Slamming the door behind me, I threw the manila folder onto my desk where it skidded to a stop when it hit the leather blotter. I rubbed a hand at the back of my neck and glanced at it. I was too pissed to take another look at it.

I paced the length of my office several times before walking over to the window in time to catch an older blue Hyundai peel out of the parking lot. I could only assume it was Ms. Thompson. Ciaran Thompson, her file read. Twenty-seven, five-foot-six, long reddish-brown hair that matched big brown eyes. And unfortunately, not only a liar but also a fucking journalist.

The door to my office opened without a courtesy knock beforehand.

Monique barged into the room and placed her hands on her hips. “What is wrong with you?”

“What are you talking about?” I was irritated beyond control and not in the mood to discuss it. I wasn’t even sure that I could.

“You just yelled at a patient and kicked her out of the office.”

So much for not discussing it. “Monique, she wasn’t a patient, she was a journalist lying through her teeth for a story.”

“She admitted she was journalist?”

“Yes, after I questioned her fake leaking implant emergency.”

I didn’t bother to mention I was actually on to Ms. Thompson before I had even laid a finger on her body. The minute I saw her perky breasts bounce out of the pink lace bra they were showcased in, I had a strong hunch they were a hundred percent authentic. But the need to touch her had been overwhelmingly strong. I figured she was just another female trying to get my attention. Nothing unusual. It was the journalist part that caught me off guard and the fact that she lied infuriated me.

Monique crossed her arms and jutted out a hip. “Okay, fine. So, she lied. Big deal. People lie every day. You still can’t treat patients like that. She was probably just trying to do her job and you didn’t even bother to hear her out.”

An image of big brown eyes flooded with tears flashed before me. I shook it off. Ciaran Thompson may have been desperate for an interview, but it wasn’t going to happen.

“I think you’re forgetting this is my practice and I can treat patients as I damn well please. Now do you think you could get back to doing what I actually pay you for?”

I knew I was being an ass but I was sick and tired of dealing with people looking to make a buck from my life. The media had been coming after me for years.

“Jesus, she’s right. You really can be an ass,” Monique grumbled. Stomping out the door she slammed it just as hard as I had earlier.

It wasn’t the first time I had been called an ass. Which was why it no longer fazed me when someone resorted to throwing the word in my direction. No one knew I counted on my boorish behavior to keep everyone at a distance, which was exactly the way I liked it. Add an easy woman into the mix for a quick lay and I was a satisfied man. I really didn’t need anything else. And I especially did not need a nosy-ass journalist poking around my life.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” I barked.

Gloria walked in with a stack of mail in her hands.

Leaning over she placed the stack at the edge of the desk. “Dr. Bennett, I brought the mail for you.”

I pulled it to me and started to flip through the envelopes.

Out of the edge of my eye I noticed Gloria wringing her hands in front of my desk. Pulling an envelope from the pile with my name printed on the front in plain black ink, I ripped it open.

“You might as well say whatever your thinking,” I told her, without looking up to meet her eyes. I could sense her anxiety from where I sat.

“I was wondering if you would like for me to send Ms. Thompson some flowers.”

My head shot up.

“Why the hell would I want you to send her flowers?” I asked. I was trying to control my temper but it wasn’t an easy task with my staff working my last nerve.

“Well, you weren’t exactly nice to the poor young girl.”

“She isn’t a poor young girl. She is a grown woman, a grown woman who lied through her teeth just so she could get to me.”

“Well, I liked her.”

It figured she did.

Gloria was a pillar in this office that I inherited years ago. She knew me better than anyone in my life. She was also one of the last people I needed in a bad mood because her mood would affect every other patient who either called or came in for an appointment, not to mention the attitudes of the rest of the nurses in the office. However, she was pushing her luck when it came to the journalist.

“I can get her address from her file if you would like. You know from the file you have sitting right there on your desk.”

“No, Gloria, I wouldn’t like. The woman lied; therefore her behavior negates any obligation I might have to apologize or send flowers. After all, I am the one she lied to so she could use me to further her career.”

Gloria’s lips pinched tight. After what seemed like forever, she apparently concluded I was not about to budge on the issue.

“Fine. But it is a shame. She seemed like such a nice young lady.” Gloria huffed before slamming the door on her way out. At the rate today was going, a call to the door repair guy was in the near future.

I turned my head towards Ciaran’s file, which was silently shouting for my attention from the edge of the desk blotter. Picking it up, I flipped through the few sheets filled out in her pretty handwriting.

For a brief second during her appointment, when I had looked into her eyes, I got the uncanny feeling I had seen her somewhere before, but as I took in the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose I began to second guess myself.

She was a little thing, slim underneath the silk material of her blouse. My hands had easily spanned her small wrists. I could’ve held both of them in one of mine as I pinned her to the floor and worked my mouth over her breasts.

Shit, what the hell was I thinking? She worked for a fucking magazine. That was enough for me to hate her no matter how attractive she was.

I slapped her file closed and picked up the envelope I’d previously had in my hands. Slipping out a folded sheet of paper, I immediately noticed what looked like red marker bleeding through the page. Once it was unfolded, the message jumped straight at me. “Your time has come to pay for what you have gotten away with. The guilty will burn in hell.”

I tossed the paper on my desk and walked back over to the window. A woman was walking down the sidewalk with two young children as the sun’s rays shined through the branches of the trees above them. They looked happy and peaceful, which was a direct contrast to the storm I felt brewing deep inside.

Walking back to my desk, I picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. After a couple of rings, a man’s voice answered. “This is Thad.”

“Thad, it’s Kean. It’s starting again.”