So Much Trouble: Bad Boy Forbidden Love Romance Collection (So Wrong It's Right Book 4)

by Jamie Knight

  I had gotten into woodworking by accident, a very long time ago. I was visiting a college colleague, Tom, who was also a fertility specialist but worked at the hospital.

  I walked up to the nursing station and asked where Tom was. The on call nurse didn't even look up from her computer screen that she was staring at and pointed towards a room with an open door.

  I walked in and found Tom sitting with a patient.

  "I am so sorry," I said, starting to back out of the room.

  "It's okay," said the little girl.

  She wore what had to be the curliest, blondest wig I'd ever seen.

  "Are you Dr. James' friend?" she asked, nodding toward Tom.

  "Yes," I said, taken in by her big, brown eyes and her unusually bubbly demeanor.

  "Look at the cool present that he gave me," she said, opening her hand and showing me a toy soldier on a rocking horse made of wood.

  I was mesmerized by the detail of the simple toy that clearly brought her so much joy and asked her if I could hold it.

  Tom later shared with me that the little girl, Sara, was disabled and had problems with extra fidgety movements of her hands. Fiddling with the rocking horse helped give her something to do and made her feel less self-conscious about her necessary habit. My heart dropped when I learned that there were many other children who shared the same story.

  Tom explained to me that as a fertility doctor, we would encounter children with disabilities when we followed up with the babies who were born. There was a slightly higher rate for birth defects when children are conceived via IVF – especially when multiple embryos implant and the risk of twins, triplets, or higher multiple pregnancies rises, leading to premature birth. But all doctors who encounter babies have to deal with birth defects, of course, so it wasn’t something specific to my fertility field.

  Ever since then, I dedicated time to learning how to create similar toys. I gave them out to all the children who were born as a result of my work. All of them said that they loved the toys because they could use their imaginations.

  But children with disabilities were able to enjoy the toys made with specific intent. Children with autism, for example, loved the wooden wind chimes since they made funny sounds that fulfilled their auditory sensory-seeking impulses, and they also liked the pencils with special grips that helped them write.

  After meeting Sara, whenever I would find out that there was a child with a disability, I would make a wooden toy especially for them, that would help with whatever it was that they were struggling with.

  It made my heart happy to see them so happy with something that I could create with my own hands.

  Today, I sat working on a new set of wind chimes for another patient of Tom's. We were still in touch and he told me about his cases just as I told him about mine, and we helped make toys for each others’ patients. I was hoping that the woodworking would help me keep my mind off Anne.

  Even that didn't work, though. Every time I smoothed out an edge with my fingers, I would think of how nice and supple my fingers felt against Anne's soft skin.

  I threw the chimes into a drawer and decided that I would go into the office and get some work done instead. Surely being around my colleagues and patients would help me to keep my mind on something other than Anne.

  I walked into the office and Joe, another doctor that I worked with, looked at me, surprised.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice going up a few octaves higher than normal.

  "What? You mean to tell me that you've never seen a doctor work around here?" I asked, jokingly.

  He chuckled, and said, “I just don’t know why anyone would come in if they’re not scheduled to work and therefore don’t have to.”

  It was true; I was a workaholic, but I didn’t care. I loved my work.

  Joe then walked off in the other direction, looking for something to busy himself with. I didn't like that my colleagues looked at me like a boss and often didn't even like making small talk with me, but I did appreciate the fact that they respected me and our practice enough to make sure that we upheld a high standard of professionalism.

  A standard that threatened to come crumbling down if I kept insisting on thinking about Anne and being inappropriate with her. I wasn't quite sure why I thought that revisiting the scene of the incident was going to be for the best, but there I was, surrounded by the walls of the rooms where I had finger fucked my patient.

  And loved every minute of it.

  I had a feeling that Anne loved it, too. The way that her pussy creamed all over my hand told me that she had to have enjoyed it on some level. I loved thinking back to how her juices had run out of her pussy, flowing onto my hand as she moaned quietly, so that we wouldn’t be heard.

  It had been hot and taboo. I knew that she had enjoyed it.

  But something else told me that she was holding back, and not just for reasons of not wanting to get found out. I knew that the doctor/ patient relationship between us probably had something to do with it, but I had this burning feeling that it was something else.

  What could it have been?

  I wracked my brain trying to think of an answer.

  Was there someone she was into, even after giving me that speech about how she had sworn off men forever?

  Maybe she was protesting too much, and there really had been a guy in the picture that she was interested in but trying to stay away from.

  Had he become her boyfriend by now? I had to know.

  I wasn’t usually so possessive or intrigued in a woman’s personal life. I couldn’t care less who the women I hooked up with usually dated and was glad that they had a life outside of me so that they wouldn’t get too clingy.

  But now I was driven by impulse to find out everything I could about Anne and make sure that no one else was claiming her. Because I wanted to claim her.

  I found her file in the computer and jotted down the phone number listed, on a notepad that was beside the phone.

  It took me a few minutes of talking myself into calling her before I finally dialed the number on the office phone.

  She picked up after a few rings.

  "Hello?" came her faint voice on the other end of the phone.

  "Uh, hey there. It's Dr. Roberts... Ted..."

  I took a deep breath, almost afraid to go on.

  "Yes?" she said, her voice curious and hesitant.

  "I was calling because... I was looking through your records and... would you like to go on a date with me?"

  There.

  I'd said it.

  I waited for what seemed like an eternity for her to answer.

  After a few moments, she finally responded.

  "Actually, I'm really busy at the moment and will be for quite some time, so..."

  "Remember what you were telling me in the office about what you want? This is your chance to see through something that could be incredible. Don't you want to at least give yourself a chance?"

  I couldn’t believe I was practically begging her to go out with me. This wasn’t my normal style, at all. She had really done a number on me. But I didn’t care; I knew she felt something for me, just like I felt something for her, and I was determined to find out where it would lead.

  I could tell that she was thinking about what I was saying.

  She knew that I was right.

  "Well, okay," she finally agreed.

  "Trust me, I understand your hesitation. But I also know what it's like to eat every meal alone and wish that you had someone to share it with. I know what it's like to reach incredible heights in your career and be standing all alone up there on top of that mountain you’d spent so long climbing. I'm not saying that this is the end all, be all, the answer to your prayers and dreams. What am I saying is that I can promise you a good meal and great company if you're open to it."

  "That sounds like a great start," she said, beginning to sound more confident. "What day works for you?"

  I looked at my calendar.


  Every evening was available after work, as I hadn’t managed to bring myself to schedule any dates or hook ups ever since I’d met Anne, but that sounded fucking pathetic. I didn't want to seem too available and scare her off.

  But I didn't want to wait another minute to see her.

  "What about right now?" I asked, waiting breathlessly and impatiently for her answer.

  My finger had been inside her.

  Now I wanted my cock inside her, too.

  And I knew she wanted more of me.

  She just had to give in to what we both wanted, just as I had decided to do, consequences be damned.

  Chapter Six - Anne

  I had been sitting in my office going through my mail when Dr. Roberts called. I was expecting a very important court decision to come in on a case for which I had done a lot of work and fought hard for. The court was very backlogged, and its decision still hadn't come.

  What did come, though, was a letter for an Ann McAlister. I always got letters for her because we had the same name. Only hers was spelled differently than mine, her first name without the 'e' and her last name without the second “l,” like mine had.

  I would have thought that people would have paid more attention when delivering the mail, but they didn't. So, at first I had started sending back mail, in the hopes that Ann would get the mail that she was expecting, instead of me.

  I wrote 'Return to Sender' on a couple letters and dropped them in the mail box right outside the office building, but then after a few more came, I realized that this Ann had the same address, just a different floor and suite number. It was starting to make more sense as to why the post office would mix up our mail, since it came to the same address.

  As it turned out, she worked on the twenty-third floor. What are the chances that that Ann McAlister, a CPA, worked in the same office building as I did? It really was a small world.

  So, ever since I figured that out, I’ve been walking the letters up to her floor and slipping them through the mail slot in her office door. She has done the same for me a few times, because apparently, they misdeliver my mail to her, too.

  Just as I was about to walk the letter up to her floor this time around, so that I could slip it through the other Ann’s slot, the phone rang.

  And that was how I got to be where I was now: wondering if I should go on a date with my fertility doctor.

  "How about now?" Dr. Roberts asked, waiting for my answer.

  I realized that I had taken more time than I probably should have to answer his question.

  “Sure,” I said, putting the letter under my arm.

  “Alright,” he said, sounding satisfied. “What’s your address?”

  I told him I was at work and gave him my office address.

  “Oooh, swanky building; you weren’t kidding about climbing that ladder of opportunity at work.”

  I laughed, remembering how he’d just told me he knows what it feels like to be successful but lonely. It was strange, how much we had in common.

  “I’ll be over in a few,” he added.

  I said okay and hung up the phone. I could feel the nerves starting to build up within me, making me feel like butterflies were fluttering around in my belly.

  The walk up to the twenty-third floor was going to be a welcomed distraction. I could kill two birds with one stone: help me kill some time and make sure that Ann got her letter sooner rather than later.

  Once I got up to the twenty-third floor, I noticed that it was completely empty. I was hoping to find Ann McAlister herself, as I hoped every time I made this journey to deliver her mail – I wondered whether we looked alike, too, since we had the same name and that would be even more coincidental – but she was never here and I realized that very few people hung around work after hours. Most people had lives and families to get home to. Not me, the childless, career-driven wonder.

  Oh well, so she wasn’t here again. But I figured that at least I had come to her office to stick the letter in the mail slot, which felt like my good deed for the day, to return the favors she’d paid me and make sure she got her mail. I quickly deposited the letter and went back downstairs to wait for Dr. Roberts.

  I mean Ted, I thought to myself, as I stood there waiting for him.

  I guessed since we were going on a date, I could think of him by his first name.

  I couldn’t think of the last time that I had stopped in the lobby of my office building. I was always so busy while I was breezing through it, on my way to court or to a meeting with opposing counsel or lunch with a colleague or client, that I hadn’t ever noticed the beautiful Victorian design of the wood and the soft candle sconces along the wall.

  It gave the lobby something of a romantic feel.

  And Ted was right: this was a swanky office building. My firm was one of the biggest and best in town, and we had a reputation to uphold.

  At least all my long nights of work had helped afford the firm the opportunity to pay a small fortune to lease office space in this building. And it didn’t hurt that I was also paid very handsomely – though probably not as handsomely as Ted.

  I had to admit to myself that I couldn’t get him off my mind ever since that crazy incident in his office. I had Googled him and found out he had founded and built quite a few fertility clinics and was ranked as one of the best specialists nationally.

  I also couldn’t help but notice an entry on his Wikipedia page that said he was a self-made billionaire thanks to his impressive research in the fertility field, for which he worked with pharmaceutical companies and scientists, as well as for the clinics he owned and managed.

  When I had looked him up, I hadn’t expected he would call and ask me out. I thought we were both embarrassed by what happened and trying to forget about it – even though I certainly couldn’t.

  How could it be that the handsome, smart, successful doctor who had fingered me during my appointment and who now wanted to take me on a date was also so unbelievably rich? It felt like my luck was too good to be true, and so I had initially told Ted I was too busy to date him, because I hadn’t wanted to get my hopes up, only to have them crash hard.

  But he was too hard to resist, especially when he was telling me that he could fulfill my dreams.

  What girl could say no to a guy like that?

  Still, it seemed completely unreal.

  So, when a limo pulled up to the doors, I blinked a few times to make sure that I hadn’t been daydreaming.

  A driver wearing white gloves came over and opened the lobby doors. He peeked around until he saw me standing in the dimly lit hallway with my jaw almost touching the floor.

  “Ms. McAllister?” he asked, extending his gloved hand in my direction.

  “Yes,” I said, so quietly that almost I didn’t hear myself.

  “Right this way,” he said, beckoning for me to follow him.

  My legs felt like bricks as I tried walking the short distance from the lobby to the front door.

  There were no other cars on the street except for the limo. The driver opened the door and Dr. Roberts sat inside. He was dressed in a sleek, black suit and had two champagne glasses in his hands.

  "Join me," he said, smiling his charming smile. I slid into the limo, still not able to find my voice.

  I looked around the limo at the bright lights and remembered the last time that I had ridden in a limo.

  It had been prom night and my date had left me to run off with one of the cheerleaders.

  This already seemed to be a more promising evening.

  "Wow, this is amazing," I finally said, after the limo had pulled off and turned the corner.

  Dr. Roberts just glanced at me and smiled again. He looked at me in a way that told me that he was searching every bit of me and liked what he saw.

  "My dear, this is only the beginning," he said, mystically.

  My mind started reeling, wondering what he could have meant.

  It wasn't very long before I got my answer.

&nbs
p; The limo came to a screeching halt at the majestic entry way to Central Park. Dr. Roberts got out of the limo, tipped the driver, and then walked around to my door. He opened the door and extended his arm to me like a real-life fairytale prince.

  "Your chariot awaits," he said, pointing to a horse-drawn carriage a few yards away from where we stood.

  He snapped his fingers and a stringed quartet started playing soft, romantic music as he guided me the short distance to the carriage. He helped me inside and got in himself.

  "I've never been in a carriage before," I admitted, more thinking aloud than anything.

  It was all very romantic and sweet. Tears started to well up in my eyes as I took in everything that was happening. Dr. Roberts touched my cheek, looking like he was going to cry himself. But of course he didn’t. He was too alpha for that.

  “We’ve got one more stop to make,” he said, pulling his cell phone out of his jacket pocket.

  The clicking of the heels of the horse accented the air as the smooth music of the strings faded into the distance. I would have been happy riding around in the park in the carriage. I had never experienced something so thoughtful and romantic. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect next.

  “Yes, hello. This is Dr. Roberts. Is everything set? We will be pulling up shortly. I just want to make sure that no one else will be at the restaurant except for my guest and me.”

  I leaned in closer to see what I could hear, now curious about his plan. I could hear someone talking fast on the other end of the phone, but I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

  “Well, sure, the wait staff I expect to be there,” he said, laughing. “I’ll see you all soon.”

  He hung up the phone, slid it back into his jacket pocket, and turned towards me.

  “I hope that you like Italian food,” he said.

  “What’s not to like?” I asked, incredulously. “It’s actually my absolute favorite kind of food. There’s a really awesome restaurant around the corner with some of the best pasta that you will ever eat.”

  “Oh?” he asked, casually. “We’ll have to go there sometime.”

  I leaned back, becoming more impressed with this thoughtful, attentive man who was showing me a wonderful time.