"I think you’re right. Maybe I’m not happy," she admitted. "Having fun."
She’d never fought for her own happiness. She’d fought for what she’d believed was love, but it wasn’t happiness she had with Tom. He made an excellent project, though.
"What do you want?" Mach asked, the genuine gleam in his eyes breaking through the wall she’d tried to build.
"What are my options?"
"There’s always the predictable."
"Yes." She fist-pumped. "What’s that one? That’s my choice."
"Okay, here’s how we do that. I make some calls. People smarter at this stuff than us will figure out how to make this thing with the influencer and the video go away. You can go back to your life. I go back to mine."
That sounded precisely like the option she should select. Yes, that’s the one she should take. The safe option. Then she could finish her application and head off to whatever distant locale Nurses on the Frontline selected. Maybe her manicure would totally suck, but at least she’d be far away from the pull of Mach and all the cameras in Denver.
Yet, even as the thought solidified, her hand seemed to drift all by itself to the smattering of hair on his chest. The worst of it was she didn’t even attempt to stop it, letting her skin brush against his and those delightful fluttery feelings flow through her nervous system.
"Or." His fingertips barely brushed her elbow. They drifted up to her shoulder and maybe he’d do that thing again to her earlobe. That was wicked nice. "You take a risk," he said. "Decide to have some fun. See how that goes."
Just so they were clear. "The fun is in the pool with you?"
"The band’s headed to L.A. soon for a couple of shows and some recording. Come along. No responsibility. Just time for yourself."
"And, what, I'll just be your personal groupie?" Because that didn’t sound like something fulfilling.
The question bought her a Mach grin. "Is that what you want?"
"No!" She was so much more than that.
He lifted his fingertips up along the back of her arm to her shoulder. "Given that you are you, I am certain you will find something to do that will change the world as we know it."
"I don’t exactly have the income you have. I can’t just leave." Could she? But she couldn’t precisely stay, either.
"Don’t you have to leave your job anyway?" he asked.
"It’s complicated. I mean, the hospital is forcing me to take a leave of absence, so they're paying my standard pay. But there won’t be any overtime, which is my Starbucks money. So…" She should cut to the point. "Yes, and no. I need a job. But I also have one already."
He nodded. "Okay. Done."
Hold up. "What do you mean, okay, done?"
"I mean. It’s done. You’re hired. I’ll pay you enough to cover the difference."
"To do what?" She didn’t mean to make a squeaky, shrieky noise with the question. This situation was so bizarre, her mind raced, trying to understand how they got to this point.
And how they were still in the damn pool.
He lifted a firm shoulder. "You can do whatever."
"But what’s my job?" she pressed.
He blinked as though this was a ridiculous thing to ask. "Anything you want it to be."
That made no sense at all.
"And how much are you paying me to do whatever I want?" She couldn’t press her hands against her hips since she was holding onto the edge of the pool, but she wanted to.
"Whatever overtime pay you’re missing at the hospital?" he asked. "That seems fair, since it’s my fault you’re in this mess."
