What Phoebe Wants. Cindi Myers

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      3

      RELUCTANTLY, I MADE MY WAY to Dr. Patterson’s office.

      Albert grinned at me from his usual post. Someone had crowned him with a Houston Astros ball cap. “Orange is not your color,” I told him. “It does nothing for your complexion.”

      “Good afternoon, Phoebe.” Dr. Patterson looked up from a patient chart. “Did you have a pleasant lunch?” He frowned. “What’s wrong with your neck?”

      “You’re what’s wrong with it.” I glared at him. “When you groped me earlier, you gave me a hickey.”

      He blinked, his expression bland. “Obviously, you’re delusional.” He consulted the papers in his hand, suddenly all business. “I’d like you to help me with some research I’m doing for my upcoming presentation at the annual Texas Medical Association conference. It’s a tremendous honor to be selected and my presentation must be perfect.”

      Right. This was all about him. What else was new? “I’m a transcriptionist,” I said, trying to match his chilly demeanor. “I don’t see how I could help—”

      “I’d ask the receptionist to take care of it, but until we hire a new one, that position is vacant and I can’t wait to prepare this presentation.” He handed me a sheet torn from a yellow legal pad. “Besides, you’re not busy right now, not with the new transcription system being installed. All you have to do is conduct a Web search for the topics listed here.”

      I frowned at the list of medical terms on the paper. “I’m not sure what these mean.”

      “You’re welcome to use my reference books to look up anything you need.” He nodded toward an oak bookcase against the far wall. “And I’ll be happy to assist you when I have the time.” His smile was just short of a leer.

      I folded the sheet of paper. “Would this assignment involve working late?” With you?

      He moved toward me. “I promise you’ll be rewarded.”

      I prepared to dodge out of the way when Joan Lee appeared in the doorway, trailed by a drug pusher in a gray suit. You hang around doctors’ offices long enough, you can spot these guys and gals. Expensive suits, perfectly styled hair, imported sports cars—everything about them screams big bucks, including their perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth. Those teeth were always on display as they grinned and glad-handed their way through the office. They passed out pens and sticky notes like candy. Sometimes they even passed out candy. At Christmas, they brought elaborate gift baskets, which the doctor usually kept for himself.

      I didn’t intend to let this interruption derail our discussion. With any luck, the pusher would be in and out in a few minutes and I could tell Patterson exactly what he could do with his little extra “project.”

      I drifted to the bookcase and pretended to be interested in the Merck Manual.

      “I brought those samples you asked about, doc.” The salesman’s voice boomed through the office as he opened his sample case.

      Patterson glanced at me, but I kept turning pages in the big green book, feigning avid interest in a description of contact dermatitis.

      “Great, Jerry. Thanks a lot.”

      Jerry pulled out a cardboard tray of little boxes. Each bottle would contain a few pills of medication, meant to be handed out as samples to patients, who would then be convinced enough of the drug’s benefits to opt for a full prescription. “Everything they say about this stuff is true,” Jerry gushed. “It’ll sure put pep in your pecker.”

      By now I had a pretty good idea of what drug Jerry was peddling. Sure enough, every box in that tray was emblazoned with the familiar blue tablet and a capital V.

      To my secret delight, a stain of red crept up the back of Patterson’s neck. He hastily shoved the samples in his desk and ushered Jerry from the room.

      As soon as they were gone, I replaced the Merck on the shelf and rushed to the desk. I opened the drawer and took out the tray of little boxes. Sure enough, it was Viagra. As if the doc needed any more pep in his pecker.

      I didn’t have time to open all the little boxes and empty each bottle, so I dropped the whole tray in the trash can beside Patterson’s desk and carried it out with me.

      I passed Joan in the hall and she gave me a curious look.

      “I thought since I wasn’t busy, I’d try to clean up a little around here,” I said.

      At the end of the hall, I ducked into the ladies’ room and emptied every bottle in the toilet. Then I stuffed Patterson’s trash can in the supply closet and sauntered back into the corridor, humming to myself. My bad mood had vanished. I felt almost giddy. I didn’t know what had come over me. I’d never done anything so daring in my life.

      I pushed aside a momentary nudge of guilt by telling myself that Patterson deserved this small payback after the way he’d treated me. Women everywhere would be thankful if they knew what I’d just done.

      I passed Jeff near the end of the hallway. “What are you looking so smug about?” he asked.

      I gave him what I hoped was a mysterious smile. “My mama always said nothing would make your day like doing a good deed for someone else and she was right.”

      He angled himself against the wall, blocking my way. “What good deed did you do?”

      I shook my finger at him. “Oh, but it’s more virtuous to do your good deeds in secret.”

      “Since when are you virtuous?” He reached out and stroked the bandage at my throat. “Barney. Definitely your style.”

      I fought against a blush. “It was all we had. They’re very popular with kids. Would you like one?”

      His voice was a low rumble that set up vibrations in my chest. “I can think of a few things I’d like from you, but a Band-Aid isn’t one of them.”

      My knees suddenly felt wobbly. I fought the urge to hold on to him for support. “Dream on,” I said, sounding a little out of breath.

      He leaned closer, a decidedly wicked grin making him more handsome than ever. “Sometimes dreams come true, you know.”

      He let me by him and I tottered to my room, which was miraculously back together. A mixture of victorious exaltation and frustrated desire made me giddy. So Jeff wasn’t right for me? A woman could flirt, couldn’t she? I probably needed the practice. And putting one over on “Dr. Love” was enough to make anyone happy.

      I sank СКАЧАТЬ