Alexandra nods. “Okay.”
“We’ll have to hire you another assistant, Dr. Malone.”
“I guess so, yeah.” This doesn’t seem like the right time to argue with Heather about whether I need another assistant. “It’s getting late, so let’s circle back to that another day. Heather or Bernie, I was hoping one of you could get in touch with theappropriate person in HR. You can let us know if they need anything further from us.”
“Of course, Dr. Malone,” Heather says. “I’ll do that tomorrow, first thing.”
“Great,” I say. “So I think we can wrap things up here?”
Heather and Bernie both nod.
“Thanks again for meeting with us on such short notice,” I say, as Alexandra and I stand to leave.
ELEVEN
ALLY
“That actually wasn’t so bad,” I remark, as Dr. Malone and I ride the elevator back down to his office.
He smiles. “I told you they wouldn’t mind.” He pulls out his phone to read a message, then turns to me. “Peter Tate is asking if you have any dietary restrictions? For dinner Wednesday.”
Right. Dinner Wednesday. With the Tates and Dr. Malone. In a way, it’s a good thing that it’s barely forty-eight hours away; I won’t have time to build it up to something bigger than it is.
“No, no dietary restrictions. Uh, should I bring anything?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay. And when Peter Tate said it was informal, did he mean . . .?”
Dr. Malone smiles. “He meant it. The last time he invited me to dinner, his wife cooked.”
“Okay.”
“I can drive you on Wednesday, if you’d like?” he offers. “Or, if you’re more comfortable driving yourself, I can give you directions to their cottage.”
“I don’t have car,” I admit. “So I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem,” he says. “If you text me your address, I’ll pick you up around six-thirty.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dr. Malone.”
“You should really start calling me Drew,” he suggests. “Or people won’t believe we’re dating.”
“Okay, Drew.” His first name feels strange on his tongue. “Uh, you can call me Ally. If you want.”
His eyes flicker toward me. “Okay. Ally.”
We reach his office, and I grab my purse from the desk drawer. I’ll have to clear out this desk, since I’ll be working for Heather Larkin from now on. But there isn’t much—a cardigan, a tube of hand lotion, a box of Kleenex. I can come a little early tomorrow and move things upstairs.
As I’m buttoning my coat, Dr. Malone emerges from his inner office. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over his scrubs, and it’s a good combination. A little edgy. I used to think doctors only looked this good on TV, and my stomach gives an involuntary flip.
“Do you want a ride home?” he asks. “Since I kept you late for the meeting.”
“Oh, no, I’m fine, thanks,” I say quickly. “The bus stops right outside the hospital, and there should be one in ten minutes or so.” I doubt my neighborhood is anywhere close to where he’s going. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he’s never been north of Duke Street.
“Okay,” he says with a nod. “Have a good night, Alexandra.”
“You too, Dr. Malone. Drew.”
