The Boss and Nurse Albright. Lynne MarshallЧитать онлайн книгу.
knees. She needed this job. Her ex-husband’s nominal child support payments barely covered the cost of pre-school and child care. As it was, she could only afford to rent the maid’s quarters in a seen-better-days mansion in Montecito. She needed to provide a life for the two of them. She had to make this job work.
“If I’ve stepped over the bounds, then I’m sorry,” Claire said, scrambling to make things right.
Jason’s glare softened. Had he heard the desperation in her voice?
“I’m sure we can work something out here,” René said.
“I thought we hired a Nurse Practitioner. Now I’ve come to find out we’ve got our very own faith healer.”
“I will not stand here and allow you to insult me like that!” Heat burned on her cheeks. She’d meant to keep quiet, but his words cut to her insecure core, and she needed to stick up for herself. No one would be allowed to walk all over her ever again.
“Then I suggest you leave,” he said with a glaciercold stare.
Don’t back down. Even though my livelihood is at stake, he cannot be allowed to talk to me as if I don’t matter!
“I deserve just as much respect as you do, Dr. Rogers.”
“Hold on, you guys,” René interjected, her gaze jumping wildly from Jason and back to Claire. “We can work this out civilly.”
Jason shoved his hands in his doctor’s coat and punched his tongue into the side of his cheek. He glanced at her desk, and the framed picture of Gina. “Only because she has a daughter to support am I willing to let her stay.”
Who the heck did this guy think he was? The Emperor? Well, how kind of you, sir, and I shall be forever grateful. Not! “There are three other doctors in this practice who agreed to hire me. If you want to kick me out, I suggest you take a vote.” With fear quivering her insides, Claire worried she’d pushed things too far. She fought to cover up her apprehension by widening her stance and leaning slightly forward.
Jason also leaned closer, and his glare delved into her eyes.
Why did she feel transported back to grammar school and smack in the middle of a sand box dispute? Back when boys and girls didn’t know how to show they liked someone so they pretended to hate them. And why, upon looking closer into his eyes, did Jason Rogers appear to be enjoying himself?
“Hold on!” René said. “We don’t need to take a vote. We can work this out like adults.”
Claire wasn’t sure what had clicked in Jason’s mind, but his puffed up chest deflated infinitesimally and he stepped back.
“Look,” he said. “I know with the economy the way it is, no one wants to lose a job.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my patients alone. That’s all. You can pick up the overflow for René, Philip and Jon. If you agree to that, I’ll call a truce.”
Claire glanced at René, who wore an earnest expression, as if encouraging her to take the deal. Accepting his offer for a truce seemed like the sane thing to do. Anything seemed better than standing around arguing with the obstinate and unlikable Jason Rogers. On her first day at work, no less!
If he wanted her to leave his patients alone, she’d be glad to comply. And once she was given the chance to get solid results with the other doctors’ clients, maybe he’d come around to trusting her with his patients. And, if he asked nicely, she’d reconsider screening them for him.
She offered her hand, and he took it. The angry electricity that had jumped between them only moments before was still there. His palm was hot. And calloused, which surprised her. He stared intently into her eyes, and she almost needed to take a step back…but refused. There was something in his gaze that she hadn’t detected before and, coupled with holding his hand, it knocked her a bit off balance.
“Truce,” she said.
He nodded, dropped her hand and stepped away. After a brief glance in René’s direction, he said, “Sorry to drag you into this.” Then he went back to his office.
René stepped inside Claire’s office and closed the door. “He’s never offensive like that,” she whispered. “He’s sullen and moody, but never like that. I swear.”
Claire studied her open-toed shoes, trying her best to figure out what had just happened. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I’m never like this, either. Please don’t hold this against me.”
“Not at all.” René cupped Claire’s arms. “We want you here. We’re glad to have you. You’ve got to understand that Jason, well…” She hesitated, as if she didn’t know how much to disclose about the man.
Who knew what his problem was? Perhaps he’d been through a rotten divorce like she had, and he held a grudge toward women the same way she did toward men. Maybe they had more in common than either would like to admit.
“Jason,” René continued, brushing her hair behind her shoulder, “how should I put it…he leads a lonely life, and sometimes he forgets how to treat people. His patients love him, though, and he’s an incredibly good doctor. Just give him time.”
“It’s apparent that he cares about his patients, I just wish he’d be a bit nicer to me. Hey, I’m a tough girl. I’ll live with this set-up. You know how much I want this to work out.”
“Good, because he essentially owns the building and practice.”
Claire’s throat dried up. Of all the people to pick a fight with. She needed to sit down. “I promise this will never happen again.”
René nodded and offered a reassuring smile. “Now, did I hear right—this was about table salt?”
Jason paced his office, exhilarated. A sensation he hadn’t experienced in a while. All because of an argument with Claire Albright? Albright—hah! She couldn’t have a more appropriate surname. Whenever she entered a room it brightened. She didn’t need to wear that becoming purple dress to make a lasting impression. All she had to do was smile. He remembered how taken aback he’d been when she’d smiled and introduced herself to him yesterday. He’d thought about her smile once or twice last night when he’d dined alone in his big and empty condo.
So why did he feel compelled to chew off her head? Because she dared to approach his only remaining thread to life, his sacred craft of medicine, differently. Table salt and massages—what a bunch of bunk. Just the thought of it rankled him all over again.
But there was something more to his reaction. She made him “feel” things. He’d stared into her eyes and felt his heartbeat pound in his neck when he’d argued with her. He’d been hot-tempered about what he’d said because it related to his patients and medical practice, the only thing left he cared about, and she’d thrown the passion right back in his face.
And she smelled like cinnamon, which did crazy things to his line of thinking. He dug his fingers into his hair.
Damn. The strangest notion overtook him. It made him pace.
After four years in limbo, he almost felt alive.
He came to a dead stop.
He’d soon put an end to that “feeling” business, by avoiding her at every turn.
The next morning, Claire entered her office before Jason had arrived. She needed to work up the courage to consult him about a plan to help the waiting room patients relax. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, and here she was with another plan, but she couldn’t back down. It had come to her in the middle of the night; something he’d said in a snide way about “next you’ll start aromatherapy” must have planted the idea in her subconscious. He’d absolutely hate it, but if her trial run worked out in the upstairs waiting room, she planned to suggest they try aromatherapy in the larger downstairs waiting room, too.
If Jason owned the building, and he didn’t like her or