Dr. NEUROtic

by Max Monroe

  Hot damn. Dr. Raines had one hell of a view. It was so good that I immediately thought he’d be a fool to leave this city—with this fantastic fucking office—for a job on the West Coast.

  I mean, LA was great, but it wasn’t this.

  Trust me, I knew well enough. I’d spent most of 2013 in the City of Angels.

  The click of the knob caught my attention, and I turned quickly, trying to look calmly professional from my position behind someone else’s desk. A man dressed in a white medical coat, black slacks, a baby blue collared shirt and a matching tie strode inside, and I straightened my spine. He wasn’t just any man—he was a tasty treat of striking brown eyes, five-day-old scruff, and a strong jawline that sculptors would spend their whole lives trying to recreate.

  Basically, if this was Nick Raines, he was sexy as fuck. Most forty-year-old neurosurgeons looked like they’d been run over a few times by a van thanks to unforgiving schedules, unreal pressure, and a stubborn inability to delegate.

  But I knew from experience, the pretty ones were sometimes the biggest assholes, and if I were really lucky, misogynistic to boot. I’d have to be ready because fuck if Charlotte Hollis was going to let a man run her down.

  “Charlotte Hollis?” he asked, his voice rough with the stress and weariness I’d found missing from his appearance, but welcoming all the same. I moved forward from the window and rounded the desk until I wasn’t on his side of the territory anymore.

  “I am,” I said with a small smile. “You must be Dr. Raines.”

  Please say yes.

  “I am.” I couldn’t ignore the waves of satisfaction that filled my belly.

  Well, hello, Doctor.

  He offered a friendly smile and held out his hand.

  Obviously, I took it willingly. “It’s a pleasure, Dr. Raines,” I said. “I hope you’ll excuse me for shamelessly enjoying your view.”

  I honestly wasn’t sure if I was talking about the window or him. Probably both.

  “No apology necessary.” He waved me off with a nonchalant hand. “Considering I spend most of my time either in the OR or in patient exam rooms, I’m thankful at least someone is able to enjoy it.”

  I grinned. A neurosurgeon who wasn’t overtly possessive of his property and ideals? Maybe unicorns do exist. “That’s a shame.”

  “I know, right?” he teased and shrugged out of his white medical jacket. “If someone would go scatter some brains out there, they might let me look every once in a while.”

  I barked a laugh, and he winced. “I guess that’s a little gory, huh?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Funny, though.”

  Visible lines of lean and toned muscles strained and stretched beneath his baby blue dress shirt.

  Good Lord, this man did not fit the bill for a surgeon.

  No time to look out the window, but you must have time to work out, I see.

  I pinched my wrist to wake myself up. I’d come this close to saying that out loud.

  But the more I stared at his friendly face with a contrastingly hard jaw, the more I realized who he kind of resembled. Henry fucking Cavill. If his eyes were blue instead of brown, the likeness would have been good enough to fool a few gullible people.

  “Please take a seat,” he said, and I followed his instruction, sitting down in the leather chair in front of his desk. All the while, I fought internally between looking away like a professional and gawking at his body as he walked around his desk and sat down like a predator stalking its prey.

  I managed about a half a second of looking at his tile floor.

  “What can I help you with today?” He sat in the chair behind his desk and rolled it forward, leaning back with his elbows on the armrests. I watched his body melt into the leather as if it was maybe the first time he’d sat down all day.

  He raised an eyebrow when I didn’t answer immediately, too busy critiquing his buttery body to remember not to be an idiot.

  I sat straighter instead of fidgeting, even though I wanted to desperately, and dove into my spiel.

  “One of the youngest Chiefs of Neurosurgery in the country and a physician with a surgical record better than most general surgeons, you’ve made a hell of an impression in your field,” I began, complimenting his achievements before getting to the job opportunity. “And ever since you took on the position at St. Luke’s, their Neurology Department has increased profits by two hundred percent. That’s an incredible list of accomplishments.”

  “I guess it is, yeah.” He shrugged, seemingly lacking in the normal surgeon ego I was accustomed to dealing with. Was this guy really that humble? Or was he just that tired? I mean, I personally became a raging toddler when I was overexhausted, but maybe he just mellowed.

  “How long are you planning on staying at St. Luke’s?”

  “Permanently.”

  I quirked a brow. “So, you have no interest in other job opportunities that might bring you more money and opportunity for state-of-the-art growth?”

  “I guess that depends.”

  Ah, yes! Everyone had a weakness. My inner cheerleader did a Herkie.

  It’s a jump where your legs do unnatural things, okay?

  And give me a break. It was high school.

  “On what?” Mentally, I started categorizing what Kennedy was prepared to offer and where they could bend to make themselves undeniably appealing. Every company had a starting salary they wanted me to drive, but normally, they also had an extra twenty percent of wiggle room to get the job done.

  “Location.”

  Okay, fuck. It had to be the one thing I can’t change, didn’t it?

  “Kennedy Medical Center is a brand-new hospital, and they are extremely impressed by your career. They think you would be the perfect fit for the Neurology Department, and they are ready and willing to compensate you well if you join their team.”

  “Compensate me well? How much are we talking about here?”

  I weighed the options in my mind and decided gambling with a number on the higher end of what Kennedy was willing to do was necessary. They wanted this guy. He was either going to be convinced by the money or not, but they were going to need to bring their best offer to have any hope. “Nearly double your current salary.”

  “Double my current salary? I had no idea that kind of information was public knowledge,” he challenged.

  “It’s not,” I explained with a wink.

  He chuckled outright. “Friends in high places?”

  I shrugged. “I guess you could say it’s something like that.”

  “Well, I’m intrigued.” He laughed a little to himself. “Double money is never a bad thing.”

  No kidding.

  “But like I said before, it all depends on location,” he went on. “I don’t want to relocate anywhere that’s more than forty minutes from New York, and I have a feeling Kennedy Medical Center isn’t located anywhere near here.” His voice was firm, and my heart sank. She’s going down by the keel, Captain!

  “It’s actually located on the West Coast. Los Angeles, to be specific.”

  He shook his head. “That won’t work at all.”

  I narrowed my eyes, determined. I hated not closing a deal. “What if I told you they would give you a fifteen-million-dollar budget for neurosurgery research and clinical trials?”

  His brows shot up in surprise. “Fifteen million dollars?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “And you’d have the final say in what that money went toward.”

  “Wow.”

  “It’s quite the opportunity.”

  “It is,” he agreed, but I could tell by the lilt of his eyes that he was just humoring me.

  I’d grown extremely talented at reading people, and I could read Nick Raines. He had a reason for being in New York; I didn’t know what it was, but it was a priority. More important than money. I discreetly glanced at his left ring finger and found no evidence of marriage. Instant relief filled and relaxed my stomach.

  “I could do incredibl
e things with that research budget. It would be a strong ally in a clinical trial I’ve been trying to get the FDA to push through, but I can’t move to LA.”

  “Would you like some time to think about it?” I asked, but I already knew his answer. With the firm lines of his jaw and clear, unmarred color of his brown eyes, Nick Raines was steadfast in his choice.

  With two determined shakes of his head, he further explained—something someone less amiable than him never would have bothered to do. “My daughter is in New York, and she is my top priority.”

  His daughter.

  This man was leaving one hell of a career opportunity on the table for his daughter. I was equal parts endeared and impressed. It was a noble choice. The right choice. No career should ever come before family—no matter how amazing the opportunity might be.

  “Well, Kennedy Medical Center will be severely disappointed, but I can’t say I am. Good for you. Your daughter is lucky.”

  He smiled softly, but there was a sharp edge to it that I couldn’t understand—obviously didn’t have the right to. Still, I was curious.

  “If they were a few thousand miles closer, I would have strongly considered, but LA is just way too far.”

  “Understandable,” I acquiesced.

  Normally, I would’ve shaken his hand and gone about my day, but something about him wouldn’t let go. I wanted to know more about him. And not just his job. “What time is it?” I asked, and he glanced at his watch.

  “A little after five.”

  “No wonder I’m hungry.” I slapped my hands down onto my thighs and grinned. “What are you in the mood for?”

  “Huh?”

  “To eat?”

  “Uh…” He glanced around the room, confused. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t planned on eating yet—”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll get your appetite on the way,” I said and stood from my chair with my briefcase in hand. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “To dinner.”

  Internally, I sighed. I’d been impressed by her willingness to accept the decision I’d made and move on. Most headhunters were relentless nags no matter how many times you said no, and I’d actually believed she was different—soft and forgiving of real human problems and circumstances and as pretty on the inside as she so visibly was on the outside. Fuck, she’s pretty on the outside.

  Obviously, that was a ruse.

  “Look, I really appreciate the offer of the job, and the time you had to take out of your day to come here and try to woo me, but as I told you, I have more here to consider than a salary and helping other people. My daughter is here. I’m not going.”

  Her smile ratcheted up, and the creases of confusion at the corners of my eyes only deepened.

  “Good. Let’s eat.”

  “Ms. Hol—”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Charlotte,” I acquiesced. “I don’t know how I can be any clearer on this—”

  “Nick,” she called, almost teasingly. The left side of my chest contracted at the friendly familiarity. “I’ve got it. You don’t want the job. But I want a burger, and based on the tired lines on your face and wrinkled clothes, you’re at the end of a long shift, probably without food, and you could use one too. So grab your wallet or your purse or whatever the fuck it is you carry, and let’s roll.”

  “My purse?” I asked roughly.

  She shrugged. “How would I know what you’re into?”

  “I don’t carry a purse,” I assured. It obviously didn’t matter, but for some reason, it felt like I needed to deny it. I couldn’t quite explain the feeling of insecurity. Maybe I was just discombobulated by her lighthearted nature. For the last three years, almost everyone I talked to knew my past and carried it in every word, expression, and interaction they had with me.

  The tiny hint of her breasts that peeked through the top of her blouse heaved, and sensation tingled in the tip of my dick.

  Okay, maybe it’s not as complicated as expectations and tiresome interactions. Maybe it’s just my lower brain.

  “Oh,” she hummed, turning to close up her soft-leather briefcase in the seat of her vacated chair, her blond hair falling down in front of her face in a cascade. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” I agreed awkwardly. I honestly hadn’t made small talk with a woman that didn’t include aneurysms and traumatic brain injury in at least a year, and apparently, all of my parts—aside from my penis—and tools had a light coating of flaky rust. “Listen, I really don’t have to come with you to dinner—”

  Her head flicked up, and her hair flared out in an arc as she did. “Would you stop trying to blow me off? It’s getting kind of insulting.”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks at her offense. I hadn’t intended to make her feel bad. I’d just been trying to let her off the hook. Luckily, the heavy scruff roughening the line of my jaw would serve valiantly as camouflage.

  “I’m sorry. Dinner. Sounds good. Where are we going?”

  “Second Ave.”

  “Jesus,” I said, my eyebrows pulling together. “The East Side, huh?” At this time, there’d just about have to be an act of God to convince me to trek across town on my own.

  She smiled teasingly, and at the tightening of both my chest and my pants, I decided this was probably as close to me as God intended to come. “Yes, Nick. That is where Second Ave. is.”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed my suit jacket from the hook behind me, slinging it over my shoulders as I asked, “What’s over there?”

  “Cornerstone Tavern.”

  “Good burgers?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Perplexed, I froze, hands to the button of my jacket, before putting it through the hole. “You don’t know?”

  “Nope.”

  This woman was fucking crazy. She specifically said she wanted a burger and picked a place all the way on the East Side, and she didn’t even know if they had the relief to her craving. Maybe I was letting my hormones talk me into something I shouldn’t.

  “Look, Charlotte—”

  “You ready?” she cut me off to ask. Her delicate fingers curled around the handle of her briefcase and flexed as she waited for my response. Her other hand shot to the door handle and started to turn.

  Her eyes danced with both mischief and mystery, and despite her ability to make me feel completely uncomfortable, something about their color called to me. A dark blue-green, rimmed with even darker midnight, they were both roguish and appealing at once.

  With a quick pat to my pockets to confirm I had my keys, wallet, and phone, I nodded. “Yeah.”

  I guess I’m fucking crazy too.

  Around the desk and out the door, I flicked the light switch off as we left and allowed her to take the lead as we made our way down the hall from my office, down the stairs in the lobby, past the main desk, and out the front doors into the bustling energy of rush hour in Manhattan.

  Horns blared, a sharp whistle sounded, and a taxi swerved to a stop right in front of us. I jumped back and moved to pull Charlotte a step with me, but her body held firm. It was only then that I noticed Charlotte’s fingers, curled into the clutch of her mouth, and her other hand in the air.

  This taxi wasn’t a near accident; she’d hailed the fucker practically before we’d stepped out the door.

  I nodded, flexing the corners of my lips as my eyebrows moved up. “Impressive.”

  “Thank you,” she cooed with a giant smile as she opened the door and slid into the faux leather seat. I stepped off of the curb and into the open space of the door to follow, but she stopped. Her eyes danced as she looked up at me. “Some people train for marathons. I trained to be a world-record taxi hailer.”

  I laughed. “Really?”

  She cackled, outright and brazen, the volume of her downright obnoxious laugh nearly knocking me on my ass. I felt one corner of my mouth curve upward involuntarily.

 
; Why is that hideous laugh so attractive?

  “No, not really. Geez, Nick. You sure are gullible for someone so science-minded.”

  I immediately thought of Lexi. She’d been the majority of my female contact outside of work for a couple of years now, and everything she said was fact. There wasn’t a need to read between the lines or interpret the joke. It just was. I supposed that had largely impaired my ability to detect sarcasm.

  Instead of giving Charlotte all of those details, I bit the pride bullet and admitted a fault. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  “Good. I like that. It’s entertaining.”

  I smirked and climbed inside the car, shutting the door at my side, and she told the cabbie where we were headed.

  Her lively eyes came back to mine, and her body turned toward me, the skin of her bare knees just barely brushing against the thin wool fabric covering mine. “I wouldn’t get too used to the gullible version of me. I’m a quick learner.”

  “I just bet you are, Mr. Brain Surgeon,” she agreed smartly, seeming to transform from working professional to fun companion right before my eyes. Coral painted lips gave way to a nearly perfect white smile—just one bottom tooth jutted slightly out of line.

  At the strange compulsion to put my hand to her knee, I clasped it with the other one and settled them in my lap. Not only was it completely unprofessional, it was dangerous. This Charlotte seemed to attack life, and that kind of sirenlike vibrancy screamed of trouble.

  “So…” she started, only to pause until my eyes lifted from their carefully focused spot on my lap and met hers. “You have a daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does that mean you have a wife?”

  I smiled. I thought I’d seen the sparkle of a lure in the water when she’d challenged me to turn down her dinner invitation again, but I hadn’t believed it. Just like with sarcasm, I was entirely out of practice in the art of flirting. I’d messed up so badly when Winnie had told me she was pregnant and I’d gotten the job offer in California. Our relationship had ended after that, and it’d taken me years to get back the time I’d lost with my daughter. Hell, I was still working hard to get back that time, to nurture and strengthen our relationship.