Page 53 of The Potter

“With you?” Surely there’s alcohol on the plane. I’m thinking he means sober in more of a medicated way.

His jaw tightens like he’s suddenly realizing what he got himself into. “See you in two hours, Ms. Belle.”

Dr. Potter’s office door is cracked when I rap lightly. “Dr. Potter? Are you in here?” I call, pushing the door open.

There, spread out over a manila file are curls. Lots and lots of dark curls. Connected to those soft curls, is a man who’d fire me if he caught me staring at him while he slept with a full glass of bourbon clutched in his hand.

“Vance,” I say gently, giving his shoulder a soft shake.

Dr. Potter’s head snaps up quickly, his eyes fluttering open as he blinks at me sleepily before taking a look around the office. “Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing at his face to wake himself up a little more.

“It’s 11:30,” I tell him as I sit down across from him. “You said you wanted me back here in two hours.” I shrug, smiling. “I’m guessing you aren’t ready to go?”

Didn’t he say for me not to be late? And yet, here he is, not ready like he barked for me to be. I can’t help the dumb grin when he groans and lets his head hit the desk in frustration.

Yeah, I caught Mr. Perfect Employer sleeping on the job. “I can take your bourbon instead of you if you’d like. That way you can stay here and nap. It would solve my problem and yours.”

Seriously, he does look tired. I don’t think I noticed earlier. Well, I didn’t notice much probably because I was in such a panic. After Vance barked out his orders, I went back to my office, found the pamphlets, and raided the snack machine, then I felt better.

Vance might be bossy as a mother trucker, but he took care of me, even if he didn’t want to. And considering all he’s been doing is patient consults, he probably needed something else to do with his time. But it shocks me to find him asleep in his office.

“Do you need to stop by your place and grab your bag?” He completely ignores my comment about taking the bourbon instead of him. “I don’t know if Astor told you, but the conference lasts all weekend. But since socializing is the least of my favorite activities, we’ll leave Saturday.”

“What the heck? Really?”

Vance’s brows rise. “Don’t tell me you have epic plans at Clyde’s?”

I knew him calling my motel room, my place, was a one-off. “Actually, I do have plans. Thank you very much.”

He grabs a few things from his drawer, a smirk playing on his face. “Oh, yeah? What kind of plans does one have with a goldfish?”

I hate him. I really hate him. “You know,” I say, kicking my feet up on his desk for the hell of it. “Sometimes, I think you just like pissing people off. Keeps them from asking too many questions, I suppose.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I like staying focused.”

“And what would that focus be since from what I see, you’re only doing patient consults? Still.”

The way I know I hit a nerve is by watching that glorious muscle in his jaw tick away. “Money. You wouldn’t know anything about that, though.”

I’ve been around Vance so much lately that his comment doesn’t even sting. “You’re right. I find that money corrupts even the best of men.”

“Where are the pamphlets?” The hardness of his words clearly indicates that this conversation is over.

“By the door. The box was heavy, so I—”

“It was heavy?”

Vance’s gaze turns harsh as he rounds the desk, bending down to get in my face so that when I speak, my breath fans along his lips. “Yes, but I was going to ask Serena if I could use the cart in the file room.”

I watch as Vance breathes through his parted lips, noting the grip he has on the chair, caging me in. “And did she let you use it?” He finally grits out.

“I couldn’t find her.” I feel like I’m about to get bent over the desk and spanked, which… isn’t as scary sounding as it should be.

“You shouldn’t be lifting heavy boxes.” His words are tight and clipped. How does someone just wake up pissed?

I pat one of his hands on the armrest. “Well, I don’t want to be fired, either.” I flash him a conniving smile. “Still got a thousand left before I’m fully funded for my surgery.” I don’t mention the caretaker piece since Vance’s gaze hardens, settling on my hand.

“I don’t want to see you carrying another heavy box.”

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