The Doctor and the Naughty Girl Page 18

  “Yes, I do.” She turned her tear-streaked face to him, her lower lip trembling miserably. “I know you’ve got plans—we talked about them remember? How you want to… reach out to—people like you. The ones you know.” She sniffled loudly, rubbing a hand across her eyes. “Alternative lifestyles, all of that. Right?”

  “Amity, please…”

  “I’m just a stupid fucking kid, Dane. I was kidding myself that I could give you what you need.”

  It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

  It’s just what she said, isn’t it? Steph.

  “You’re… successful, talented. People love you. I’m this… loser.” Her brow furrowed and she pointed at him. “You’re not going to do this. I—I won’t let you. You need to fucking forget about me. I’ll just bring you down, ruin shit for you. I can’t live with that, with forcing you to choose.”

  “Jesus Christ, Amity. Please don’t do this to me. This is crazy!”

  “I… it doesn’t matter what I want, what we want. He’ll win. He always fucking wins. You have to just go along with it. You don’t have a choice, Dane.”

  She broke down, sobbing then, leaning against the steering wheel, hiding her face against her arms. He reached into the car, stroking her heaving back, touching her lank hair. Her whole body was shaking, as if she were hopelessly exhausted.

  Then she stilled, looking down. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dane.”

  She started the car, the sound grating, almost painful in the enclosed space.

  “Amity, please don’t go.”

  She shook her head though, and looked back over her shoulder, backing the car out of her space. Dane sprang back to his feet, then snatched the coffee from the top of her car.

  God, not again. Please, God.

  She couldn’t look at him as she drove away, rivers of tears coursing down her cheeks. He watched her go, the brake lights flashing once before the car turned out of the garage and disappeared.

  With an agonized yell, Dane hurled his coffee against the wall of the structure, the cup exploding in a spray of pale brown foam.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kate stared at her from across the table. She didn’t really want to go out—hell, she didn’t even want to get out of bed—but she knew Kate was right. Getting out was better for her.

  “I knew something was wrong when you called me.” Kaitlyn stirred her drink slowly. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

  “He… became everything, I guess. He didn’t really give me a choice about it.”

  “No choice? Do you really think that was healthy, Amity? Sounds like a controlling bastard to me.”

  Amity remembered the oceans of tears she’d cried since that day, curled up in her bed, wanting the pain to end, the ache within her to ease. How many times as she sobbed had she felt the absence of that control, the sweet, metaphorical chains his will had shackled her with?

  Oh, how she missed it.

  There was no sense in telling Kaitlyn that though. She’d never understand—and Amity didn’t blame her one bit.

  “He wasn’t like that. He was so good to me.” Amity stared down from the mezzanine where they sat, the floor below still empty of people. The club was almost quiet, practically deserted. It was still way too early in the evening.

  “If he was so good, why’d you kick him to the curb?”

  “Because… I didn’t want him to have to make that choice.”

  “Your dad’s a fucking prick, by the way.”

  Amity frowned. “Try living with him your entire life. Believe me, I know.”

  Hatred burned bright within her for her father. She knew he was being protective, but it wasn’t his fucking business. When her mother had died all those years ago, he had made everything better, sheltered her, replaced that horrible loss as much as he could. He’d been her rock, her entire world—and he’d moved mountains to give her every advantage life could offer. What had happened to that man? Was he still in there somewhere under all that selfishness, manipulation, and greed? Why couldn’t her father see this for what it was? She wasn’t a little girl bouncing on his knee anymore, someone who needed daddy to make everything better.

  Without Dane, nothing was better.

  Still, part of her feared what Dane might choose, if forced to. He was ambitious, but it was the good kind of ambition. He wanted their medical group to be more open, more tolerant of alternative lifestyles. He had plans, if anyone ever gave him the chance to put those plans into action. She knew he didn’t like to have his kinky patients sneak around, as if they were doing something wrong. It was ignorance and discrimination, and she hated it as much as he did.

  Especially once she realized she was one of them.

  Knowing all of that, the truth was inescapable. If forced to make that decision, she knew what the only logical choice was. Why would a successful man, with a promising career ahead of him choose to blow all that up—for a girl?

  Amity knew she was nothing but a spoiled rich girl. Someone who’d never faced any real adversity, any real hardship. A stupid, air-headed, flighty… loser.

  She knew how many women would be glad to fuck a doctor, no matter how hideous he was, simply because he was rich. He probably had fifteen of those gold-digging sluts lined up for him right now, like vultures circling a fresh kill.

  The money didn’t matter to her though. It never had. It was the man who mattered—and Dane was all man. The man who spoke to so much within her she’d never known was there.

  So why did you let him go, you stupid bitch?

  She watched Kaitlyn, on her phone again as usual. That beautiful, strong, take-no-bullshit woman was, until Dane, someone Amity knew she could confide in about anything.

  But not this.

  There was a divide now. Kate wouldn’t understand this, even if she said she did. Amity wasn’t even sure she understood it herself.

  Kaitlyn put her palm over her phone, looking over at her. “Want me to see if Brandon will come down?” She pushed out her lower lip, seeing the loss Amity couldn’t hide anymore. “No? Okay, sweetie.” Kate reached across and squeezed Amity’s hand, then went back to her conversation.

  You’re a good woman, Kate. Too bad I don’t deserve it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You sure this is the right place?” Dane watched the people packing the bar around him. Yes, there were mostly women, but there were more than a few men too. It didn’t seem any different.

  “Jesus Christ, you straights.” Cathie shook her head, sipping from her beer. Her pale blue short-sleeved t-shirt revealed most of her toned upper arms, the thin fabric stretched tight over her breasts, showcasing a not inconsiderable amount of cleavage. “We aren’t all cigarette-chomping buzz-cut leather dykes, you know.”

  Dane chuckled, hoping it didn’t sound as hollowed out as he felt.

  “Why’d you drag me here, anyway? I get dumped—so you bring me to the one place on earth I’m least likely to get laid.”

  “Don’t be so sure, smart guy.” Cathie glanced over her shoulder. “At least two of my bi friends knew you were coming tonight. You want, I’ll bring ‘em over.”

  “Just the cure a man needs, Nurse Severin. Another gaggle of women who want to fuck me because I have an MD after my name. Brilliant.”

  Cathie shrugged, tipping back her bottle. “You’re missing out—they’re total fucking freaks. You’d love ‘em.”

  Someone began singing loudly at the bar, a chorus of others quickly joining in, their voices rising to a roar. Either they were too drunk to enunciate the words, or Dane was too buzzed to understand them.

  Cathie looked over. “Fucking lushes.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “I’d drink your narrow ass under the table any day of the week, boss.”

  “Might not be boss for much longer,” Dane muttered, staring at the rim of his beer bottle.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Cathie shoved his shoulder.

  �
��Huh? Nothing. Forget it.”

  You know what has to be done, Dane.

  The people around him did help, at least a little—he didn’t feel like he had a spotlight on him anymore. And the fact that he was in a bar with virtually zero sexual energy directed toward him was, oddly, a relief.

  Of course, it didn’t matter. The only sexual attention he cared about was from a girl who’d walked out on him. The girl he couldn’t stop thinking about. Her absence—it was a raw wound, a hurt that cut deeper than he was sure he could survive.

  “I just—I can’t believe it. Yet another one run off.” Dane gestured toward himself. “Am I that bad? Am I that scary? Why does this keep fucking happening?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Cathie said, her voice softer than her words. “Of course you don’t deserve this shit. Despite your many shortcomings, you’re a good man.”

  Cathie looked away a moment. “As often as I wanted to put her through a wall, she grew on me after a while. She was good for you.”

  “You’re doing just a world-class job cheering me up. You should get paid for this.” He lowered his voice in mock earnestness. “Ever think about taking up couples’ therapy?”

  “Asshole.” But she winked at him, her gaze warm.

  Pitching shit at each other was good. It was normal. He’d take all the normal he could get.

  They drank in silence for a few minutes, people watching, Dane smiling to himself at the few ‘What the fuck is he doing here?’ looks he got from passing women. He tried to ignore the raised eyebrows and the shy smiles that said ‘What the fuck is she doing with you?’

  “It’s gonna be fine,” Cathie said, finally, not yet looking at him. “When Leah… happened. I felt like the entire world had been yanked from under my feet. Like I was falling, and I’d keep falling. Forever.”

  “I—I didn’t know, Cathie. I’m sorry. I thought you two made a great fucking couple.”

  “We do, you know?” Her lips curved with unexpected happiness.

  “Do?”

  She shrugged, finishing off the bottle and looking around for a waitress. “Yeah, she… she called me a couple weeks ago.”

  “And?”

  “She agreed to come back.”‘

  “That’s great!” He felt genuine joy for Cathie, even as the knife twisted deeper in his heart.

  She touched his hand, her blue-eyed gaze meeting his. “Life—it sucks a lot of the time. It doesn’t work out the way we want it to—the way we plan it.” She squeezed his fingers gently, her skin warm. “But sometimes, in its own frustrating, fucked-up messy way, it leads you right where you need to go.”

  Dane knew the truth though, the truth he’d learned the hard, agonizing way. The truth was that nothing made sense, that chance and fate were both cruel mistresses. And sometimes life… just didn’t. For some, the happy ending was a real thing, a wonderful thing.

  For others, it was nothing but a cruel mirage.

  Chapter Twenty

  Monday had been a long day. It hadn’t helped that each time he’d walked out to the lobby, he’d seen Debbie, a prim, cheerful, and efficient temp, sitting at the lobby desk. He still missed seeing Amity’s big brown eyes peer up at him every time she saw him.

  All morning he’d gotten more and more tense, waiting for that moment when he’d walk in, when the point of no return would arrive. The sonofabitch.

  It was past four and still, nothing. Thankfully, the schedule had a lull so Dane retreated to his office, leaning back in his creaking chair and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He needed a drink.

  His phone rang, and his heart was instantly jackhammering in his chest. He picked up the phone.

  “Doctor, I tried to get him to wait while I called you but—he just walked back. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Debbie. Don’t worry about it. I was… kind of expecting him.”

  Prick.

  His door opened before he could hang up the phone. Chuck closed the door slowly, turning to Dane. The charcoal suit looked more expensive than Dane’s truck, the crease in the slacks so crisp they looked like they came straight off the dry cleaner’s rack. Chuck shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze cool, neutral.

  “Chuck. Have a seat.”

  “I’ll stand, thanks.” Chuck reached into his suit coat, pulling out a folded set of papers, opening them, and spreading them on the desk. He laid a gold filigreed fountain pen down next to them.

  “What’s this?”

  “Please, Dane. We’ve just got this one detail to take care of. It’s a formality, yes? I know you’ve chosen the right thing here. Let’s get this past us.” Chuck’s lips quirked. “Good things come to smart men.”

  Dane stared at the contract, at the gold gilding of the pen glinting under the lights.

  He pulled the contract across the desk. Chuck straightened the cuff of his jacket, a victorious smirk on his face.

  Dane remembered the pain he’d seen in Amity’s eyes as she sat there in her car, as she plunged the knife not just into him—but into herself. He knew then that her leaving hurt her just as much as it did him. And it wasn’t until that moment that it finally registered, that it hit home fully how much he missed her, how much he ached without her.

  He slid the contract back across the desk.

  Chuck froze, his eyes going to narrow slits. “Dane. Sign it.”

  “I won’t be signing anything from you now—or ever. You’re not going to dictate to me—or your daughter—who we choose to see, or how we choose to live our lives. You may think you can control everything, but I assure you, you sure as hell can’t control me.”

  Chuck strode to the desk, laying his hands on it, leaning over. “Sign the fucking contract, doctor. You don’t have a choice, and we both know it.”

  Dane leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his back, belying the incredible tension strumming through his body. “I’m choosing to tell you no, Chuck. I think we’re done here.”

  Chuck ripped the papers from his desk, stuffing them back into his suit. Dane loved seeing that practiced, arrogant facade crumble, revealing the ugly selfishness beneath. For all his power, Derrington was nothing but a child, nearing a tantrum for not getting his way.

  The man’s face was beet red, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull. “Last chance, doctor. Either you’re done with her—or you’re done working here.”

  “I don’t recall seeing your name as director of this medical group, Chuck?” Dane stood, walking around his desk, stalking toward the door.

  “That name doesn’t mean shit, doctor. The board is all that matters.”

  Dane knew it of course, knew he was hanging himself here. He didn’t give a fuck anymore. All he did care about was her—the girl who’d left him, the girl who was everything to him, the girl he’d probably never see again.

  He pulled the door open, swinging it wide, squeezing the handle to keep himself from putting a fist through Derrington’s ten thousand dollar veneers. Dane met his gaze, his voice dropping to a rumble. “I’ll see who I want, when I want, how I want. And what I want? What I’ll always want? It’s Amity. A woman who’s a far better person than you’ll ever be, who deserved a far better father than you’ve turned out to be. I love her—even if she doesn’t love me. Nothing you do or say is ever going to change that.”

  Derrington’s lips drew back into an enraged rictus, his teeth gritted. “I know she left you. You’re torching your entire fucking career over a woman who doesn’t want you.”

  Dane almost went after him at that, a murderous rage building within him, red at the edges of his vision. He knew it was bullshit—she hated her father. She wouldn’t have told him.

  “You’re a liar, Chuckie.” Dane pointed out the door. “Now, get the fuck out of my office before I throw you out.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dane threw the last box into the rear seat of his truck, pausing to look back at the building he no longer worked in. He was surprised they didn’t hav
e security walk him out. He looked up at the cold, opaque sky, freezing cold drizzle beginning to fall.

  It made sense though, he thought bitterly. He’d made the right choice—and just like with Steph, his girl had still walked away. Sometimes life didn’t have happy endings. The best he could ever hope for was bittersweet—minus the sweet.

  “It’s the middle of the day. Where’re you going?”

  He spun around. There, wrapped in a button-down wool coat, was Amity, looking as beautiful as he’d ever seen her, her dark hair falling over one shoulder, its luster swallowed up by the inky black of her coat, her soft pink lip caught between her white teeth.

  “Why are you here? Didn’t you quit?” He winced at the bitterness in his voice.

  “I did—and I’m not coming back.”

  Of course not.

  The girl didn’t feel anything for him, did she? He couldn’t blame her. This felt like gloating, like twisting the knife, and for the first time since he’d met Amity Derrington, he didn’t want to be around her right now. This just made things worse.

  “Then why’d you come? Did you want to see if I still wanted you back? Am I that pathetic to you, Amity?”

  The pinched look in her brown eyes said it all. That one had hit home.

  “Dane, I—”

  “As of this morning, I don’t work here anymore. Courtesy of your father.”

  “I know. He told me.”

  Dane pointed back at the building. “If you think you can just come down here and—what?”

  She stepped closer, lowering her chin, looking up at him through the fringe of devastatingly long eyelashes. “I want to come back.”

  “I’m not your boss anymore—maybe your dad can pull some strings. He seems to get what he wants.”

  “Shut up, sir.”

  “What?”

  “I came here because I want to come back—to you. And I came here to… beg you for something.”