Sold on St. Patrick's Day: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance

by Juliana Conners

  “Yes, I’m here to discuss Harlow, of course,” he says. “Which is something that obviously needs to happen.”

  “Obviously,” I say, trying to suppress a gulp.

  Is it possible that he’s really just here to discuss my voicemail and Harlow’s treatment plan? Could I be worrying for nothing?

  I try to relax.

  “He’s obviously not improving while working with you,” Dr. Davis says, with a frown.

  “I’m sorry. He’s… what?”

  “Not improving. Your message and your charts and notes are quite clear. We need to step up Harlow’s training. Have him work with someone more experienced, who can hopefully get better results out of him.”

  “Not improving? Dr. Davis, I don’t think you heard my voicemail correctly…”

  “Of course I did. But I’m beginning to think you’re the one who isn’t hearing me.”

  He leans back in his chair— my chair— and crosses his arms across his chest. I’m beginning to realize that the situation is worse than I could have possibly thought.

  “Dr. Davis,” I say, trying to sound firm and bold, as I pick up Harlow’s file that he had left in front of him on my desk, “My notes have well documented that—”

  “That Harlow is behind in many areas. That he needs a lot of extra therapy.”

  I flip frantically through the pages, until I find some of my notes. Except, they’re not my notes. They have my signature attached to them, but they are not what I put into the system.

  I had printed out my notes to go over them with Lance and Dr. Davis. So at least I know I have the originals, but these are not them. Where I had given Harlow glowing reviews on his assessments, this imposter’s copy shows that he is lacking in many areas.

  “I… I don’t understand…” I falter, at the same time that I’m beginning to think I do.

  At first, I think that someone must have mistakenly switched my notes in Harlow’s file with those of a different patient. Then, broaching the possibility that it was something more nefarious, I begin to think that someone purposefully changed them.

  But then I realize that that “someone” was Dr. Davis. And the light must dawn in my eyes, because he nods his head at me knowingly.

  “Of course you understand,” he says. “You know exactly where Harlow stands. Even though you may have wanted to exaggerate how well he’s doing since you have a romantic interest in him. You know that’s not what’s best for the patient. You have to be truthful even when you wish the patients were doing better than they are.”

  “Dr. Davis, these are not my notes,” I begin to say, feeling my face redden with heat and anger.

  I was right about him all along, and I should have trusted my initial instincts. I’m determined to stand up to him.

  At first I thought he was lying about how far Harlow had come in his recovery but now I realize that for some reason he’s lying about how little progress Harlow has made. It makes no sense, but I’m certain I can get to the bottom of it.

  “Yes, they are your notes,” he says, leaning forward to glare at me. “And we can work this one of two ways. A way that’s good for you, or a way that’s bad for you.”

  He cocks his head to the side, to make sure I’m listening.

  “I’m sure you know that I have everyone in this place in my back pocket. They listen to anything and everything I say. So it all depends on how you want me to spin this. I can go out there and tell your boss that we had a nice chat and I appreciate the work you’ve done with Harlow but that you and I have decided he needs a higher level of treatment. I will give a glowing performance review and recommend that they keep you around here, for your ability to help Harlow as much as you could and to recognize when he needs very experienced care.”

  Dr. Davis clears his throat, and then continues.

  “Or I can go tell them that you don’t know what you’re doing, that you slowed down Harlow’s progress even more, and that you should be terminated immediately. And just what do you think they will do if I tell them that?”

  I look at him, but don’t say anything.

  I know they would terminate me. He’s right. He’s like a god around here and I’m a brand new intern.

  Now it makes sense as to why he chose me to work with Harlow. He thought he could intimidate me into doing whatever he wants. He’s since realized I won’t, but he doesn’t care because he knows they’ll never believe me over him. So he just threatens to get me fired if I dare challenge him.

  “Whitney? Are you all right? Or did our friendly little chat scare you?”

  I just sit here, not saying anything. I don’t know what there is to say at this point, as he’s clearly got me right where he wants me.

  “There, there,” he says, getting up from my desk and walking around to pat me on my shoulders. “I knew you’d see it my way. Everyone always does. I’ll just go out there and let them know that we had this nice little talk. I’ll go with Option A for the time being, but if I hear a protesting squeak out of you, I’ll be sure to have Plan B as a backup.”

  And with that, he leaves my office, taking my courage and dignity along with him.

  Chapter 37

  Even though I have to work for Dr. Davis today, I’m so happy I could whistle while I do it. I’m still on cloud nine from my night with Whitney, and looking forward to seeing her again. For once, I don’t even care that she’s been the subject of my every waking thought.

  And I’m also excited to talk to Dr. Davis about my physical therapy results. Whitney had mentioned a wrinkle— something about Dr. Davis thinking we shouldn’t work together— but I know I can iron it out. It must be a misunderstanding that a chat with Dr. Davis should easily clear up.

  When I go to knock on his door, he’s already in his office, and waves me in as if he was expecting me.

  “Hello Harlow,” he says, in a serious tone.

  “Hey Doc. What’s up? Were you able to talk with—”

  “With Whitney Reid?” He asks, with a knowing nod. “Yes, and as a matter of fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Okay, good,” I say, sitting down.

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Harlow,” he says, a frown spreading across his face. “But please don’t be mad at the messenger. Whitney has reported that your progress is slower than she would expect and that you need even more work than she is able to provide you with at this time, being a new intern and everything.”

  “She? What?”

  I can’t believe it. I have no idea what’s going on, but there has to be some explanation.

  “That’s not at all what she’s been saying to me,” I tell him, searching my mind to find some explanation.

  “Well, here it is in black and white,” he says, handing me my file. “And from what I’ve seen and heard at the facility, it appears that Ms. Reid has a little crush on you. So maybe she’s not as forthcoming with you as she was with me, or she just can’t help but tell you what you want to hear. She seems to me to be a little weak, like someone who always plays it safe. So who knows what she’s really thinking? People like that are squirrely.”

  I look down at the notes from Whitney, which definitely lay out a different story than she’s been telling me. She had said she had given me all 9’s and 10’s for aptitude but her charts document 2’s and 3’s at best. Her notes state that I’m basically incapable of doing anything I’m supposed to be able to do.

  I scratch my head, perplexed.

  “But Dr. Davis,” I protest, suddenly finding half my brain. “It’s not just that she told me I was able to do these things. It’s that, I was literally, actually, able to do them. I ran these distances in much shorter times than are shown here.”

  “According to whom?” Dr. Davis asks, raising his eyebrows at me.

  Fuck. Of course Whitney had been the one with the stopwatch. But why would she fudge my times? Why would she tell me I’m doing great, and tell Dr. Davis I’m doing so poorly?

&nb
sp; I know she didn’t lie about my progress. I know I’m in tip top shape, almost as good as I was before the accident. But obviously Dr. Davis doesn’t believe me because Whitney’s notes say differently. And why would they say differently?

  I stand up, angrily pushing my chair against Dr. Davis’ desk. I have to go talk some sense into her.

  “Look Harlow,” Dr. Davis says, clearing his throat. “I don’t know what’s going on with that girl but I have to give her the benefit of the doubt. You’ve been accusing me of holding you back but now her notes show that you’re not ready. So let’s just concentrate on going from here. You’re being re-assigned, and certainly another Physical Trainer will be able to give us some clarity. Some insight into this situation. Maybe the truth lies somewhere in between what Ms. Reid— who is obviously goo- goo- ga- ga over you— thinks your abilities are, and what you think your abilities are. We’ll find out soon enough, and we can address this head- on.”

  He’s right. Whitney must be telling me one thing— which I definitely think is the truth— and writing down another thing just to hold me back. She’s used to dating losers like Tony so maybe she was looking for a reason to keep me along longer. Maybe she doesn’t even want me to go back into the military because then I’ll have to go overseas.

  Talking to her isn’t going to do any good. I really was sleeping with the enemy.

  Now the events and outbursts the last time I saw Whitney were starting to add up. Dr. Davis must have found out how badly she reported that our sessions were going and started the process of switching me over to another physical therapist.

  Whitney was probably shocked he’d taken action against her, and was sure I’d find out. That’s why she was so nervous, and had tried to call things off with me.

  “All right,” I tell Dr. Davis, at a loss for anything better to say.

  I guess he wins. Whitney wins. Everyone wins but me.

  I storm out of his office, determined to never talk to Whitney again. I wish I never would have talked her into being with me in the first place.

  I never should have fallen for her, no matter how cute her damn ass is.

  Chapter 38

  Today is my dad’s birthday. And it’s also the day that Jesse Morrow, the airmen I met at the office, is having surgery. I feel that it’s fitting to swing by the hospital and honor Jesse’s request that I be there, before I honor my dad’s memory with my brothers.

  I hope that things go well for Jesse, because otherwise it’s been a sad time for me. I can’t help but wish that Whitney was here by my side. Then I have to remind myself that she’s the enemy.

  I tell the receptionist that I’m an employee of Dr. Davis’ and she lets me through to the surgery ward. Peering through the glass windows, I can see that Jesse is out of surgery, but just barely so. He looks groggy and is hooked up to machines.

  I open the door and gently slip inside. Dr. Davis isn’t here.

  “Hey there, buddy,” I say. “I brought you something.”

  It’s just a get well soon card, with a gift certificate to Dion’s Pizza, for when he’s feeling up to it. But he just stares at me blankly, as if he doesn’t recognize me.

  “I’m Harlow. We met recently?”

  He mumbles something, but I don’t think he’s very coherent.

  “Harlow!”

  I turn around to an angry Dr. Davis, opening the door behind me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Jesse asked me to come,” I explain, incredulous at his outburst. “Remember? You were there?”

  “But I never said that you could.” He looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him. “In fact, it’s a terrible idea.”

  “But… why?”

  “Harlow.”

  Dr. Davis shakes his head back and forth, as if at a loss for words.

  Finally he says, “Well isn’t it obvious? This is a surgery site. You’re not even wearing a mask. You could contaminate it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, feeling stupid. “But I just wanted to comfort him, because he was so scared.”

  “He has no idea you’re even here,” Dr. Davis snaps. “He’s on morphine.”

  His tone tells me that he thinks I’m an idiot. I peer again at Jesse’s bedside and notice all the IVs and tubes everywhere.

  Of course it was useless to come. If anything I should have come prior to his surgery, to reassure him one last time.

  “Well, is he going to be okay?” I ask.

  “He’s fine, Harlow. Please, get out of here.”

  “Will he be able to re- join his unit?”

  “Harlow.” Dr. Davis lets out an exasperated sigh. “You know there’s no way to know that yet. It is far too early.”

  “Okay. Well. Can you please let him know that I stopped by, and that I’ll be in touch?”

  Dr. Davis nods impatiently as I realize I don’t have Jesse’s contact information. Something tells me this isn’t the right time to ask for it.

  “Thanks. And I’ll just leave this card here for him.”

  I place it on his bedside table, beside other cards, flowers and balloons that are on display. I’m glad to know Jesse has other people cheering him on through his surgery.

  “Fine. I’ll see you later, Harlow,” Dr. Davis says, as he begins checking on Jesse’s medication.

  “See you later.”

  I walk back to the parking garage, trying to convince myself that I did everything I could to be here for Jesse. And also that there wasn’t something sinister about the way that Dr. Davis rushed me out of the room.

  Chapter 39

  I’m embarrassed that I turned into a puddle of quivering mud when Dr. Davis was in my office, but I’m back to being determined not to let him get away with this. I don’t know what he’s trying to pull, but I’m not going to let it happen.

  I just have to find a way to stop him that won’t jeopardize my job.

  I’ve been trying to call Harlow, but his voicemail just picks up without his phone ever even ringing. He obviously has it turned off.

  I panic, but then remind myself to stay rational. I haven’t called him before, and for all I know he leaves his phone turned off at work during the day the way I usually do, and then checks it later. I leave him a voicemail but decide that even though it’s urgent, that’s about the best I can do right now.

  So in the meantime, I go visit Lance.

  “Hey there, Hot Shot,” he says, as I enter his office.

  “What?”

  “Dr. Davis stopped by. He cleared up the little misunderstanding.”

  “Huh?”

  What now? I have stopped even trying to understand what’s going on.

  “Oh, you know, he just told us that you were concerned about working with Harlow and wanted to ensure he was getting the very best training possible.”

  “I…” I start to say, but Lance doesn’t let me get a word in edgewide.

  “I think it’s very professional of you, especially since I know what a raging girl- boner you have for him,” Lance continues. “Since you can’t trust your judgment, it’s best to pass him on. And I’m the one who has been assigned to work with him from now on. So thank you!”

  “Lance. You don’t understand. Listen to me…”

  My mind is racing, trying to figure out a way to make him believe me. I can’t just dump out all my information, as Lance might automatically head for Dr. Davis’ side of things.

  Nor can I tell Lance all about my suspicions here, as it’s clearly Dr. Davis’ territory and I don’t even know what he’s up to. He seems to know an awful lot about Harlow, and me, and Harlow and me together. For all I know, he’s got spies, or some sophisticated surveillance system or something.

  “I want to take you to lunch,” I tell him, knowing how much he loves lunch.

  Sushi, to be exact. “To Sushi Heaven. To celebrate your newest patient. Congratulations.”

  “Today?” he says, his hand over his mouth. “I need to check my schedule…”


  “Clear your schedule,” I order.

  “All right,” he says, not putting up much of a fight. “I can always make time for sushi.”

  Chapter 40

  A couple hours later, Lance and I are ordering spicy dragon tail and I’m armed with documentation.

  “Lance, I need to talk to you about something really important.”

  “And here I was thinking you were serious about simply celebrating with me,” Lance says, with a pout. But before I can feel too bad, he exchanges it for a smile. “Just kidding. I knew you wouldn’t be having sushi with me without an ulterior motive.”

  “I like sushi but as you know, this definitely isn’t my favorite place,” I say, looking around at the smudged walls and a pile of used take- out containers stashed on the counter instead of in the trash for some reason. I’ve voiced my concerns about it to Lance before but for reasons that will probably forever remain a mystery to me, he continues to like to eat here.

  “Well, thank you for at least giving me the rare pleasure of your company in this esteemed restaurant you consider a dump.”

  “Lance, I didn’t voluntarily pass Harlow onto you,” I confess. “And Dr. Davis is saying that I think he isn’t making progress.”

  Lance crinkles his nose but doesn’t say anything.

  “You know that isn’t true, Lance. You came to one of our sessions.”

  Thank goodness, I think, even though at the time I was less than happy about him showing up.

  He slowly nods. “To be fair, though,” he says, with a shrug, “I only observed for a short amount of time, from a distance, and I only didn’t calculate his speed or anything like that. That was all you, girlfriend.”

  “Lance. Listen to yourself. Do you really think I’d make that up? Lie about his progress? Why?”