Need You Now (1001 Dark Nights) by Lisa Renée Jones Page B

how I keep my hands off you while we conduct these meetings.”
    He kisses me again, leaving me breathless. I reach up and wipe his cheek. “If we’re being discreet, I’d say leaving my lipstick off of you and on me is smart.”
    “What fun is that?” he asks, wiping my cheek as well. “You’d better go fix your face and I’ll stay here like the good little Boy Scout I am, or you’ll never get that lunch I promised you.”
    I laugh and turn away, but as I fix my lipstick, I remind myself to be cautious. He’s right. He’s no Boy Scout.
     
    * * * *
     
    Thirty minutes later, Jensen and I are sitting outside on a wooden patio of a waterfront restaurant that’s part of a nearby hotel, and I am heartily enjoying my meal. “This,” I say, pointing at the bowl in front of me, “is the best macaroni and cheese I’ve ever tasted and I’m a mac n’ cheese connoisseur.”
    “The lobster is two thumbs up as well, let me tell you.” He motions to the waitress, who quickly joins us. “Is the head chef in?”
    “No. He’s not here until four. Is something wrong? Can I get a manager?”
    “Nothing is wrong. What’s the chef’s name?”
    The waitress shares the chef’s information and Jensen types it into his phone. “And the manager?”
    “Are you sure nothing is wrong?”
    “Just the opposite,” Jensen assures her.
    Once he’s asked a few more questions, she departs, and I arch a brow.
    “The best talent is never looking for a job,” he replies. “You have to recruit them away.”
    “That’s kind of evil.”
    “All’s fair in love and war, and business is war.”
    “A good reason for me to be a doctor. I don’t want to be part of this war or any other one.”
    “Fighting to save lives is a war, isn’t it?”
    “I’m not going to be a surgeon. I want to be a family practice doctor.”
    “Surgeons get paid well for fighting the wars.”
    “So do you, I’m sure, but I don’t want either job. General practice lets me see the same people often and contribute to their overall health. Which also means I’ll never be wealthy.”
    “Your father was a GP?”
    “He was a surgeon who became a GP.”
    His eyes narrow. “That doesn’t happen often, does it?”
    “He had a God complex, complete with arrogance and attitude, or so he and my mother told me. I was too young to remember.” The waitress clears our plates and offers us dessert. We both opt for coffee.
    “From surgeon to GP,” Jensen prods. “How did it happen?”
    “He lost a patient he felt he shouldn’t have lost. A young boy. The medical board ruled in his favor, but he ruled against himself. He never operated again, and as for the arrogance and attitude, I only knew a kind, giving man whom everyone loved. But looking back, I remember the pain in his eyes. I didn’t know what it was then, but I do now.”
    “To understand it, you have to know it.”
    There are moments in my life that want to surface but I reject them, staying in the moment. “Don’t we all as adults?”
    “Eventually, yes, and while I don’t want to wish pain on anyone at a young age, those who experience it earlier seem to cope better later.”
    “Or it destroys them sooner,” I say, and as is becoming a theme with Jensen, I wonder what we are really talking about. He doesn’t really open up and tell me anything about himself, but it seems like maybe he’s trying.
    The coffee arrives and we both add cream and sweetener. Jensen reaches in the briefcase he’d brought in order to go over some sort of business with me before our meetings, removing a folder. I’m hoping this is where he tells me about his earlier conference call. Thus far every time I’ve nudged for answers, he’s played dodge ball.
    “We need to talk,” he says.
    It’s the kind of prelude that would make anyone’s gut clench, and mine certainly does. “That doesn’t sound good.”
    “We simply need to talk worst-case scenarios.”
    “Worst-case scenarios?” I repeat like a