Page 6 of Doctor Bossy

“Yes, sir?”

“Bring us two cups of coffee, please.”

“I don’t like coffee,” Becca piped up from right behind me. She must have followed me. “Unless it’s drowned out with milk and sugar. “

Noted. “And bring whatever type of milk and sugar we have available.”

“Yes, sir,” Arnold responded, and then I turned to face her.

“So,” I started, eager to get to the point and retire for the night. “What happened? What did he do?”

And just like that, she burst into tears.

3

BECCA

If I had any shame left in me, I would have been mortified at this point.

I was drunk and bawling my eyes out in front of Dr. Griffin McCormick.

Dr. Griffin, of all people.

Talk about hitting rock bottom.

I was definitely going to feel the humiliation in the morning, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

But for now, all I could do was weep in front of the man who had practically become my idol ever since I was a freshman Biochemistry major at Broadchurch, a private university with prestige that rivaled Johns Hopkins.

Everyone who had ever picked up a medical journal knew who Dr. Griffin McCormick was. He was a genius doctor and researcher and founder of Center of Hope, a research organization responsible for the innovation behind multiple recent cancer therapies. Dr. Griffin was a billionaire in his own right. Not to mention the fact that he was named one of Forbes’ sexiest billionaire doctors only a few years back.

It was easy to see why.

Dr. Griffin was a clear knockout on all levels.

When I met him face to face at my engagement party, I was so nervous that I nearly swallowed my tongue. The man was hot with a capital H, and he carried an imposing presence to boot. It was clear to see where James got his good looks from, but while James held a boyish charm, Griffin was all man with his chiseled features outlined by a trimmed, grey-streaked beard and a piercing green gaze that looked like he could just see right through you.

Not to mention his physique, tall and broad—something more suited to an MMA fighter than a man who saved lives for a living. I hadn’t known for sure that he was ripped underneath the suits he wore all the time, but now that I felt his muscles myself, there was simply no doubt. Dr. Griffin had a body as sculpted as his face, with his musculature clear even through several layers of clothes.

I nearly swooned when I felt him under my fingers. It was bizarre, and I was pretty sure some of my unsteadiness was caused by the alcohol, but still. A big part of me didn’t want him to let go—wanted him to hold me for a very, very long time.

The only word I could think of to describe the sensation of being held in his arms was safe. It was one of the few times in my life that I felt protected, even as stirrings of desire started in my belly. It was a ridiculous thought, of course, since I barely knew the man, but the feeling was there all the same.

Maybe that was part of the reason I was crying right now in front of him.

I heard a sigh and looked up from my hands. Dr. Griffin’s expression didn’t change—he looked tired and vaguely perplexed—but he stepped to the side and pushed a button on the wall, telling someone called Arnold to get some tissues on his way down. Then he took me by the elbow, guiding me gently to sit on a large leather couch in the middle of the spacious living room.

He stood there watching me as I cried, hiccuping in my attempt to stop the waterfalls. I wasn’t successful. The stress of the last few days was hitting me all at once, and there was sweet relief in hitting rock bottom.

Griffin didn’t seem to know what to do with me, but he didn’t have the faint look of annoyance some men would have about a crying woman. He looked concerned and confused…as if he wasn’t used to being in situations like this. But it was to be expected. If the rumors were to be believed, he hadn’t dated or been seriously involved with another woman since his wife’s death.

Eventually, an elderly man who appeared to be the butler arrived through the intricately engraved maple doors on the other side of the room, carrying a tray with cups of coffee, some milk, and a box of tissues. He placed the tray on a table in front of me and then picked up the tissue box, gesturing it toward me. I grabbed a tissue, wiped my face, and blew my nose before giving him a weak smile.

“Thank you,” I said. “I needed that.”

He gave me a sympathetic smile back as he withdrew with the tray after placing the coffees on the table.

Griffin gestured to one cup that was a lighter brown than the other dark liquid.

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