Isla gives Alice's head a follow-up flick and asks, "Should we put my great imagination to the test and dream up what somebody named Bravo might look like?"
I shake my head firmly. "If we were sitting in King’s Ransom or Pour Me having a cocktail, I’d say yes. But since we’reat work"—I deliver a pointed look—"it would be very unprofessional to talk about a client that way."
Isla sighs dramatically. "You're right. Damn it."
"Maybe you should spend a weekend in Phoenix." I turn back to my computer screen. "Far more fish in the sea. Or, desert."
"I don't know," she drawls, "Hugo De la Vega is looking mighty good these days. I would let him do questionable things in my presence. With or without that fencing outfit on."
My cheeks puff out as I pretend to barf. "Please, Isla. That man is basically a brother to me. His sister is my best friend."
"Good thing I'm not saddled with either of those afflictions." She looks at me pointedly. "And good thing you snatched up one of the last eligible bachelors in this one-horse town."
My eyebrows pinch in confusion for what can't be more than a nanosecond, but Isla catches it. "Duke," she says, with awhat the hell is wrong with youundertone.
I roll my eyes to make up for my faux pas. "Obviously. I'm just a little slow today. Didn't sleep well last night."
Isla's eyebrows pop and flex. "Duke kept you up until all hours of the night delivering mind-blowing orgasms?"
I stare at her long and hard, no expression save for the grim line of my mouth. Isla has a lengthy history prodding relentlessly for juicy details about my sex life. She never seems to tire, orbecome discouraged by my total refusal. At this point, I think she sees my sewn lips as a challenge.
She grins. "Bravo will be here in an hour. Like it or not, I will spend the next sixty minutes giving him a total makeover in my mind. By the time my brain is finished with him, he'll be a tall, tan, rippling stick of man candy."
I open my mouth to chide heragainfor sexualizing my patient, but she's already disappeared back the way she came, and she forgot to leave the iPad with the new client information for me to look over.
Briefly I consider texting Hugo and requesting his new-to-town friend's last name. But then he'll ask why I want to know, and it'll go from there, and I don't want to start a conversation that ends with me explaining why I was hiding out when I should've been at my engagement party. Also, I don't like the feeling of knowing things about people before they've shared them with me, especially when I have no reason to dig.
This Bravo guy is probably somebody's cantankerous old grandpa.
I don't have time to think about it, because my next client, a sweet seventy-two-year-old woman recovering from hip surgery, has just walked in the door. If I'm lucky, I'll have five minutes between clients to scarf down a muffin I grabbed from Sweet Nothings on my way to work this morning.
"Gird your loins,"Isla mutters as she waltzes into the kitchenette on the other side of my office. It’s just big enough for a small fridge, microwave, and bistro table. "Bravo has arrived."
I swallow down the last of my poppyseed muffin. "Why?" I whisper, alarmed. “Did Bravo behave badly?” I won't hesitate to eject someone if they display objective behavior toward my assistant.
"My loins are"—she positions her hands in front of her lower stomach and makes frantic motions—"doing this right now."
I relax. I don't have to bounce anybody from my office. Except Isla herself if she doesn’t take an ice bath, stat. "Isla, that saying doesn't mean what you think it means. And for the love, stop talking about a patient that way."
She makes a face likeoopsand drops theatrically into a chair. "I’m sorry, ok? Just wait until you start menopause."
I pull a confused face. "What does that have to do with anything?"
She gestures the length of her body. "Estrogen and progesterone dip, and testosterone starts flexing and strutting around. There's a horny teenager living inside me right now." She presses the iPad into my hands. "There's even a name for it. It's called the ‘Sex surge.'"
"Ohh my."
"Yeah," she nods, pointing a neon nail my way. "Just you wait, youngin."
I'm not sure how to respond, but I manage asorry to hear about your issueand dart away.
Isla has led Bravo into the consultation room. It's a small space, enough room for a 3x5 gunmetal gray desk and two white leather chairs. The largest wall is windowed, looking out on the main area and all the equipment. The wall opposite boasts framed inspirational quotes.
A little progress each day adds up to big results.
When you think about quitting, consider why you started.
A dream becomes reality through sweat, determination, and hard work.
