Dr. Neurotic(36)

"I made a mess," I corrected. "But I'm finally trying to clean it up."

He stepped back, and my mom slid under his free arm.

They looked to one another before my father responded for both of them. "We don't have a damn clue what you're talking about."

I chuckled. "Can we all sit down? I'd love to explain it to you."

They moved toward the table, both eager and set on discovery. I turned  my mom to face me with a soft hand on her shoulder just before she took a  seat at the table. "Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you still have Grandma's ring?"

Charlotte belongs with me.





Nick: Can we talk?



I stared down at the message. It had been forty-eight hours since he'd  sent it, and I was starting to feel like an asshole for not responding.  Initially, my reaction had been emotional.

I guess I feared that I would go into that conversation with hope-hope  that I'd want to hear what he had to say, that things could be  different, that there was still a way to make us work.

And all that hope could only mean a harder fall when I got let down.

But I knew there wasn't. Nick had made his decision, and he was not the  kind of man who took things lightly. When he made a big decision, he  made it with careful thought and planning. He lacked that impulsiveness I  seemed to be so damn good at it.

Maybe a simple conversation with him will be a good thing? Maybe it will help you move on from this?

Without thinking further into it, or giving myself time to second guess, I went with what felt right in that moment.



Me: Okay. I'm busy tonight, but how about we meet for lunch tomorrow?



I pressed send and slid my phone into my purse. My heels click-clacked  down the hallway as I quickened my steps and headed into my  shoebox-sized bathroom to put the finishing touches on my hair and  makeup.

And a few moments later, I got another text message from an unknown number.



332-111-5555: Good evening, Ms. Hollis. My name is Hugh, and I will be  your driver this evening to dinner with Mr. Michaels. I'm sitting  outside of your apartment. Feel free to come down whenever you're ready  to go.         

     



 



Me: Hi, Hugh. I'll be down in just a sec.



I quickly pressed send on my message and touched up my lipstick before  grabbing my phone, purse, and keys and heading out the door.




"To Charlotte Hollis," Conrad Michaels lifted his glass of wine and  grinned at me from across the table he'd reserved for us at La Porro. "A  woman who is a true force to be reckoned with, and for whom my  organization will always be grateful."

My cheeks flushed from his complimentary words.

"Wow. Thank you. I honestly don't know what else to say." I clinked my  glass with his before taking a small sip of the white wine he'd chosen  for our meal.

Tonight was a little celebration dinner that Mr. Michaels, the CEO of  Kennedy Medical Center, had set up to show his appreciation for the work  I'd done for his hospital. He'd even flown in from LA just for this  event. Not to mention, the complimentary limo ride from my apartment to  the restaurant.

Over the past six months, I'd managed to bring five exceptional surgeons  to his organization. And the one he was most thankful for was Dr.  Sylvia Morris. She'd officially been at Kennedy Medical Center for three  months, and already, she'd trailblazed a path that centered around  innovation and patient-focused care.

"You're a true gem, Charlotte," he complimented with a toothy grin. "And  just know that if there ever comes a time when CMI isn't treating you  right, give me a call. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

My cheeks heated again, and I waved him off. "Stop it, or else my head will get too big to fit out the door."

He chuckled softly. "All right, for the sake of you being able to leave  the restaurant tonight without the use of a bulldozer, I'll change the  topic of conversation for a little while."

"Thank God," I teased.

"So, you used to live in LA for a while, right?"

"Yep," I answered after a small sip of wine. "A little over two years, I think."

"Which is better," he quirked a brow, "LA or New York?"

I scoffed. "New York. Hands down."

Conrad smirked. "So quick to respond. It's like you didn't even think it through."

"Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy my time in LA, but New York is my home. I belong in this city."

"You grew up here?"

I nodded. "Born and raised."

He winked. "A New Yorker through and through, huh?"

"Yep," I answered with a smile. "I will always-" I started to add more  insight into my NYC love, but I paused midsentence when someone said my  name behind me.

I turned in my seat to find Nick walking toward me. No, striding toward me, with a determined look on his face.

"Nick?" I questioned the obvious. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," he answered. His mouth morphed into a firm  line when glanced at Conrad, and then when his gaze made its way back to  me, he added, "I needed to see you."

"But I sent you a message and said that I could do lunch tomorrow. How in the hell did you know I was here?"

"Harper and Ivy."

Those little bitches.

I nodded toward Conrad at the table. "But I'm kind of in the middle of  something here, Nick. I don't have time to talk to you right now." I  started to say more, but he didn't let me go any further.

"I couldn't wait until tomorrow. And it's okay, Char," he said. "I  understand that we're not together, and it's your right to go on dates,  but I'm here because I don't want it to be like that between us  anymore."

"This isn't a-" I tried to explain, but he was a man on a mission, his  words flowing past his lips quicker than I could insert anything into  the conversation.

"I don't want you going on dates with other men. And I sure as fuck  don't want to go on dates with other women." The more words that flew  out of his mouth, the louder his voice grew, and patrons within the  swanky restaurant started to look toward our table. Most were just  intrigued, but others appeared downright disgusted by our presence  during their expensive dinner.

"This isn't a date," I said loud enough to force him to slow his  rambling roll. "I'm not on a date, Nick," I repeated. "This is Conrad  Michaels, the CEO of Kennedy Medical Center."

"It's not a date?" he questioned, and the relief in his voice was nearly palpable.

"Not a date," Conrad chimed in. "For one, my wife wouldn't be too  pleased with that, and two, this is actually a thank-you dinner for  Charlotte. My organization has a lot of gratitude for everything she  helped us achieve over the past year."         

     



 

Nick glanced back and forth between us. "So, it's not a date?"

Good Lord, for a highly intelligent brain surgeon, he was acting kind of stupid.

I still had no clue why he was here, but it felt like he'd turned into a  fucking broken record, and my opportunity to get answers was quickly  fading away.

Not to mention, now the entire restaurant was staring at us.

I wasn't sure if I would rather crawl under the table and hide my face  or make an even bigger scene and sprint out of the restaurant like my  ass was on fire.





"Have you lost your mind?" Charlotte whispered, horrified at the scene  I'd created in La Porro, a five-star modern-American restaurant, on a  busy Friday night.

I knew it was intended as rhetorical, but that didn't stop its relevance  from urging me to answer. "Maybe." I shrugged helplessly. "But I've  been thinking with my head for a long time, for as long as I can  remember it being important, actually … "

Her eyes widened at my speech. She'd expected me to lessen the attention  on us, but I was desperate. I saw at least four camera phones, and a  whole lot more knowing faces, as a titter started to run through the  restaurant about Dr. Neurotic.

As much as Will had been unfairly named, I had to admit, begrudgingly, of course, that they'd nailed me right on.

I grabbed a spare chair from the table behind me and took a seat.

"There's never been an inner monologue weighing the options about  whether to think analytically or to feel with emotion. It's just been  about the bottom line. Even when I broke up with you, it was a carefully  calculated decision based on what I thought would be the consequences."

She looked to the other guy she was sitting with, a hospital CEO she had  been working with to recruit new physicians, thank fuck, but he  graciously removed himself from consideration with a smirk and a lift of  both hands.

I reached up and ran my fingers along the supple line of Charlotte's jaw to turn her face back to me.

"Listen, Char."

She huffed, knocking my hand off her jaw as she crossed her arms over her chest and lifted an eyebrow. "Fine."

I bit my lip to stop from smiling, a reaction I didn't think would go over very well, and moved on with my point.