Page 52 of It's Always Been You
No, it’s not. I went out and bought the best chair money could buy on such short notice. For her back. Reaching across her, I turn her computer on. “It’s new.”
“Oh. Nice.” She swipes her hair off the back of her neck and swings it around her shoulder. As she does, her lilac-scented perfume envelops me, eliciting the strangest feeling in my chest. It feels weirdly like . . . loss. And sorrow.
It’s homesickness.
I clear the lump that’s risen in my throat. “You can learn about our patient management system later. I’ll just show you where all the programs are for now.” I walk her through the desktop icons and show her how to access her email account. “Gladys and I will communicate with you by phone mostly.”
“Got it,” she says, taking notes in a polka-dotted notebook with one of her frilly pens.
“Do you have any questions?” I ask, curious about what she’s thinking and feeling. She’s taken everything in stride. I knew she would, but I’m surprised she’s being so . . .compliant.And . . . sweet.
Where’s the evidence gone of her burning hatred for me? I almost miss it.
“I do. I’m keeping track of them in my notebook so you can address them all at once.”
My brows rise. “Oh.” Efficient. I like that. I peek over her shoulder. “Let’s have them, then.”
She bites the end of her pen and covers the page. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll figure it all out. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
The subtle way her brows furrow softens my heart. She’s nervous. This must be hard for her—reporting to me. But I’m determined to make this situation as comfortable as possible for her.
“You can take up as much of my time as you need,” I assure her, sitting down on the desk.
She peers up at me and smiles, but it’s a little too saccharine-looking for her. I study her closely. She’s acting too nonchalant about all of this. There’s something going on beneath that cool-as-a-cucumber exterior. Evie has always been a great actress, but I’m not buying it. She’s gone from professing she hates me to becoming my assistant in the span of a week. There’s bound to be something she’s dying to say to me right now.
Finally, I laugh. It breaks the tension. “Tell me what you’re really thinking, please.”
She looks around. “Honestly?”
“Please.”
“I’m thinking . . .” She bites down on her lower lip and gives me a sheepish look. “No offense, but I’m thinking this office is a complete drag. Christmas is practicallynext week,but there’s no Christmas cheer anywhere. Where’s all the decor? The tree? The pizzazz? This place is depressing.” She pauses, her cheeks coloring. “I’m also thinking that I don’t know how I’m going to sit at this desk all day long.”
Automatically, I slip my phone from my back pocket. Unlocking the screen, my thumbs punch the termdesk riserinto the nearest search bar.I don’t need Evie to be my assistant forever, but I do want her to stick around long enough to learn she can trust me again.
And maybe restore our friendship.
“There,” I say as I tuck my phone back into my pocket. “Your desk riser is on its way.”
Her brows rise incredulously. “Okay, you didn’t have to dothat.That’s not what I me—”
I lift a hand. “I believe what you’re trying to say is ‘Thank you, Brandon.’”
She purses her lips. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I look around the room. “And as far as the Christmas decor goes . . .” I pause and shrug. “Not everyone celebrates Christmas.”
She lifts a brow. “And this coming from theChristian?” She tuts. “For shame. Tell me—is your backside sore from straddling that fence, Dr. Wright?”
I laugh. I’ve missed our banter.
Feeling more confident now, I step into her personal bubble, leveling her with a mock serious expression as my hands come down on the arm rests. “Evie,” I croon. Her eyes widen as she leans back. “Let’s get one thing clear, shall we?” I point at my chest. “Boss.” I poke her sternum. “Assistant.”
Frowning, she shoves my hand away. “Your point?”
I step back as I gesture between us. “Superior, subordinate. In other words, what I say goes. If you want to decorate your desk, fine. But we’re not decorating the office.”
She spins away from me, but I see the wounded look on her face before she can hide it. “Yeah, but even atheists love a little bit of Christmas cheer.”
