“Right answer. Your first patient is due in your office after lunch. Our IT guy is setting you up with an email address. As soon as it’s functional, I’ll send you your predecessor’s notes. They might help. In the meantime, I suggest you two sort out how you’ll handle the observation and case notes to satisfy the practicum. Your office is down the next hall, second door on the right.”
Justin risked a glance at Grace. She was pale but stood straight, her eyes focused somewhere over Mark’s chair. She lifted her chin and swallowed, offering a nod before pivoting to face Justin. The detachment in her gaze was like a dull knife carving out his heart. He wanted her to look at him the way she had that night in the café. He wanted her to smile and laugh and be the woman he’d...begun to fall for.
She was more, they were more, than a one-night stand, no matter what she wanted to believe. If he had to lie to get through the moment and get her alone? Fine. He would. But the moment it was just the two of them? He was going to sort this insanity out and force her to acknowledge that he wasn’t alone in this madness.
And he’d do it spectacularly.
“I’m not sure where I’ll be working,” Grace said unsteadily, shifting to face Mark.
“My office,” Justin answered swiftly. “It will help with the case notes if we can discuss them and talk out any problems you have. You’ll also be there if any kids or parents drop in. It’ll be excellent exposure.” It will also keep you from running again.
“Fine.” She swept an arm toward the door. “After you.”
“You two play nice.” Mark stood. “And shut the door behind you,” he called, picking up the phone. “Hey, Sharon. I just wanted to let you know—”
The heavy door clicked shut.
“Shit.” Justin gripped the back of his neck and pulled until his arm shook. “He called HR to tell her there’s a potential conflict of interest.”
“There isn’t a conflict, Justin.” Grace’s cool tone washed over him like an ice bath.
“There is a conflict, Grace, because—” He stopped speaking as they passed the receptionist’s station. Smiling, he nodded at her and kept going.
“Already scoping out your next conquest?” Grace calmly asked.
Taking her arm, he steered her down the hall at a rapid clip. He stepped into his office and slammed the door, letting her go and rounding on her. “There is no ‘conquest,’ Grace.” Chest heaving, he yanked at his tie. He couldn’t breathe. “How the hell are we going to manage this?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the desk edge. “There is no ‘this’ to manage.”
“The hell there isn’t,” he said, voice low and fierce. “You walked out on me yesterday. You left before we could settle things.”
“I figured ruining your life was a sufficiently dramatic scene between terminal lovers.” She arched a brow. “Was I wrong? Would you have preferred more?”
“I’ll admit my choice of words was poor, but—”
“Poor? Your choice of words was poor?” She planted her hands on the desk and leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “A poor choice of words is telling your gastroenterologist he has a shitty job. Advising the person you just spent the night sexing up that she’s totally and completely ruined your life? That’s a little beyond a poor choice of words, Justin. In fact, it’s so far beyond the boundaries of poor choice I’d bet it’s well into the land of the undeniably moronic.”