I thought he’d let me get out more than two words. Apparently, time doesn’t heal all wounds. He still hates me as much as he did the last time I saw him. A small part of me doesn’t blame him.
I slide my phone back inside my Birkin bag and glance around the upscale restaurant.
I’m shocked that after all these years, he still has the same phone number. It wouldn’t have mattered though. I have my ways to track it down.
But now I have to figure out my next move. Because as much as I don’t want to need Nick, I do. And I only hope that his sense of honor hasn’t changed over the years.
I toss back the last of my Bellini and pull my phone from my Birkin once again to do what I’ve managed not to thus far—I google Nick. Of course it doesn’t take long to find him—he’s one of those charismatic guys that the camera loves. But rather than finding his bio on a hospital website or social media links like I assumed I would, I find an article in a local paper, complete with a video of him making out with a nurse.
The video of his arms wrapped around the woman, his lips on hers, his hands in her hair shouldn’t hurt like a pinprick to the heart. I wish I didn’t remember how intoxicating it is to be the object of his affection.
After scanning the article, I don’t glean much information about his relationship with the nurse. I’m unclear whether she is important to him or not. This could be a problem for me. A real problem if she’s a key part of his life.
But first things first. I need him to speak to me before I can hold him to the pact we made when we were kids.
A week later, I walk through the sliding doors of the emergency room at the hospital Nick works at. I contemplated ambushing him at home but pictured him slamming the door in my face. I figure he won’t make a scene among his colleagues, which should allow me to get a few words out at least.
I don’t even know for certain that he’s working at the moment, but I took my chance because time is of the essence. After I left my dad’s office last week, I racked my brain for who I could find to marry me.
My criteria is as follows:
Must not be someone I can fall for and vice versa. This needs to be a business arrangement and nothing more. After my short-lived marriage and all my disasters in dating that proceeded it, I’m wiping my hands clean of love.
It needs to be someone I might actually marry if the circumstances were different. No one would believe we were really in love if I said I’d fallen for some millionaire pushing sixty or the barista at Starbucks. It has to be someone my parents could conceivably support me marrying, especially since my mom won’t be privy to the reason why I’m getting married.
My groom has to get something out of it too. That ensures that no matter how intolerable the situation might become, he won’t bolt at the first sign of trouble.
Nick fits all three of my criteria perfectly. Plus, I have something else to hold over him if all else fails.
“Can I help you?” the nurse working at the desk asks when I approach.
I give her my best smile and glance at her name tag. “Hi, Priscilla, I’m hoping to speak with Dr. Ryan.”
Her eyes narrow. “For what purpose?” She stands and crosses her arms over her ample chest.
“That’s personal.” I maintain my smile. I’ve dealt with worse than this woman. Try being on the front page of the entertainment section because your husband is cheating on you.
“Well as you can see, this is a place of employment, so you can take your personal reasons elsewhere.”
“I’m not sure what I’ve done to offend you, but I really do need to speak with Dr. Ryan.” I interject an air of authority into my voice.
But this woman doesn’t care at all. “I’m sick of you people coming in here to poke your nose around. You need to leave before I call security.” She raises her hand and points over my shoulder at the entrance I just came from.
“You people?” I feel more forehead wrinkles
forming and I swear I practically hear my mother’s voice in my head, telling me it’s time for Botox.
Before I can respond, an attractive blonde nurse comes up to Priscilla’s side. Her name tag reads Lucy. I recognize her as the woman from the video.
“Everything okay?” Lucy asks.
“This one wants to speak with Dr. Ryan.” Priscilla waves at me in distaste.
Lucy rolls her eyes. “Another reporter? When are you guys gonna get it through your thick skulls that the answer is and will remain no comment?”
I hold up my hands. “I’m not a reporter.”
“They all say that,” Lucy says, rolling her eyes and walking away.
That’s why Priscilla was so prickly about me wanting to speak to Nick. I know better than anyone how reporters can be like hookers and hand jobs—they won’t stop until the job is finished. But I don’t know if Lucy is upset because she’s in the video too or whether it’s because Nick is someone special to her and she’s being protective.
“You need to leave,” Priscilla says again.
“I swear I’m not a reporter. I need to speak to Nick please.”
No surprise transforms her features from the fact I know his first name. I thought I’ve made headway, but I guess any good reporter would have dug that information up too. She pinches her lips together again.
I decide to try a different tactic. “All right then. I need to see a doctor.”
She tilts her head, her face void of emotion.
“I said I need to see a doctor.” I sure hope that after all this, Nick is working.
Priscilla crosses her arms against. “And what exactly do you need to see a doctor for?”
My gaze darts over some pictures behind her and I blurt out the first thing I see—on an STD poster. “Chlamydia.”
“Chlamydia?”
I close my eyes for a second and supress the urge to cringe. “Yep, chlamydia.”
“Very well then, let’s get some information from you.”
She runs through a list of questions about sexual partners I’ve had, my symptoms, etc. But we both know she can’t refuse me treatment now that I’ve requested to see a doctor. I only hope the doctor who shows up is Nick Ryan—my ex-best friend, ex-love, and the guy I made a marriage pact with so many years ago.
Don't Mind If I Do : A Fake Marriage Romantic Comedy Page 3