real reason I wanted to see you is I have a question about one of the notes you transcribed for me.” Patterson walked around the desk, seemingly all business, but I didn’t let down my guard. He pulled a folder from a stack in his out box and beckoned me toward him. “It’s right here. Please take a look and tell me what you think this means.”
I leaned over the desk, staying as far from Patterson’s octopus arms as possible. Fortunately, I could read upside down. “Patient is recently divorced, suffering from nervous strain.” I looked up at Patterson. “I’m certain that’s what you said on the tape. Is there something wrong?”
“Not wrong, but I couldn’t help thinking how well that phrase describes your own situation.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together and looked down his nose at me, as if I’d suddenly developed a rare disease. Or a third breast. “You know, Phoebe, not only am I your employer, but I think of myself as your physician, as well. It’s obvious to me that since your divorce, you, too, have been exhibiting signs of nervous strain. I believe I can help you.”
I started backing toward the door. “Dr. Michaels over at County General is my doctor.”
For a man of his size, Patterson was amazingly quick. He came around the desk and pulled me to him in a bear hug. It was like being caught in the elevator doors, my ribs creaking, my breath cut off. “I find you so attractive,” he murmured, and began kissing my neck. Wet slobbery kisses. You’d think a man who considered himself a modern-day Don Juan would have a better technique. I struggled, caught tight in his crazed grip.
Nose buried in my neck, his ear brushed up against my lips, pink and vulnerable. I know how to take advantage of a good opportunity when I see it. I bit down hard.
He screamed like a woman, a high-pitched shriek that was probably heard two floors away. I shot out of his arms and was standing by the door by the time he straightened up. He had one hand clapped over his ear and his eyes were wet. “Why did you do that?” he asked, seeming genuinely puzzled.
“Did I mention I have this thing about being held against my will?” I turned the doorknob. “I’m going to pretend this never happened,” I said. “But if you so much as lay a hand on me again I’ll report you to the AMA, the TMA, the BBB and anybody else who’ll listen.”
“Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe.” He started toward me again, arms outstretched, pleading. “I know you’ve been without a man for months now. Surely you must need the physical release—”
I was out the door before he finished the sentence. My feet pounded down the carpeted hallway in time with my furiously beating heart. “What I need is to be left the hell alone,” I muttered as I rounded the corner, headed toward the front office. Joan was going to hear about the doctor’s latest shenanigans.
I didn’t see the man at the end of the hallway until it was too late. I had a fleeting impression of broad shoulders and dark hair before I barreled into him. Papers scattered as he was shoved back against one wall. He struggled for balance, holding on to the only support available—me.
2
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!” I swatted at the stranger as his fingers clutched at my dress.
“You’re the one who ran into me, lady.” He righted himself and stared down at me. He was quite tall and, in a better mood, I probably would have thought he was handsome, with his tousled dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes. He was fairly young, midtwenties, I guessed.
“You should watch where you’re going,” I snapped.
“I could say the same to you.”
We glared at each other, both rumpled and out of breath. Not unlike two people in the aftermath of a particularly vigorous round of sex. I swallowed. Now why had I thought of that? Except, of course, that he was a particularly handsome man, and those dark eyes of his seemed to look right through me, as if he could tell I was wearing my best Givenchy underwear.
Stop it! I ordered myself. I glanced around, hoping someone would come to my rescue. The office was eerily silent and I realized everyone else had gone to lunch. Me and handsome Hank here were alone, except, of course, for the lecherous doctor.
I smoothed my hands down my sides. The thing to do was to stay calm and collected. That was me. Ms. Cool. “If you’re here to see the doctor, his office is back there.” I pointed down the hallway.
“Actually, I’m looking for a Phoebe Frame.” The man glanced around us. “Maybe you could point me in the right direction and I promise to stay out of your way.”
“Phoebe Frame?” I felt my face warm. “Uh, what do you want with her?”
“Not that it’s your business, but I’m here to install a new transcription system. She is the transcriptionist, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” The word came out as a squeak. I straightened and tried to look indifferent. “I’m Phoebe. If you’ll follow me, the transcription room is right this way.”
I marched past him, down the hall toward my cubicle. By now it felt as if my whole face and neck were on fire. And red is not my best color. Not that I cared what handsome Hank thought of my looks, but…
I stopped at the doorway to my cubicle and whirled to face him. “You haven’t told me your name.”
“You didn’t give me time.” He offered me a card. “Jeff Fischer. My friends call me Jeff, but you can call me Mr. Fischer.”
All right, maybe I deserved that. I cleared my throat. “Look, I’m sorry about, well, about just now. I was very annoyed at someone and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He set his briefcase on the counter and opened it. “Yeah, well, I guess you weren’t hired for your personality anyway, huh?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Forget about it.”
“Oh, that is so like a man.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You insult me, and then you try to blow it off as if it isn’t important.”
“Hey, you insulted me first.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did. You accused me of trying to grope you when I was only trying to keep my balance.”
“You were groping me.” I flushed, remembering the feel of his hand on my breast. “Though I’ll admit, you probably didn’t do it on purpose.”
He looked up at the ceiling, addressing some invisible being. “She admits she’s wrong. That must be a first.”
“How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”
He grinned. “No, but I’d like to.” He stuck out his hand. “Let’s start over. I’m Jeff Fischer. Nice to meet you, Miss Frame. Or is it Mrs.?”
“It’s Ms.” I shook his hand, ignoring the flutter in my stomach at his touch. Maybe I was just hungry. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Fischer.”
“I
