The Girl Who Doesn't Quit (Soulless Book 12)

by Victoria Quinn

  “You’re young too.”

  “Yes. But I don’t share the same excitement for it.”

  “Really?”

  His eyes narrowed on me before he pulled the glass closer. “Why is that surprising?”

  “Um, isn’t that what every guy lives for?”

  “I prefer to be in a relationship, honestly. When I was in my early twenties, it was a little different, but that scene gets old quickly. Same pickup lines. Same flirtatious conversations. Same superficial bullshit. In order to experience the complexities of a person, the really interesting stuff, you need to know them better. When the mind is as involved in the connection as the body, the physical aspects are a lot more satisfying.”

  I had to stare at him for a few seconds because I was stunned by what he’d said. “Okay, you gotta help me out here. You just said you don’t date and you aren’t looking for anything serious.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So, your only option is a one-night stand.”

  “Which are fine.”

  “But you don’t actually like them.”

  He took a drink. “I’m a man. I gotta get something, right? I’ll lose my mind if I don’t.”

  “Then why don’t you just date? You’ve got a woman on the way right now.”

  “It’s complicated.” He looked into his glass and swirled it.

  “Well, I’m pretty smart, so I’ll probably follow.”

  “In order to be in a good relationship, you have to connect. I never connect with anyone.”

  “But if you’ve been in a relationship before, then you’ve obviously connected with someone.”

  “Just once.”

  “And I guess that ended?”

  “No, we’re still together.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Enough about me.” He raised his glass and pointed at me. “Why are you a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of woman?”

  “Because there are so many dicks and so little time.”

  He gave a slight smile. “I’m serious.”

  I shrugged before I pulled my drink closer. “I’m not trying to rush it. If I find the right guy, I’ll know, and we’ll do the whole relationship thing. But I’m not in a hurry to find him. I’m not in a hurry to settle down. I’m not thinking about my baby clock. I’m just living my life to the fullest.”

  “And you’ve never found a guy to get you to slow down?”

  “Well…once.”

  “Are you still together?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

  I rolled my eyes again. “It was like a year and a half ago. Poker player.”

  “Really?” he asked in interest. “Did you meet at a tournament?”

  “Yes. I took his money, and he asked me out afterward.”

  “Romantic,” he said with a chuckle.

  “I tried to keep it casual, but he said he wanted more, though it was all bullshit. He just wanted to tie me down until he got bored with me. I fell for him hard…and he broke my heart.” I dropped eye contact and brought my drink to my lips, reliving that moment I’d gotten dumped on the phone, on the goddamn sidewalk, while my family waited in the restaurant.

  He turned serious once he read the sorrow on my face. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry about yours too.”

  He looked down at his drink.

  The music played overhead, but it felt silent between us, tense like we were in the office working on our patients. Neither one of us knew what to say to circumvent the heaviness of the topic.

  “So, what’s it like working with my dad?”

  He raised his chin and looked at me, his features tightening in consternation. “An honor.”

  “Come on, I’m being serious.”

  “I mean it. He’s the most brilliant, dedicated, hardworking person I’ve ever met.”

  “He told me he thinks you’re smarter than him.”

  “Not true.” He tilted his head back and took a drink. “At a certain level of intellect, it can’t really be quantified. I graduated high school a couple years younger than he did, have more PhDs and residencies than he does, but that doesn’t mean anything. I was the new star on the scene, but it’s just because I was given the spotlight.”

  “I guess you aren’t as arrogant as I thought.”

  “No, I am,” he said quickly. “Just not in this regard.”

  I chuckled. “At least you’re honest.”

  “When I got a position at your father’s company, I was unsurprised. But when he personally invited me to work with him side by side, I couldn’t believe it. When I was a boy, I was watching his videos online, following his career, fantasizing about having a Nobel of my own. They say you should never meet your heroes because you’ll always be disappointed. Well, Dr. Hamilton is a lot more than I ever imagined he would be.”

  My eyes softened and my heart turned to pudding as I listened, immensely proud of the man who raised me, of the man who would always be my role model. Despite his success, he was so humble, and the only reason his Nobel Prize hung on the wall was because Mom insisted. His identity didn’t come from his success but his drive to help people. He would come home miserable when he lost a patient—every single time.

  “You’re very lucky to have that man as your father.” When he looked at me, his expression was different, his gaze more intense than it’d ever been before. It even seemed like there was a hint of envy there.

  “I know.”

  “I can tell he’s a good dad.”

  “Oh, the best.” I shook my head, unable to verbalize the testimonials I could share with him. “It didn’t matter how busy he was. He always dropped his life’s work for us. And we never had any pressure to be ambitious or have successful careers. I could have been anything else, and he would have loved me the same. I would still be his favorite.”

  He gave a slight smile. “That’s beautiful.”

  “What are your parents like?”

  He held my gaze, and the affection in his eyes slowly faded, darkening to midnight.

  “Atlas?” A feminine voice emerged beside me.

  A cute blonde stood there, wearing a skintight dress and with big tits. She glanced at me, a little cold, and then looked at Atlas again. If he weren’t a hunk, she probably would have just walked out when she saw him talking to someone else, but she was definitely determined to fight for him.

  I respected that. I’d fight for a guy I wanted.

  “Yes.” He extended his hand to shake hers. “Lovely to meet you.”

  Her eyes lit up at the sound of his British accent. “Lydia.”

  Been there, done that.

  I grabbed my drink. “Well, I gave it my best shot. Guess I’ll find another guy…” I stepped away after making Atlas seem to be in high demand and moved behind Lydia.

  His eyes shifted to mine.

  I gestured with my hands, showing her big tits and curvy frame as I mouthed, “She’s hot.” I gave him two thumbs up.

  He couldn’t hide his smile.

  10

  Atlas

  I skipped the workout that morning and went to the lab early.

  It was hard to juggle all my responsibilities, so I had to cut deeper and deeper into my sleep and play catch-up on the weekend. I got all the machines going before I headed down the hallway and made my way into my office.

  A few hours later, Dr. Hamilton knocked on my open door. “I can tell you’ve been here a while.”

  “Early bird gets the worm, right?”

  He stood in front of my desk in his dark blue hoodie and jeans. “I don’t mind doing my part, Atlas.”

  “And I don’t mind coming in early. You were gracious enough to keep me at part time.”

  “I would do it for any of my employees. You’re doing great things with your time. That’s all I care about.”

  “It’s really no big deal. You’ve got a company to run.”

  “No. My wife has a company to run.”

  I closed my laptop and put it to the side
. “She’s the CEO?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “And she does a much better job than I do. It allows me to focus on the things I care about, while trusting someone to keep the company going in the right direction.”

  “That’s a nice partnership.”

  “Yeah, she’s great. The only person I could have settled down with. If we hadn’t met, I’d probably be a terminal bachelor.”

  “You guys must have a lot in common, then?”

  He shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Oh.” That was surprising, but I tried not to be rude.

  He took a seat in the armchair in front of my desk. “When I moved to Manhattan, she was my concierge for the building that housed my penthouse. I was a bit of an asshole at the time, but she pulled me out of it. She’s so smart, so hardworking, everything I could never be.”

  “That’s interesting. I pictured you with a scientist.”

  He shook his head. “She’s not a scientist and doesn’t even have a college degree, but she’s very smart. As you can tell because we’re still together. Don’t think we could be together if she didn’t constantly stimulate my mind.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that.”

  “I’m sure you’ll meet her soon. She hops in and out throughout the day. Comes into my office and bosses me around before she leaves.” He smiled, like that was the most enjoyable part of his day.

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Since I was thirty-four, so thirty years.”

  “You’re sixty-four?” I asked incredulously.

  He gave a smile along with a shrug. “Eat well. Avoid the sun. Stay in shape. It’s the fountain of youth.”

  “Apparently.”

  “If you think I look good, you should see my wife.”

  I chuckled.

  “She’s still got it going on…I’ll leave it at that.”

  As our conversations continued, he showed a different side to himself, slightly comedic, laid-back, open. When I’d first started, he was a bit stiff, giving lots of stares and lots of silence. “I’ll have the numbers soon. When I do, we can discuss what to do next. I’m excited to implement the trials because I think it’s going to be as successful in humans as it is in mice.”

  “I hope so. It will be groundbreaking if it is. In my experience, research is never what you want it to be. You can’t have tunnel vision about it because if you look too closely, you won’t see how it could be practical in another way.”

  “Good advice.”

  “And if this doesn’t work, there’s always the next idea.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “And you’re young. You’ve got a long career ahead of you.”

  “I think you have a longer career because you look better than I do.”

  He gave a slight smile. “This is why I like to work with you every day.”

  I sat behind my desk at the clinic, getting through the paperwork I’d neglected over the week. Everyone was already gone for the day, and I had to wave my arm every so often to keep the motion-sensitive lights on.

  The lights started to flicker on in the lobby, so I knew someone was here.

  And I had a strong suspicion who it was.

  Daisy had left with everyone else hours ago, but she’d returned, in tight yoga pants and a workout top underneath a jacket with the zipper halfway down. Her hair was back in a slick ponytail, like she’d just gone to the gym or intended to go afterward.

  In the tight-fitting clothing, I could see how lean and toned her legs were, how tight her stomach was, how drop-dead gorgeous she was. I hadn’t really noticed it before because we didn’t get along in the beginning, but I definitely noticed it now. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back, providing a detailed highlighting of the features of her face.

  She noticed my lights were on, so she let herself inside. “I’m trying to remember a time when I stepped into the clinic and you weren’t already here.”

  I straightened in my chair and ignored the chart I was working on. “That’s a shame because it’ll probably never happen again.”

  “You’re a bigger loser than I am.” She set her bag on the armchair in front of my desk.

  “I prefer to think of it as dedication instead of lameness.”

  “Come on, we’re both nerds. Just accept it.”

  “I’m not a nerd. I’m a high-achieving, successful, handsome man.”

  “Ooh, I like that.”

  “And you aren’t a nerd either.”

  “I’m a hot bitch with an ass that don’t quit.”

  I gave a nod. “I like that.”

  “So, what are you doing here?”

  “Needed to spend some more time on my patient.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Sure.”

  She took a seat, crossing her legs, her open jacket showing her collarbones as they popped under her skin, the top of her cleavage as her small breasts were squeezed together. Her thick hair fell over one shoulder, and she didn’t have makeup on like she usually did—but she looked pretty much the same.

  I forced my stare away from her and broke down my patient’s symptoms and medical history.

  When she focused, she was a different person. She turned still and contemplative, behaving a lot like her father during our meetings. Her eyes changed, becoming rigid and focused, and her fingers dragged down her neck slightly as she absorbed the information. “Lyme disease?”

  “Negative.”

  “Did you reach out to the Network?”

  “Yes. No response.”

  “Hmm…” She dropped her gaze, still thinking.

  “A couple things came to mind—”

  “Shh, give me a second.” She leaned back in the chair, her elbow propping on the armrest. She turned her head to look at my wall, as if she could project a bulletin board with all the information I’d just given her.

  I waited, staring at her because it was fascinating to watch her think.

  Really fascinating.

  Her fingers started to rub her earlobe, spinning the earring in the hole, and her eyes were motionless, as if she were looking at the screen at the movie theater. She barely fidgeted, but it was obvious she was thinking rather than daydreaming.

  I continued to wait.

  She turned back to me and dropped her arm at the same time. “Did he serve in the military?”

  “Um…I’m not sure. Why?”

  “He would be old enough to have served in Vietnam, right?”

  “Yes. But I’m not following.”

  “I went to this conference last year where this physician talked about the inexplicable health conditions of some of her patients. She started to realize that every patient she had who had served in Vietnam shared the same perplexing symptoms. They’re a byproduct of all the bombs they dropped near the trenches, full of hazardous gases and poisons. At the time, the military was unaware of the damaging effects of those chemicals. His symptoms remind me of one in particular—soft tissue sarcoma.”

  I grabbed my laptop and typed it in, pulling up the symptoms.

  She looked away, like she was still thinking.

  “Fuck…it fits.”

  “Find out if he served in Vietnam, and we’ll order the tests.”

  I turned back to her, looking at her with a new set of eyes. I’d witnessed her brilliance a couple times, but this was on a whole new level. Without a single piece of paperwork in front of her, she was able to sort through it all in her head. “Do you have an eidetic memory?”

  “A form of it, yes. I can produce images of information in my head then retain it indefinitely.”

  “Wow.”

  “My brother has a photographic memory.”

  “I’ll call the patient in the morning and get this started.”

  “Great.” Like nothing had happened, she changed the subject. “So, are you going to tell me or what?”

  I gave her a blank stare. “Tell you what?”r />
  “Did you nail Lydia?”

  She’d asked me this question all week, and I’d never given her an answer. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “Oh, come on. I totally set you up to get laid. Want to see if I succeeded.”

  “I would have succeeded even if you hadn’t.”

  “Ha!” She pointed at me. “You’re welcome.”

  I closed the laptop as I rolled my eyes.

  “You going to see her again?”

  “No.”

  “What was wrong with her? She was sexy.”

  “And dull.”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be mean.”

  “I’m not. Just being honest.”

  “Then what do you look for in a woman?” she asked. “Like in that relationship you had?”

  I shrugged. “I like smart women.”

  “Like, above average?”

  “Like, brilliant. I like successful, hardworking women who can carry on a conversation with me.”

  “Well, it’s rare to find someone that smart. It happens in five percent of the population.”

  “Now you understand why I’m single.”

  “Yeah, you’re a bit picky.”

  “You don’t like smart men?” I asked in surprise. “What about the poker player?”

  She shook her head. “Probably above average, but that’s it.”

  “That’s surprising. All the men in your family are brilliant. Figured you’d want someone like that.”

  “The opposite, actually.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, there’re a lot of reasons, okay?” She started to count them off on her fingers. “One, people at this level are usually socially handicapped. Mom used to tell me that Dad wouldn’t say a single word most days because he literally didn’t know how. They’re just awkward and unrelatable. He’s gotten better—because of her. Two.” She held up another finger. “They’re almost always arrogant. They’ve got to bring up their accomplishments every five seconds, and the more successful they are, the more insecure they are. They constantly have to keep the status quo. They’ll go for runs in their stupid Yale and Berkeley t-shirts. Like, bitch, no one cares that you went there. Get over yourself.”

  I chuckled.

  “They take themselves way too seriously, so they’re never outgoing or have a sense of humor. They’re snobs. My father always instilled in us that we aren’t better than anyone else, that our gifts should be used for the betterment of society. And that brings me to my third point.” She held up a third finger. “They use their intellect for evil rather than good. It’s about the Maseratis and the Ferraris in the garages at their multiple homes, the plaques on their walls. They don’t give a shit about their patients. They don’t even listen to their patients. Whether the people in their care live or die, they get paid. Their egos get in the way of patient care. In conclusion, I don’t like smart men.”