Page 135 of Bad Blood

I unfold the napkin I pulled free from under my wiper, peeking at it as I keep it out of her view so I can read it before she does.

In all my chaos, I’m thankful I found you.

There’s a heart, a dash, and a D.

A flush of heat creeps up my neck.

Tara rubs her hands together. “Come on, let me see. It’s not every day a girl finds a love note on her truck.”

It’s none of her business, and I have no inclination to explain to her that Dax is not my boyfriend. And no, the heart does not mean anything. However, there’s a brief flutter in my stomach that wants to share my excitement at finding his note. The sensation gets the better of me, and I hold out the napkin for her to take.

As soon as it’s in her hands, I regret it. I don’t have the answers to questions I’m sure she will ask. And I don’t know how to explain why Dax left a note on my windshield.

“How do you think he got past security?” I’m taken off guard by her question, not expecting her mind to go there.

“I’m not sure,” I answer, now curious how Dax got into the parking garage.

She folds the napkin in half and offers it back to me. “Not that it matters, but I think it’s sweet.”

Now that she hasn’t questioned who D is and why there’s a heart, I’m slightly offended. I don’t get the chance to talk about my love life, or lack thereof, with other women on a regular basis. Or ever. I want to explain that we’re only acquaintances, and the heart is there because . . . why is the heart there? I open the napkin, re-reading the words.

Chaos.

Found you.

His words are sweet and completely unexpected.

“You gonna see him tonight?” Tara’s voice stops me from re-reading the napkin for the third time as she walks around the back of the truck and pulls open the passenger door.

I stuff the note in the front pocket of my scrubs and hesitate as she gets in. My eyes dart to where Carrie’s truck is supposed to be—the lack of her presence in her usual parking spot. I swallow the lump in my throat and shake my head, trying to get my mind off what happened.

I open my side and climb in. “That wasn’t the plan.” Not that there is a plan, but his unexpected note makes my heart do a cartwheel. Allowing Dax to blur the line was the last thing I expected the other night, but being with him got the best of me, and I wasn’t thinking straight.

“I think he thinks it should be.” She fidgets with the vent. “Do you always drive in? I would, but, like I said, we have one car right now, which is a big pain in the ass. Dom says it helps save gas, though.”

She continues to ramble. I pull out of the parking garage, headed home, and nod when appropriate, listening as she speaks.

In the thirty-plus minutes it takes to get across town, I have learned Dom is her brother, not her boyfriend or husband, as I initially thought. He’s a pharmaceutical rep and is always out of town. She’s off the next two days and hints at needing a ride next week but doesn’t ask outright. Kline took her out for drinks a couple of times, and she’s unsure if she should let it happen again.

“Why did you go out for drinks with Kline?” Concern creeps up my spine. Why’s he going through the girls like candy? With the spotlight on him, he should know better than to give HR any more ammo.

“It’s not a big deal. He wanted to welcome me to the hospital. And we’re keeping each other company.” She turns a cherry color as she averts her gaze to the window. I have the urge to mother her, tell her what a bad idea it is to date someone she works with—her boss, nonetheless—and how she should protect herself since she’s not the only one he seems to be dating. Her time with him makes sense now, and what Margo said clicks into place.

“I don’t think you should mix business with pleasure.”

She avoids eye contact. “We’re friends.”

“Does he know that?”

We stop at a light and sit in silence. I’m trying to determine what’s attracting them to him but come up short. Yeah, I guess he errs on the side of handsome. He’s a little quirky and insanely intelligent, but I still don’t see the appeal. Maybe it has to do with how deep his pockets go. But he won’t have much to offer after Margo’s done with him.

“Thanks for the concern, but I can handle him.” She sits straighter, pulls her shoulders back, and puckers her lips as if I’ve offended her.

“Right. Didn’t mean to overstep bounds.”

“No biggie. Have you ever tried to get transferred?”

We pass Memorial Sloan, our sister hospital, and head north. Somehow, I lost track of our conversation and try to keep the confusion off my face. She points at it as we drive by. I go to answer, but she continues her thought process, and I forget what I was going to say.

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