Galilee Rising(10)

"You were fine," he says with a quick smile. "Lo-Lovely even."

I chuckle. "Kind of doubt that. Not really an adjective people use to describe me, especially when I was drinking, but thank you for that lie. It was just a crappy night for me all around." Jem's face falls. "Not because of you! Dancing and talking with you was the highlight of the night."

"I stepped on your feet," he says with a grimace. "A lot."

"That must be one of the things the alcohol erased. Lucky you, huh?" God, I feel like a moron. Change the record, Jo. "So, um, how are you finding our hospital? The board thinks you're the Second Coming, so whatever you want, we'll no doubt give you."

"The facilities, the staff are all wonderful, thank you. I am sure I-I shall be content and productive here."

"Good. Like I said, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Forty virgins, the Crown Jewels, name of a good pizza place, it's all doable. Just give me a call."

"Thank you. I will remember that."

"Joanna!" Shannon shouts down the hall. "We need you!"

Ugh. "I'm sorry, I have to go. It was nice to see you again, Dr. Ambrose."

I'm about to step away when he says, "Jem." When I turn back around, I find him lifting his head, those wonderful eyes meeting mine. "Please, call me Jem."

I smile. "Welcome to Galilee Falls, Jem. See you around." I spin and walk down the hall. Don't know why, but halfway down I glance back and see him stealing glimpses at me too. A lovely tingle wiggles through me from head to toe. Haven't felt that in awhile. It brings a private grin to my face.

"Who was that?" Shannon asks when I reach her.

"An old, new friend."

*



I attempt to force the cute doctor out of my thoughts, which is easier said than done when the rest of the day is spent in boring as hell meetings about contract appendices and profit sharing points. I don't know how Justin didn't stick a pencil in his ear during these things. So my mind wanders to dimples, dancing and doctors.

He's not my usual type. I like my men tough, confident and put together. But it's been over nine months since I got laid, and that last time was beyond awful. Hell, I barely remember it. I'm just bored, depressed, horny and lonely. Never a good combination. The real problem is I have to stay that way for at least three more months, per my sponsor. No relationships for at least a year. Stupid program. Wonder if that counts for men I met before I became sober. I should get my lawyers on that one.

Not that I'm sure Jem's interested in my grandfather clause. Last year was a fucking lifetime ago. He could be married with a baby on the way by now. And I did ditch him without a second thought. Men don't take kindly to that type of thing. He did seem eager to get away from me today, though that could just be the shyness. I remember it took a lot that night to get him to speak a word to me, and then it was about work, the crappy state of the world, or the happy couple. In my drunken haze, I could have mistaken politeness for flirting. I tend to think I'm a sex bomb when plastered. Just another thing I miss about booze.

Okay, this is moot anyway. I learned my lesson from Harry. I don't belong with good, uncomplicated men. I just end up dragging them into the abyss with me. And I don't really have time to date. I wake at six, dress, get to the office by seven, meetings, meetings, meetings usually until eight unless I have a gala or party, which is once every two weeks on average. I spend most weekends at the office, and the rest of my free time is devoted to my side project. I haven't been sailing in weeks. Hell, I don't even have time for a quickie. No cute doctors for me.

I arrive at the mansion at eight after a grueling two hour marketing meeting to find my bland food waiting in the kitchen. Dobbs must have gone to bed early. I scarf the food down right at the counter before going into the living room. A lot of wasted days spent in here watching movies or playing video games with my best friend. Now I just come in here for access to Doris. Tonight is no different. I open the fireplace and step in. The sound of typing echoes up the ramp. Someone's down there. My stomach clenches with fear, and I stop walking. The smart part of my brain knows who it is but the irrational side runs through all the scenarios. Robbers, a villain, even a ghost are possible. Yeah, I'm being ridiculous. I continue down, and sure enough a familiar purple costumed man furiously types on the computer. His back is to me, and if he notices my presence he doesn't let on. "Hello," I say.

He stops typing but doesn't turn around. "Hello," he says before clacking away again.

"Did Dobbs let you in?"

Nightingale doesn't answer for a few seconds, then says, "No."