Page 2 of Tempting the Doctor

I consider jumping up to catch Dr. Miller, but before I move, I hear him say, “Who is that in the waiting room, Ms. Berk?”

“It’s a woman who says she had an appointment with you that you canceled. She insisted on waiting to see you,” she responds.

“I don’t have time for this. Tell her to make an appointment or leave. If she refuses, have security escort her out. Our waiting room is not a holding pen for women with nothing better to do than make a nuisance of themselves.”

I grab the arms of my chair to keep myself from jumping up and giving the good doctor a piece of my mind. I definitely have better things to do than wait around for this pompous ass. Whatever reservations I’d felt earlier are gone now. I’ll show Dr. Trey Miller just how much a nuisance I can be.

Without waiting for Jane to kick me out, I stand and leave. I’ve got a blind date to crash, and I’ll need some time to prepare.

Chapter 2

Trey

I can’t believe my mother thought this was a good idea. I’m pretty sure she’s getting back at me for something, but for the life of me I can’t remember what I did that she’d think I deserve this. She knows the last thing I want is to spend my evening, what few hours I have away from the hospital, entertaining a woman.

It’s no secret my mother wants me to settle down and start a family, but it’s also no secret that isn’t ever going to happen. I’d thought she’d finally accepted that. Apparently, I was wrong.

The only silver lining is that she promised me this woman, Caroline Winters, and I have several things in common. According to my mother, she’s a well-known stockbroker who has made a name for herself on Wall Street. I rarely pay attention to financial news, so I have no idea who she is. My mother told me to expect a blonde woman with brown eyes, wearing a blue dress. I suppose I could have looked her up online, but I didn’t see the point in wasting any more time on this date than necessary.

As I walk through the doors of Oasis, a new and trendy restaurant in the center of the city, I scan the dining room before approaching the hostess. My mother had recommended this restaurant, and looking around, it’s no wonder she suggested it for a date. Even I can see the romance of the place down to the smallest detail. The lighting is low, and instrumental music is playing soft enough to be spoken over, but loud enough to obscure the conversations of the patrons. The tables are intimate and spread apart, giving diners the illusion of privacy. A small candle flickers on the center of each linen covered table, adding to the romantic ambiance.

I’m immediately annoyed by what I see. This is the kind of restaurant one would take their partner to for an anniversary or to propose. There are couples everywhere; not a single table seats more than two. Caroline Winters is going to suspect I’m far more serious about this date than I am.Dammit.

It’s too late to cancel, so like a man going to his execution, I force my feet to carry me to the hostess stand where a pretty brunette greets me warmly. I give her my name, and she informs me that my date has already arrived, which surprises me. I’d intentionally arrived twenty minutes early, hoping for time to have a drink at the bar before engaging in this farce. It seems Caroline had a similar idea.

I follow the hostess to a table near the far wall where a woman waits alone. I nearly trip over my feet when I catch sight of her. There must be some mistake. The woman before me is as far from what I’d been told about Caroline Winters as could possibly be. This woman is breathtaking, with dark red hair that hangs in waves down her back and vibrant green eyes that seem to glow in the candle light. The only detail my mother seems to have gotten right is the blue dress. She smiles at me, and my breath catches.

What is wrong with me?I’ve never responded to a woman this way.

The hostess clears her throat quietly, and I realize with a jolt that I’ve been standing here, staring at the woman before me. I hastily take my seat and murmur a quick thank you to the young hostess. When she’s gone, I turn my attention back to the beauty in front of me.

“Good evening, Caroline,” I say.

“Good evening, Doct—I mean, Trey,” she answers in a voice as soft as silk. My cock stirs in my pants, and I shift in my seat.

“I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Not at all, I only arrived a few minutes ago,” she says with a secretive smile. “I’m so glad you were able to get away for the evening. I know your work is so important.”

“Of course,” I tell her. “It’s my pleasure to meet you. My mother tells me you’re on Wall Street?”

She hesitates for a moment, and before she can answer, we’re interrupted by the waiter asking for our orders. I haven’t even glanced at the menu, so I just ask for the night’s special. My date does the same, and I tell the waiter to bring us the chef’s recommendation for wine.

Once we’re alone again, she turns to me and says, “So, tell me about yourself.”

I groan internally. This is one of the worst parts about a first date, the getting-to-know-you stage. Most women I’ve dated are interested in two things: my bank account balance and which doors I can open for them. So, I give the woman before me my routine answer, telling her about my career and where I went to school. All things she could learn by reading my resume.

She sighs, then stops me before I can start telling her about my past employment experience. “Tell me something aboutyou, Trey. I know you’re dedicated, but surely you’re more than your career.”

I’m stunned for a moment; no one ever wants to knowme. I think my own mother was the last person to even ask how I was doing. And honestly, I don’t know what to say. My work is so integral to me, I don’t think I know who I am outside of it. Still, I try my best to answer.

“Well, I am first and foremost a surgeon. I suppose when I’m not working though, there are a few things I enjoy. The hospital requires that each surgeon takes three days off for every ten days on-shift and two weeks’ vacation every year. I usually spend that time on research or attending conferences, but when I have the time, I like to go sailing.”

She smiles. “I’ve never been.”

“And what do you do for fun when the market is closed?” I ask.

“Oh, you know,” she hedges, gesturing nonchalantly, “I enjoy reading.”

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