Dr. Neurotic(8)

"Hmm … Dr. Sylvia Morris … " He paused to clear his throat into the receiver. "She has over ten years' experience?"

"Yes. She's also done several viable trials of a tumor regeneration  tieback that had a seventy-percent success rate in preventing  reoccurrence. She is more than qualified for the position," I stressed  as I finished the short walk to Strand Bookstore. The mecca in sight, I  found a clear spot and turned to rest my back against the building as I  finished my phone conversation.

"Can you send her dossier over, and I'll look through it?"

"Already done," I answered. "I spoke with your assistant Patty this morning, and she has the files on her desk."

"Fantastic," Conrad responded. "Can we schedule a video conference with Dr. Morris later this week?"

Ah, he's dropped the Sylvia. He's seeing her as a candidate instead of a woman.

"Definitely. I'll work with Patty and Dr. Morris and find a good time  for all of us, and I'll get it scheduled by the end of this week."

"Thank you, Charlotte," he responded. "Oh, and just to let you know,  I've already contacted CMI, and we would like you to help us with  filling another position."

I smiled. "I look forward to it."

"Good to hear," he responded, and a few moments later, he ended the call with a brief yet friendly goodbye.         

     



 

Another headhunting assignment equaled job security. Not to mention, it  was pretty damn fantastic when the CEO of a major LA hospital was so  happy with the work you'd done for his organization that he requested  you for future assignments.

Good job, Charlotte. I smiled to myself as I pushed through the doors of  the bookstore, and took off my jacket to shake the rain out of it right  in the entry-and far away from the pretties. My senses went into  overdrive as I took in the gorgeous view-people browsing books, people  reading books, people buying books. Just, books. A million different  worlds resting between millions of pages and waiting to be explored.

I'd never been to heaven, but if I had to take a guess, this was what it looked like.

After a quick perusal of the first floor, I headed upstairs to my  sanctuary-The Rare Book Room. All wood floors and a quiet space, the  room squeezed on my chest and hugged me right in the heart. The sights  and smells of well-used books sitting prettily on the shelves and that  undeniable beautiful scent of vanilla and almond-it was just as I  remembered.

I found an open, plush velvet seat nestled between two giant shelves in the corner of the room and happily plopped my ass down.

Pulling my laptop out of my soft-leather briefcase and resting it in my  lap, I took a short detour to my favorite real estate site, but after I  came up empty-handed on my ongoing house hunt, I scrolled through work  emails and focused on my priority tasks of the day.

CMI had a home base in Midtown, and since I'd relocated to New York, I'd  even obtained my very own office space. But some days, I just needed a  place where my coworkers weren't milling about and interrupting my flow.

My calendar for today was stacked with five prospects to follow up on,  and when I saw the name Nick Raines listed, I smiled like a loon.

It'd been two days since our trivia night, and if I was being honest  with myself, this sighting of his name wasn't the first time I'd  encountered it. Dr. Nick Raines had filtered into my brain a lot over  the past forty-eight hours.

I was fascinated by pretty much everything about him. His insanely intelligent mind. His career. His dry humor. His sexy smile.

I pulled my cell out of my briefcase and tapped on my text inbox. Sure, I  knew he didn't want to relocate to LA, but let's be real, my "following  up" was just an excuse to message him.



Me: What did Phoebe change her name to?



His response came a minute later.



Nick: Princess Consuela Banana Hammock.



I grinned. So he could at least retain information. Trainable. That was good.

But my smug high didn't last for long. My phone pinged with another message.



Nick: What is the biggest part of the brain?



I had no idea, and I'd just bet the smartass knew it.

With a few quick taps to my laptop, I pulled up Google and typed in the  question. Instantly, the first few sentences of the top search result  caught my eyes. I clicked the link and quickly scanned the first few  paragraphs for an answer.



The biggest part of the brain is the cerebrum which makes up 85% of the  brain's weight. The cerebrum is the thinking part of the brain, and it  controls your voluntary muscles.



Aha! I smiled and typed out my researched answer.



Me: The cerebrum.



Nick: Google?



Me: Obviously. Google knows everything.



Nick: Fleetwood Mac's Sex Pants would be disappointed, you little cheater.



Me: Haha. It's a damn shame trivia night doesn't use questions from the MCAT, huh?



Nick: Pffft. The MCAT? That's mere child's play, sweetheart. You don't really start learning until your hands are in a brain.



Sweetheart. I grinned. But deep down, I wasn't so sure he even realized  he'd used that sentiment. Surely, he probably called everyone, including  his daughter, sweetheart.

Instead of analyzing, I redirected the conversation toward business.

Which, I realized was total bullshit. I knew the answer to my question before I even asked it.



Me: I had you on my list today for follow-up. So, have you rethought your decision on relocation to LA?



Nick: It's still a no, Ms. Hollis.



Me: Hmm …  Are you sure?



Nick: Hmm …  Yes. I'm 100% positive. :)



Me: Hmm …  okay.



Nick: LOL. Are you always this persistent with your clients?



Me: Probably not.



Nick: Well, I guess I feel special, then.



Me: You should. Well, not as special as Fleetwood Mac's Sex Pants, but still. ;)



Nick: I'm in the middle of a meeting, and I actually laughed out loud at  that one. My peers are looking at me like I'm nuts right now.



Me: You're texting me in the middle of a meeting? That seems unprofessional, Dr. Raines.



Nick: It's nothing too important. Just the usual shit. Brain surgery and stuff like that.         

     



 



Me: Hahaha I'm sure your patients would love to know the doc performing surgery on their heads refers to it as "the usual shit."



Nick: LOL.



Me: Enjoy your meeting, Dr. Raines



Nick: Enjoy your day, Ms. Hollis.



Sigh. Yeah. It was official. I had a big old crush on a brain surgeon.





The red-and-white checkered tablecloth grabbed at the back of my hand as  I slid it out from under my paper plate. It'd been freshly wiped, and a  little of the moisture from the rag still clung to the rubberlike  material.

But it wasn't something that you grumbled about at Vinito's, and if you  were smart, it wasn't even something you thought about complaining about  on a Friday night.

The line had been out the door when we'd gotten here thirty minutes ago,  and that was just to order at the counter and wait patiently for a  slice of heaven. With their combination of melted cheese and perfectly  seasoned sauce, Vinito's had some of the best pizza in Manhattan, and if  you were a New Yorker, you'd know that was really saying something.

It'd taken another ten minutes to actually procure a slice and another  two to hunt and peck out a table. But Lexi was the best at stalking  people, studying their weaknesses, and waiting to make them break. It  was in her nature to be analytical, but she'd also been practicing every  other Friday night for the last year and a half.

The first year and a half after I moved back, I'd spent all my time  convincing Winnie Winslow that I could be a real father to our daughter.  I showed up at all of Lexi's football games, remembered all of the  important dates, and called her every night before bed. I was in her  life, for good, and I had to prove that to Winnie, Lexi, and truthfully,  myself.

I could do it. I could be the father she wanted and needed, and I could give up anything that stood in the way.

It'd actually been surprisingly easy. Lexi was a brilliant force of  nature. She liked you or she didn't, and despite my mistakes, she'd  sniffed out something in me she believed in.

I clung to that on the days I doubted myself.

After a long road of building trust, Winnie had finally admitted to the  change she saw in me. And so, she'd given in. Selflessly, and without  past repercussion, Winnie had put her daughter first, at the very front  of the line, and given her alone time with me on a regular basis.

Every other weekend, Lexi came to me on Friday evening and went home Sunday. And every Friday, we came to Vinito's.

It might seem like a cop-out to take her to the exact same restaurant  every Friday, but Lexi, diagnosed as high-functioning on the autism  spectrum, lived for routine and planning. Vinito's was known, it was  comfortable, and honest to God, the pizza really was heaven.

"My slice has forty-two crumbles of sausage, but yours has fifty-three.  Peculiar," Lexi observed keenly, and if I wasn't mistaken, with a little  ire. Her spatial reasoning was superhuman, and her love for sausage  pizza was a close second.