The Doctor and the Naughty Girl by Trent Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

eyes gave way to something much softer. “It’s been how long since Steph? A year?”
    Dane looked down, then nodded. It shouldn’t have still stung after all this time. But it did, even now.
    “Think about what it is you really want, doctor. Sometimes it seems so right it scares you away from it.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let Steph take any more chances from you, Dane.”
    He met her gaze and she smiled, her nod so subtle he almost missed it. Then she turned away, arms still at her waist, blowing out a long breath as she walked.
    “So you really think she’s a brat?”
    He hadn’t considered that possibility until now. Did that explain some of her behavior? Was she something more than an irresponsible girl?
    “Definitely a brat.” Cathie turned toward the morning sun, closing her eyes. “Jury’s still out on whether she realizes it though.”

Chapter Six
     
     
    Amity rubbed her forehead with both hands; Mrs. Jamison getting angrier by the second.
    “I scheduled this appointment two weeks ago, and now you’re rescheduling me?”
    It wasn’t Amity’s fault—this time—but as the messenger she was being lined up before Mrs. Jamison’s metaphorical firing squad anyway.
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jamison,” she said, trying to inject the conversation with as much calmness as she could dredge up. “We had a scheduling conflict with Dr. McKendrick. If you want, I could get you over to Dr. Vance’s office? I know she’s got open—”
    “I don’t want Dr. Vance. I want my doctor, you know, your boss, Dr. McKendrick! If you can’t get me in to see him, then I want to talk to him. Right now.”
    Amity could feel her blood beginning to boil.
    “That’s not possible , Mrs. Jamison. But let me see about getting you—”
    Holding her headset away from her ear as Mrs. Jamison screeched, Amity rubbed her eyes hard.
    The day had started badly, and getting torn a new ass for something that wasn’t her fault wasn’t helping it get any better. For once, last night she hadn’t partied—she had no money, but she didn’t think she would have even if she hadn’t been broke. The previous two straight nights of getting shit-faced had ensured that. She was just tired.
    Todd had called her twice last night, and after a phone call of epic length where the man did not want to get a single one of the dozens of hints she’d laid down, she’d finally given up and let him come over. She’d fended off his advances until they’d both been tired, acquiescing to snuggling, which meant she got to lie there for an hour with Todd’s hard-on prodding her ass. He’d finally left when she was half asleep, visions of Dane’s huge hands crashing down upon her bottom flitting in and out of her half-lucid consciousness.
    Todd’s hands weren’t strong like Dane’s—and the boy was much too easy to manipulate.
    Then that morning, her alarm hadn’t gone off—yet again—and she’d found herself on her familiar mad scramble to get to work on time, cursing like a sailor as she tried to find something, anything to wear. By the grace of God she’d had one pair of clean slacks left, and she pulled on a thick black sweater as she stumbled out to her car.
    While stopped at red lights, she’d pinned up her hair into some semblance of presentability, mostly hiding her bed head. But she still felt like a total ass, her hair greasy and itchy. Amity hated not having time to shower before work.
    Now, listening to Mrs. Jamison freak out, she wanted to do nothing more than throw her headset across the room. Or cry.
    The door to the hallway opened, Cathie striding in, carrying a file, and eyes shooting daggers. She set the file down and bent over Amity’s keyboard, invading her space. Amity slid her chair back, mouthing, “What?”
    Cathie’s fingers punched the keyboard so hard, Amity was sure the woman’s fingertips would be bloody pulps. She looked at Amity, her whisper harsh. “Is that Connie