“The hospital’s annual charity dinner and dance is only two months away, and whereas a guy only has to rent a tux and show up, I’m aware that a woman needs ample time to shop for a dress and schedule all sorts of hair and nail appointments and whatever else it is that you women do to make yourselves beautiful.”
Lucie’s throat closed, and her fingers flew to fidget with her necklace. This was it. They’d worked together for years, sometimes even staying hours past their shifts to work on mutual cases, ordering bad Chinese when their brains refused to quit but their stomachs could no longer be ignored. They’d always been intellectually compatible, and their mutual obsession to help patients recover quicker and better bonded them as nothing else could. She’d loved him for years, but he’d never asked her out. Never made a move, instead preferring to date classy businesswomen he met during happy hour at the posh Club Caliente down the street.
But now he was here. In her office. Talking about the hospital ball. Dear God, please don’t let her faint. Taking a slow, deep breath, Lucie tried for casual. “Are you trying to ask me something, Stephen?” And failed miserably. Damn.
A strong hand rubbed at the back of his neck, and he gave her the cutest look of embarrassment. “Ah, yeah. I’m not doing a very good job of it, am I?”
“No, you’re doing fine!” Too much enthusiasm. Double damn!
“I know I should’ve brought this up before. And I really did want to ask that night I saw you at Club Caliente last month, but I hesitated and then you left. I was hoping I’d see you there again because it doesn’t quite seem appropriate to inquire about a date here at the office, you know?”
Her mind flashed back to the one night she’d ever stepped foot in the overcrowded, overpriced club. Her best friend, Vanessa MacGregor, had just won a really difficult case and wanted to celebrate with a few drinks and some dancing. Instead of going to their usual hangout, Fritz’s, Vanessa convinced Lucie to meet her at the much closer meat market of a club. They’d only been there for an hour tops before leaving. The club was like a frat house on steroids with a country-club clientele. The rest of their night had been spent downing tap beer and hustling guys at darts in a proper celebration.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she assured him. “I mean, not down here. The only person that could possibly hear us right now is Mr. Kramer on the treadmill out there, but the door is shut, and even if it wasn’t, I don’t think he remembers to turn his hearing aid up very often, so the chances of him hearing us over the noise of the mach—”
“Lucie.”
“Sorry.” Oh my God, would you shut up already? You’re babbling like an idiot! “You were saying?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled like he was preparing to BASE jump from the roof of the hospital instead of asking her on a date. “I was trying to get your friend’s number.”
“My…what?”
“The girl you were with that night. Is she seeing anyone?”
“Vanessa?” Lucie’s mind scrambled as it tried to follow the sharp turn off the path the conversation had previously been headed. Or where she’d thought it had been headed. She was such an idiot. “Um, no, she’s not seeing anyone…”
Every muscle in his body visibly relaxed as he stood, his easy smile returning to hit her with both dimples right between the eyes. “That’s great! Can I get her number? I don’t want to take the chance of waiting till the last minute to ask her. I’d like to take her on a few dates before the big event, too. You know, get to know each other better. Lord knows you can never have a decent conversation at that charity dinner without someone interrupting with shoptalk. Lucie? Are you listening?”
“What? No. I mean, yes, I’m listening. Yes, you’re right. It’s definitely not conducive to first-date discussions.” Lucie dropped her gaze to the organized disaster on her desk. Vanessa would have a panic attack if she saw it. Her friend was hyperorganized, always put together on the inside and out, never a hair out of place or an emotion uncalled for. Add in the perfect Barbie-doll looks and you had the kind of woman Stephen Mann was drawn to. The kind of woman she was most definitely not.
“Soooo… Can I have her number? Or maybe you’re playing the role of protective friend and would prefer to grill me about my intentions first,” he teased. “Maybe ask me why I think I’m good enough for her, something like that?”
She couldn’t help the small lift at the corner of her mouth. “As if you couldn’t be good enough for someone. You’re charming, smart, handsome, and successful. How could that amount to ‘not good enough’ by anyone’s standards?”
He winked. “I am quite the catch, aren’t I? Be sure to tell Vanessa that when she tells you I called her. That is, if you ever give me her number.”