to change your attitude. Drake’s lurking around because he likes you.
One day he’s going to work up the nerve to ask you out and I’ll have to
challenge him to a duel in the parking lot.”
I flip my sign to “Open,” and give Charlie’s chair a shove. “I thought
we agreed we were better off as friends. Now, get to work. Only eight
and a half hours left until the weekend.”
Charlie hangs his head in mock disappointment and rolls back to
his desk.
An hour later, my cell phone rings. I wave the phone over the partition
to let Charlie know to watch out for Big Doris. He thumps the partition
in agreement. I settle in my chair and accept the call on the last ring.
“Makayla Delaney?”
“Yes.”
“This is Sergio Martinez from Collections R Us. I received your file
from the Education Commission. They inform me you have defaulted
on your loan payments. It is my job to collect the money.”
My heart thuds in my chest and I swallow hard before answering.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I tried to make the payments
after I graduated. I used all my savings, moved to a cheaper apartment,
and sold my car, but I was unemployed. I applied for deferment and
they agreed to defer the loan for five years.”
“Apparently, they changed their minds.”
“But that’s not fair. They never told me.”
Sergio yawns. “Not my problem. They sent me the file with the
word “Default” stamped on the front in big red letters. I take that to
mean you didn’t make your payments.”
Sweat trickles down my back and I grip the phone. “I can send you
the paperwork or you can contact them yourself. The five years aren’t
up and my circumstances haven’t changed. I can barely pay rent and—”
“Frankly, Ms. Delaney, I don’t care about your circumstances and
it’s not my job to conduct an investigation or to contact the Education
Commission. My job is to collect the money, and the government
permits me to use every means at my disposal to get it. Let’s see what
you owe. I have a loan calculator right here.” He taps on what sounds
like a keyboard and then rattles off a number that makes my heart seize
in my chest.
“That’s almost twice the original loan.”
Sergio laughs. “Interest and penalties have been accumulating.”
More tapping. And then he gives me a monthly payment amount that
sends my pulse skyrocketing.
“I can’t pay that much.” My voice rises to a pathetic whine.
“That’s almost my entire monthly salary. I won’t have money to pay
rent or eat.”
“I’m afraid that is the minimum payment to rehabilitate your loan.
Nine payments in ten months and you repair your credit and get me
off your back. My boss wants more but you sound like a nice girl and I
want to give you a break. You have until Monday to decide or I’ll seize
part of your paycheck forever and you’ll never have another chance to
rehabilitate your loan.”
“Monday?” I squeak. “That’s two days away. I can’t do it. I need
time to contact the Education Commission and find out what hap-
pened to my deferment.”
Sergio sighs. “Are you sure you want to do that? You will be re-
quired to make a formal complaint and who knows how long it will take
them to respond. In the meantime, your default will show up on credit
checks, and the interest and penalties continue to rise. I can offer you
the opportunity to rehabilitate your loan right here, right now. Don’t
you want a fresh start?”
“But where will I get the money?”
“I’m sure you have family, friends, relatives, or neighbors who could
help you. Maybe you have things to sell. Have a garage sale. Clean out
your wardrobe. Be creative. That’s what I tell all my debtors.”
My heart sinks to my stomach. “I have nothing. I have no jewelry
or fancy clothes or paintings. I don’t own a bicycle or a car. I don’t even
own the TV in the house I’m sharing with four other people. I can’t ask
my friends for money. Most of them don’t have enough to make ends
meet. And as for my family—”
“Again, Ms. Delaney, don’t waste your breath. I’ve heard it all—
injuries, accidents, sick children, dying parents, unexpected pregnan-
cies, fatal illnesses, hungry boa constrictors, divorces, exploding houses,
and rabid dogs running off with bags of cash.”
“Have you heard the one about the elephant and the trombone?” I
scramble to save the situation the only way I know how.
Sergio is silent for so long I can’t tell if he is amused or really annoyed.
“Actually, Ms. Delaney, I can’t say that I have. Please enlighten me.”
I tell Sergio a long joke about an elephant, a debt collector, and a
trombone. When I get to the punch line, he snickers, then he snorts,
then he laughs out loud.
“Very amusing.” He chuckles again. “I haven’t laughed like that for
years. Usually people scream, swear, and threaten me. I heard the words
‘Fuck off’ two hundred and three times yesterday. No one has ever told
me a joke.”
I cross my fingers. “I aim to please.”
“And please you have done. In return I’m going to do something
for you. I’ll give you an extra week to come up with your first install-
ment. After that, as long as you make your payments, you’ll have no
trouble from me. If you miss even one payment, the entire loan comes
due with immediate effect. I will then be entitled to seek orders from the
court to garnish your wages, seize your income tax refunds, drain your
bank accounts, and I can do the same to your parents. As guarantors of
your loan, their assets are up for grabs, including their house.”
My lungs seize up and I gasp. “Oh God. No. That house means every-
thing to them. It has been in my stepfather’s family for generations. He
gave it to my mother so she would never have to worry about having a
roof over her head again. They plan to live there until they die.”
“Or until I foreclose to pay their daughter’s debts.”
I clench my fists under the table. Never. I’ll never let him take their
house. “I’ll make the payments,” I say, through gritted teeth. “And I
appreciate your offer.”
“I’m glad you do,” he says. “As with most student debt collection
agencies, we are incentivized to collect the debts. Usually we receive a
percentage of the amount collected plus performance bonuses, and it
can add up fast. My supervisor made half a million dollars last year and
the CEO made one million dollars. I used my bonus to buy myself a Jag.
This year, I’m aiming to buy a Porsche.”
“How nice for you.” I do a quick mental calculation. Even if I
pare down the grocery shopping to the bare essentials, cut out meat,
forgo Friday nights at the bar with Amanda, and collect my money from
Torment, I won’t have enough to make the payment. I need a second
job. Fast.
“I can hear the wheels clicking in your brain.” Sergio’s thin, reedy
vo
ice jolts me back to reality. “I see from your college transcript, you’re
a very clever girl. You should have applied for some scholarships and
gone to medical school. Your loans would have been deferred until you
were done and then you would have been making so much money they
wouldn’t have been an issue.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
Sergio chuckles. “I like you Ms. Delaney. I can’t say that about
many of my debtors. I look forward to speaking to you again soon.”
A few hours and several dozen patients later, I doodle a picture of a
boxing ring on my notepad. Maybe I should have stayed at the club
last Friday instead of running away. Maybe after everyone had gone,
Torment would have taken me into the ring and kissed me. His hard
body would have pressed me back into the ropes. We would have made
the offer on my “FCUK Me” T-shirt a reality, and afterward we would
have gotten matching tattoos.
“Mac, wake up.” The urgency in Charlie’s voice snaps me out of
my daydream.
“What’s going on here?” Big Doris swoops into my cubicle and
stares down at me through clear, plastic lenses that do not refract her
eyes in any noticeable way. She whips out her book of green slips and
clicks her pen. “I’ve had a complaint about a patient backlog.”
“We’re having problems with the computers.” Charlie pokes his
head around the partition and lies with the aplomb of a used car dealer
sensing a sale. “They keep freezing up. We need someone from IT down
here right away.”
Big Doris narrows her eyes but even she doesn’t dare challenge
Charlie. He has been here too long. He knows too many people. And,
he has a very sharp tongue.
“Fine. I’ll deal with it.” Big Doris deflates and storms away.
“You just ruined her morning,” I call out. “She wanted to give me
another green slip.”
“Don’t worry about Big Doris. I’ve got her figured out. She just needs
a man. And since you won’t have me, I’ll have to settle for tenth best.”
Hah. Charlie and Big Doris. Never going to happen.
While I wait for the computer to dredge up a new patient form,
I resolve to find Charlie a girlfriend. Someone normal. Someone who
likes nice, soft, slightly balding guys who are eager to please. Someone
whose heart doesn’t pound at the sight of hard-bodied men covered
in tattoos.
A collective sigh from the waiting room pulls me out of the start
of yet another daydream about Torment. I look up, just as Dr. Donald
Drake, preeminent heart surgeon turned administrator, glides toward
me. He stops in front of my desk and smiles.
Ah. My insides quiver. Although he has no visible tattoos or pierc-
ings and exudes an aura of calm competence as opposed to one of seeth-
ing danger, I am not immune to his chiseled charms.
“How are things going today, Mac?”
My smile stretches my cheeks. “Very well, thank you, Doctor Drake.”
Dr. Drake places his hands on my desk and leans forward. I inhale
his fresh, clean scent of laundry soap and after dinner mints. I sneeze.
“Doris mentioned you were having difficulties with your computer.
Perhaps I could take a look at it for you.”
“You?” My eyes widen. He has departments filled with minions to
do his grunt work, not to mention an entire IT department.
Charlie makes lewd, loud kissing noises behind the partition, and I
cover my mouth, pretending to cough.
Dr. Drake glances over at the partition and frowns. “Problem,
Mr. Brown?”
“No sir,” Charlie calls over. “Just sucking on a lemon. I’m trying to
increase my consumption of citrus fruits.”
My stomach clenches with repressed laughter.
Dr. Drake looks down at me and smiles again. Such a happy doctor.
The light glints off his unnaturally white teeth. “I know a thing or two
about computers, Mac. I didn’t spend all my time with my head in my
medical books.”
“Heh, heh, heh.” I join him laughing at his own joke. What a pa-
thetic laugh. Thank God I can’t see Charlie’s face.
A few moments later, Dr. Drake’s lean, toned body is settled in
my desk chair. He pounds away at my keyboard, and I glance over the
partition at Charlie. Big mistake. He mouths “heh, heh, heh,” and then
wheezes in a breath, and doubles over in a fit of laughter. I resolve to
find Charlie a psychopathic girlfriend with a sharp knife.
“I think this may require an IT specialist after all.” Dr. Drake’s
perfectly smooth brow wrinkles. “Why don’t I take you for lunch? I’ll
ask IT to send someone up while you’re away from your desk.”
My mouth drops open. Dr. Drake is asking me out for lunch?
With his medical pedigree, and women lining up to get in his pants, he
doesn’t lack for potential lunch partners. Why me? And why couldn’t
he be a beguiling fighter with the manners of a Southern gentleman?
A fighter I will never see again. The rational thought sobers me
up and I muster a lukewarm smile. Only last week I would have been
overjoyed at the chance to lunch with the hospital’s number one most
eligible bachelor. Or maybe not. We are fiscally incompatible. He is
caviar and I am instant noodles.
“I’m afraid she’s taken.”
Brain freeze. From somewhere deep in my core, recognition of
the deep, sensual rumble of that voice sizzles through me, awaken-
ing every nerve ending in my body. Awareness comes back slowly.
A shadowy image hovers in front of my desk. Gradually, my vision
comes into focus.
Torment.
Torment is here.
My heart takes off down the speedway.
His loose, wavy brown hair is neatly tucked back into his black
bandana. He is wearing his black leather biker jacket over a Harley-
Davidson T-shirt stretched tight across his broad, muscular chest. His
black jeans are a feast of tight seams in all the right places. He exudes
pure, raw sensuality. And he is looking at me.
“Ready to go?” He drops his biker pack onto the chair in front of
my desk and holds out his hand.
Inhaling a sharp breath, I blurt out an eloquent, “What?”
His lips curve into a smile. “Lunch, Makayla. You do eat, don’t you?”
“You want to have lunch with me? How did you know where I work?”
His gaze sears through me, hot and electric. “You told me last
week. I have a good memory for details. And yes, I am here to take you
to lunch.”
“Mac, do you know this…person?” Dr. Drake rises slowly from
my chair and positions himself between me and Torment. From the
unnatural wrinkles in his perfectly smooth forehead, I assume he is not
pleased to have our discussion interrupted.
“This is…um…Torment.” My cheeks burn and I glare at Torment,
willing him to reveal his real name and save me from the perils of bad
manners. His eyes glimmer with barely repressed amusement, but his
sensual lips stay firmly closed.
Dr. Drake gives me a quizzical look. “Torment? Is that a last name?
Or perha
ps an affliction?”
“I believe it’s a ring name,” I try to block out the muffled sound of
Charlie’s snort of laughter. “He’s an MMA fighter.”
“Ah.” Dr. Drake rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle
squeeze. I stiffen at the unexpected touch. Torment’s eyes narrow and
focus like laser beams on Dr. Drake’s hand.
“A sweet girl like you shouldn’t be associating with these rough,
fight types,” Dr. Drake says in the gentle tone usually reserved for
wayward children and small animals. “They are violent men who think
nothing of flaunting the law or exposing innocent girls to the more
uncivilized elements of our society.”
How can he talk like that with Torment standing right in front of
him? Aside from being impolite, it’s dangerous. I try to pry his hand off
my shoulder. “I think you might be overreacting.”
Dr. Drake slides his thumb under my hair in a gesture that is dis-
concertingly soothing. “So compassionate. I sensed that quality in you
during your interview. But don’t let your empathy obscure who these
men really are and what they can do. Come to the ER one Friday or
Saturday night and see for yourself the effects of uncontrolled violence.”
His thumb rubs up and down, gently massaging my neck. My back
arches involuntarily and I inhale a sharp breath.
Torment growls—a deep, barely audible, entirely thrilling sound.
He leans across the desk, grabs Dr. Drake’s hand, and rips it off
my shoulder.
“She’s coming with me. Now.” He whips off his jacket, tossing it
on the chair beside his pack, and folds his arms over his chest, his biceps
tensed like he is about to punch someone.
Dr. Drake snorts his derision and his eyes flick to me instead of
staying focused on the deadly threat in front of him. “Exactly as I
said. Uncivilized.”
Torment sucks in a breath and takes a step closer to my desk.
I reach over and rest a soothing hand on Torment’s corded forearm.
Electricity darts through me the second I make contact. My heart almost
goes into cardiac arrest. Not good. Given his reaction to Dr. Drake’s
unexpected neck stroking, how would Torment react if Dr. Drake had
to perform CPR and rub my chest? I jerk my hand away.
“I forgot we were going for lunch today.” I give Dr. Drake my best,
Against the Ropes Page 4