Chapter Eighteen
There wasn’t enough peppermint oil in the world to address the pounding going on in my head. If I had to hear Nick’s name one more time today I was going to . . . well, it probably involved eating cheesecake for dinner, except I had to head to the clinic as soon as I was done here. I felt like I’d already been treating mental disorders all day. It was called Nickitis. It was a contagion and everyone had it. Perhaps I should warn the CDC.
My phone rang. I was definitely eating cheesecake for dinner, with a side of hot fudge. Why was he calling me?
“Hello,” I growled.
“Hello, Kate.”
Now he chose to get some manners?
“Can I help you?”
“By the tone of your voice, it sounds like that might be a painful option for me.”
He had no idea. And I had no idea why that made me laugh.
“That’s better,” his silky voice crooned.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’ve been dealing with your sycophants all day.”
“I’m all ears.”
“You know I can’t discuss clients, but I did meet a woman today who, from memory, could recite the name of every episode of On the Edge, including the special holiday episode you did after the show ended. Not only that, she photoshopped a picture of how your future children together would look. They were beautiful by the way, so mazel tov.”
He may have chuckled. Maybe. “Please tell me you’re not setting me up with her.”
“Well . . .” I paused. “I thought about it until she showed me her tattoo of you. On her butt. Then I got a little frightened and ill. Needless to say, she’s no longer a client.”
Too bad peppermint oil couldn’t burn that image out of my head.
“What can I say? I’m adored.”
And egotistical. I kept that to myself since I was at work. “Is that the kind of attention you like or want?” I asked, because his profile told the story of a man who would, but my interactions with him said something entirely different.
He thought for a moment. It wasn’t a hard question. Or so I thought.
“It’s the price of fame. Something I’ve come to terms with.”
“So you want someone who worships you?” Figures.
“You make that sound as if it’s a terrible thing. Don’t you want to be with someone who’s devoted and adores you?”
I sat back in my chair, once again caught off guard by him. “I imagine most people would.”
“I didn’t ask about most people.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “But hero-worshipping your partner is not healthy.”
“Thank you for that insight, Dr. Morgan.”
“Now you’re mocking me.”
“That’s not how I operate.”
“Duly noted. Is there a reason for your call?”
“Other than the fact I enjoy talking to you?”
“Yes,” I breathed out like one of his fan club members.
“I wanted to know why you didn’t call me.”
What? I shook my head. “Why would I call you?”
“That hurts, Kate. I thought we were friends.”
“I don’t remember us agreeing on that title.”
“Let’s agree on it now,” he fired back.
“That’s not how friendship works,” I countered.
“I suppose you have rules for that too.”
“Not necessarily,” I stammered.
“Then we should have no issues.”
I closed my eyes and rubbed my neck. Was someone playing a prank on me? Why did Nick Wells want to be my friend? Or should I ask, was he capable of friendship? Narcissists were not.
“Do we have a deal?” he interrupted my internal struggle of trying to figure out who or what he was.
“You don’t broker friendship.”
“What would you have us do?”
Was he for real? “Do you want a list?” I was so confused.
“Sure.”
“Well . . . to become friends with someone, you should spend time together, share interests, and have mutual respect for each other.”
“Done. Have dinner with Skye and me tonight.”
He had to quit lobbing those kinds of things out there. My heart skipped a few beats. “Uh . . . first of all, Alex Trebeck, you didn’t ask in the form of a question.” It had sounded like a demand. “And second, I sent Chanel’s information to you in your client portal. She signed your NDA, so you should probably take her out. By the way, she’s . . . how did she put it? Over-the-moon excited. A dream come true for her.” I’d done my best not to roll my eyes when she had come in jumping up and down.
I swore I could see him stretching his neck in the silence. He let out a heavy breath. “Will you please join Skye and me for dinner tonight?”
“Can’t.”
“I asked nicely.” He didn’t hide how grating that was for him very well.
“Yes, you did. I’ll put another star in your chart,” I teased. “But I’m volunteering tonight at the clinic.”
“Right, you mentioned that to my dad.”
“You were paying attention that night?”
“More than you know.”
Why did everything he say sound like he was delivering a line in a romance movie where I was the unsuspecting female love interest? Obviously it was his job to write those one-liners, and he used to say them with such perfection in On the Edge.
I swallowed down the reigniting crush I used to have on him. “Okay, well, let me know if you didn’t get Chanel’s info—”
“I received it. That was part of the reason I was calling.”
“Oh. I’m confused.”
“I would prefer in the future if you called me regarding anything Binary Search related.”
“Why?”
“As stated before, I like talking to you, and doesn’t Binary Search tout individual attention from their relationship mangers?”
“Yes . . . but—”
“Do you have a problem calling me?”
Yes. A huge one. “I suppose not, but it’s not the way we usually do things here.”
“I’m not your usual client, now am I?”
“Well, you’re certainly more demanding than most.”
“Ah,” he said with an air of amusement. “Did you expect anything less from me?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“Yes, but hearing your distaste for me is so refreshing.”
I really should have more for him, but there was a part of me that really had anything but distaste for him, which was distasteful. “And you still want to be my friend?”
“More than you know.”
He hung up. No goodbye. No I’m sorry for unhinging your life.
I was about to bang my head on the desk, but a text from Meg saved me.
My baby.
An ultrasound picture came through.
Looks like a peanut, she added.
I remember thinking the same thing when I had my first ultrasound done at eight weeks.
This is so sweet. How are you feeling? How is Zander doing?
The nausea comes and goes for both of us, I think. He can’t stop staring at the picture. He says it looks like a boy.
I laughed to myself in my office. Why do all men think that? I think it would serve him right to have a girl.
Oh my gosh. That’s what I told him. I think that scares him more than anything.
I could imagine. The reformed womanizer having a daughter would be poetic justice. We should do lunch this week if you’re up to it.
I would love to. You can fill me in on Nicholas Wells. Zander only says he’s more trouble than he’s worth.
I partially agreed with that statement. He was a pain, but he was good for the bottom line, I would say.
Just let me know a good day for you.
And I would do my best to steer the conversation away from the man who was making me question who I thought I was, or who I thought I had grown to be. I couldn’t be the woman who fell for the Douglasses of the world. But was Nick a Douglas?