Page 25 of Doctor One Night

“I just asked that hottie I’ve taken out a few times that I told you about. It’s nothing serious, but it’s always fun to get dressed up with a looker on your arm.”

I shrug, not having given it much thought. “Funny you should ask. I hadn’t really planned on it, but Theo Bench cornered me this morning. Apparently, there are going to be several potential sponsors there, and I need to be on my A game to try to help secure funding for this trial.”

Jonah nods, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Makes sense. So, you should probably take someone who knows the ins and outs of the project as well as you do. If you know what I mean?” He waggles his eyebrows as he says it.

I snigger, sensing where he’s going with this. “And who is that, oh, sage one?”

“Frankie,” he says without hesitation. “Duh! She’s been leading this thing from the start, right? Plus, she’s easy on the eyes. Win-win.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “It’s a gala, Jonah, not foreplay.”

He grins, clearly not taking me too seriously. “Maybe not for you. Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to double-team your prospects. With your looks alone, you might scare them off. Add in her beauty, and boom, you close the deal.”

I take another sip of my coffee, considering his suggestion, however sophomoric it is. He’s not wrong. Frankie knows this project inside and out, and having her there could give us an edge when it comes to convincing potential sponsors to open their checkbooks.

“Maybe you’re right,” I finally say, glancing out over the city. “It could be a good move, my brawn and her beauty.”

Jonah nods, satisfied. “If you call that dad bod brawn, sure. But, don’t forget, she’s smart, too. Trust me, man. You two make a good team. Just make sure you’re on the same page before you walk into that room. You don’t want any surprises.”

“Good advice,” I admit, even if the thought of spending more time with Frankie outside of the hospital gives me pause. But this is about the project, about securing the funding we need to take it to the next level. I can handle that. We both can.

As we finish our coffee, the heat settling into our skin, I can’t help but think that this gala might end up being more interesting than I originally anticipated.

NINE

Frankie

Frankie's House

9:17 am

The sound of the mail slot creaking open breaks through the silence of my house, followed by the soft thud of envelopes hitting the floor. I barely register it at first, my eyes being glued to the screen, absorbed in the latest data analysis for the pacemaker trial. But the sound lingers in my mind, a subtle reminder that the outside world still exists beyond the endless stream of numbers and charts.

I sigh, rubbing my temples as I push back from the desk. I’ve been at this for hours, and my brain is starting to turn into mush. A break wouldn’t hurt.

With that I head to the front door, bending down to scoop up the small stack of mail. It’s the usual assortment of bills and junk, but one envelope catches my eye, stopping me cold. The handwriting on the front is neat, almost too careful, and my stomach flips as I recognize it. It’s the same handwriting as the letter from my father that arrived over a week ago.

Immediately, my heart starts to race, the blood pounding in my ears. My hands grow clammy as I stare at the envelope, a wave of nausea washing over me. What does he want now?

When he made his impromptu Saturday night visit, I told him stopping by wasn’t appropriate. When he asked if he could come in to talk for a minute I told him it wasn’t a good time. I might have been more apt to let him come in if I weren’t dripping wet, but I guess in fairness, I haven’t been very welcoming in his other attempts to reach me.

I have an urge to tear it open, to see what he has to say. At the same time, I’m terrified of what I might find inside. I can’t breathe properly, my chest tightening with anxiety. It’s like all the emotions I’ve tried to bury since his visit are suddenly clawing their way to the surface, demanding to be felt.

Before I can decide what to do, my phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me back to the present. I fumble for it, grateful for the distraction.

Off work. Can I stop by before I crash? Desperate for a nap but could use some company first.

I take a shaky breath, my fingers trembling as I type out a reply.

Please do. I could use a break, too.

A small sense of relief washes over me the moment I hit send. Carly’s timing couldn’t be better. I need to get out of my own head, and she’s always been good at helping me do that.

I place the unopened letter on the kitchen counter, trying to ignore the way it seems to stare back at me, taunting me with the unresolved pain it represents. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I just need to breathe.

Then I tidy up the living room, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the knot of anxiety twisting in my gut. Carly will be here soon, and I can push this aside for a little while longer. But even as I straighten the cushions on the couch, I can’t help but glance at the letter again, my heart still pounding in my chest.

The knock comes quicker than I expect. I forgot to take off the deadbolt. Normally, Carly doesn’t knock. Essentially, I have a roommate without the benefit of shared expenses.

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