Frontline (14 page)

“Yeah, you know
—a sale, discount, more bang for your buck.” I bite my bottom lip to stop from giggling.

“Sara
—”

“I’ll see you at eight thirty, Trenton.”

He grins. “You called me by my first name.”

I smile. “Yes, I did.”

He leans in to kiss my cheek, but I step back.

“Wait a minute. I’m agreeing to another date, but we’re going to keep our hands to ourselves. We can’t get to know each other properly if we keep giving in to our physical attraction.”

I hear a beep. Trenton pulls out his phone and scans the screen. It reminds me of the end of his last visit to the hospital.

He frowns. “I have to go, Sara.”
I roll my eyes.

Figures.

“Don’t you want a doctor to look at you? People may get suspicious about your visit.”

Trenton smirks. “Your healing powers are enough. I don’t need to see anyone else.”

I inhale sharply as he moves closer.

“I may have to leave abruptly, Sara, but this time I will give you a proper good-bye.”

I stick my hand out for him to shake. He regards my offer curiously.

“I meant it when I said we need to cool our physical contact. We need to start fresh
—a proper courtship with boundaries that get removed gradually as we get to know each other better. That’s the only way I’ll agree to see you again.”

Trenton looks amused as he shakes my hand. “Courtship?”

I giggle. “Okay, so it’s a little old-school. The bottom line is I’d like to get back to basics.”

Trenton cocks an eyebrow. “No touching at all?”

“No inappropriate groping, how about that?”

“So you want me to court you?” His blue eyes blaze.

I blush.

Trenton brushes his lips to my ear. “In that case, wait here.”

He darts out of the room and returns a few moments later. My heart melts when I see what he holds: one of the long-stemmed roses from the bouquet at the nurses’ station.

“This is my proper and honorable good-bye, Sara. And please accept my sincerest apologies for leaving so abruptly last night.” Trenton extends the rose to me.

With just one look, he makes me feel as though I’m the center of his world.

I accept the flower with a gracious smile.

Trenton takes my other hand and bows his head to place a soft kiss on my knuckles—a gesture far sweeter and meaningful than anything we’ve shared thus far. He peers up at me with those bedroom eyes, his lips brushing my skin.

“I look forward to courting you, Sara. Thank you for giving me another chance.”

His eyes linger on mine for a few heart-stopping moments. Then he drops my hand, sweeps past me, and exits the room.

I exhale a big gust of air as he slides the door shut and the curtain falls back into place. My heart feels empty and I’m left craving our next encounter. I just hope I didn’t make a mistake by trustin
g him again.

With a sigh, I walk toward the middle of the room. I’ll wait here until I’m sure he’s left the hospital so I don’t embarrass myself.

As the minutes tick on, I stand by the bed, holding my flower with both hands. The red petals catch the fluorescent lights and I smile. The end to my encounter with Trenton today was a vast departure from my Bachelor-style rejection last night.

It looks like I did receive the final rose after all.

After I’m certain the coast is clear, I dart over to my locker and hang my rose upside down in the back with a rubber band to dry it. Then I leave a message for Kelly, telling her I’m all right and that Trenton left the hospital. I leave out that I’m having breakfast with him in the morning; that news must be broken in person and in private, away from scalpels and needles, and preferably at a much later date . . . if ever.

Back out on the floor, Valerie approaches me and asks how Trenton’s follow-up appointment went. She doesn’t bring up his attack on Dr. Shore, which I hope means she doesn’t know and never will. Perhaps Dr. Shore doesn’t want to bring it up because he hopes to keep his family’s financial status a secret and his social and professional reputation intact.

I tell Valerie that Trenton left abruptly because an urgent business matter arose that required his immediate attention, but he assured me before his departure that his donation on Tuesday would be substantial. The story appeases her. She leaves me alone the rest of my shift.

Dr. Shore avoids me the entire night. He even lowers his eyes when our paths cross, either plotting his revenge or wishing the matter forgotten altogether. The onslaught of people in the ER doesn’t afford me the opportunity to dwell on it. Even my break is cut short by an unexpected swarm of emergencies at two in the morning.

Finally, seven thirty arrives. After charting and giving my report to the day nurse taking over my patients, I head into the employee lounge and change into my street clothes—jeans and a white blouse. I only have one pair of footwear with me, so running shoes it is. If I’d known earlier I’d be seeing Trenton, I would’ve dressed a bit nicer.

Oh well. At least I’m not wearing Crocs.

I shove my scrubs and stethoscope inside my locker and admire the rose before grabbing my purse and locking up. Usually, I’m tired after a night shift, especially when I don’t sleep well the day before, but this morning is an exception. I’m excited to introduce Trenton to vinyl seats and blue-plate specials. I figure there’s no point in putting on airs. He ushered me into his world, so it’s time he gets a glimpse into mine.

After waving good-bye to my co-workers at the nurses’ station, I stop by the bathroom and give my hair a fluff under the hand dryer. On my way to the exit, I glance at my watch.

Eight thirty. Perfect.

Thankfully, Trenton and his Tin Men aren’t waiting for me in Triage. I should’ve asked him to meet me around the corner so no one from work spots me, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. It’s not the end of the world. Most of the night staff have left already anyway.

I step outside and scan the street. Three luxury black cars sit parked illegally along the curb outside the hospital.

Only three? How modest of him.

Upon my arrival, the driver’s side doors of the vehicles open, and Trenton, Sean, and Christopher get out at the same time. Christopher and Sean exit the first and third car, respectively. Trenton emerges from the middle car, a Ferrari. Add in some slow motion, a gust of wind, and an emo rock tune, and it’s like a scene out of a show on the
CW
.

My heart races at the sight of Trenton. He’s the epitome of masculine grace in his navy blue suit, white dress shirt, and light gray tie as he saunters around the front of the car with his typical uncapped erotic prowess.

Christopher and Sean join him on the curb, standing tall and alert in light gray suits and dark sunglasses, their ever-present earpieces loaning them an extra allure of importance. Pedestrians crane their necks as they pass the handsome trio.

Trenton charms me with his intense blue eyes. I realize I’ve never seen him in natural daylight before. His fair skin and the rich caramel highlights in his windswept brown locks gleam in the brilliance of this May Manhattan morning. I breathe in deeply. His spicy aroma is subtle, yet still overpowers the stench of the dirty, crowded street.

The three cars of the mini convoy beep in unison as their alarms engage. Trenton steps toward me and kisses my cheek. I can’t help but smile.

“Good morning, Sara. How was your shift?” He pulls back and inspects my breakfast attire thoroughly. My body hums; a lingering effect of his once-over.

“It was good.”

His expression flickers with possessive darkness. “And the doctor?”

I shrug. “I barely saw him the rest of my shift.”

Trenton nods.

I look to Sean on his right. “Hey.”

Sean grins. “Hey, Sara.”

Trenton lifts his eyebrows. “Sara? What happened to Miss Peters?”

I flash a sly smile and turn to Christopher on Trenton’s left.

“Hello.” I greet him more formally, given I don’t know him as well as Sean.

Christopher nods.
“Ma’am.”

His reply sounds stiff, as usual, and with his dark sunglasses on, I can’t even tell if he’s looking at me.

Sean chuckles. “Ma’am?”

Christopher grins. I’m surprised his facial muscles have the ability to form that expression. He removes his sunglasses, revealing a brilliant set of baby blues, though they aren’t as vibrant as Trenton’s. “Good morning, Sara.”

“Good morning, Christopher.” I extend my hand to him. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”

His grip is as firm as his gaze. “You, too.”

“Will you both be eating with us? You’re more than welcome.”

“Thank you, Sara, but we can’t.” Christopher puts his sunglasses back on. “We’re on the job.”

I look at Trenton. “Come on, can’t you give them a break?”

He regards me in amusement. “Do you really think I’d deny them the opportunity to eat when they please?”

I smirk. “Given your track record, do you really want me to answer that?”

Sean and Christopher bow their heads, trying to conceal their broad grins.

“We ate before we left,” Sean says once he’s regained his composure. “Thank you, though.”

“Okay, suit yourself.”

“Where is this establishment located?” Trenton’s eyes dance warily down the one-way street.

I point across the road. “Just one block from here.”

Trenton follows my finger and nods.

“All right, get in the car.” He turns to his sidekicks. “I’ll drive Sara. You two follow.”

I scoff. “We’re not driving there, especially not in three separate cars. It’s, like, a one-minute walk.”

“You’ve been on your feet for most of the past twelve hours,” Trenton says.

I wave him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have excellent stamina.”

Trenton’s stern expression is unyielding, but so is my tenacity.

“Come on,” I say. “You told me you take walks all the time.”

Sean laughs. “Since when?”

Even Christopher snickers.

Trenton doesn’t flinch. I wonder if his years of business experience taught him to remain calm under pressure. He should be in full-on panic mode since Sean just inadvertently confirmed that he lied to me on Friday night when he told me about his penchant for late evening strolls and how he ended up with the gash on his forehead.

“I’m not lazy, Sara,” Trenton says. “It’s simply how I operate.”

“Well, it’s time for a Merrick corporate shake-up.”

“Sara, get in the car.” Trenton gestures to the Ferrari.

“We’re walking. I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s about practicality, the ozone, ridiculously high gas prices . . . What you’re proposing makes no sense, whatsoever.”

Trenton and I lock into our standoff. Christopher and Sean are smart and stay out of the dispute. Finally, Trenton’s expression softens just enough to let me know I’ve won him over.

He looks at Christopher and Sean. “Sara and I are going to walk. I’ll meet you outside the diner at ten hundred hours.”

Ten hundred hours?

It’s an interesting way for a businessman to state the time.

“I have a video conference call at eleven,” Trenton says to me.

I nod.

Sean and Christopher look uneasy with their boss’s decision. They share a silent exchange and then fall back. Sean removes his car keys from his pocket and walks back to the third car in the mini convoy. Christopher returns to the first one.

“You can move your car to the back of the hospital,” I say to Trenton. “There’s a parking garage there.”

“I’m leaving it here.” The finality in his tone tells me the matter is not up for discussion.

I guess he doesn’t care that his car will be towed by the time we return, given the
No Parking
sign mounted on a pole on the sidewalk near his vehicle, the fire hydrant situated next to the passenger side door, and the red lines painted all the way down the street.

Sean and Christopher slam their doors shut and start their engines.

I smile at Trenton. “Shall we?”

He takes my hand and walks me to the crosswalk. Only when the
walk
sign illuminates does he usher me across the road, his stride purposeful and his eyes trained on alert.

Much to my disbelief and embarrassment, Sean and Christopher follow us down the street in their vehicles, keeping with our walking pace and holding up traffic. Horns beep and drivers shout profanity out their windows.

I nudge my chin in their direction. “Is it really necessary for Christopher and Sean to shadow us like this?”

Trenton shoots me a warning look. I don’t press the matter. After all, he already compromised by agreeing to walk to the restaurant. I don’t want to push my luck.

We continue our stroll in silence, followed by his security who clearly take their jobs much too seriously and aren’t fans of carpooling. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to how Trenton’s life works.

“Well, this is the place.” I stop in front of the diner.

Sean and Christopher stop in the middle of the road. The symphony of horns from the disgruntled drivers behind them makes me cringe. Thankfully, Trenton indicates they can leave and they peel off down the street.

Finally, we’re alone.

Trenton looks at the restaurant’s sign, squinting against the sunlight.

“Sam and Ella’s.” He turns to me, his eyebrows raised. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

I giggle. “I think it’s crafty.”

Trenton frowns.

“The food is tasty and perfectly safe,” I say. “The diner has been around a long time.”

“Yes, I see
—since 1992,” Trenton says in a wary drawl, reading the date at the bottom corner of the sign. He scans the front of the diner. “Aside from the poor name selection, the absence of a Zagat rating in the window is unsettling.”

“Who are you, Gordon Ramsay?” I tug on his arm. “Come on, I’m starving.”

The door chimes as we enter, and the aroma of bacon and eggs quickly replaces the stench of the street. Aside from the faint murmur of an oldies station from the dusty speakers mounted in each corner, and the creaking, wobbly ceiling fans, the diner falls silent, as every customer focuses on us; even the employees seem impressed by my handsome breakfast companion.

Trenton’s expression remains impassive. I hope my eatery selection doesn’t put him in an uncomfortable social position
—not that he ever looks anything less than completely self-assured.

“Hi Sara!” Sam, one of the owners, calls to me from the door to kitchen behind the counter. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to share everyone else’s enthusiasm over my date.

I wave. “Hey, Sam!”

His grin widens. “Pick any table you like.”

I turn to Trenton. “Where would you like to sit?”

“Back left corner, second booth from the rear wall.”

Decisiveness is clearly one of his strong suits.

As Trenton escorts me toward his preferred table, his hand pressed to my lower back, heads turn. A woman old enough to be my grandmother, sitting in a booth we pass on our right, looks as if she hopes Trenton is listed on the dessert menu, as does a young man perched at the counter to our left, who takes full advantage of his swivel stool to watch us trek across the room.

We slide into the booth across from each other, the cracked vinyl seats squeaking under our weight. Trenton’s knees reach the underside of the table. It must be awkward for him, but he doesn’t make a face or complain.

A commotion erupts near the kitchen as the waitresses argue over which one of them will serve Trenton and me. It boils down to two contenders. They settle on a coin toss to decide the winner.

I hear one groan and one squeal simultaneously. Then, an attractive, thirty-something, redheaded waitress approaches us and places two laminated menus on the table. The victor’s name is Mona, which I remember because she’s served me before.

Her name is also prominently displayed on the plastic ID tag pinned to the front of her tight, white, low-cut T-shirt, which shows off her big boobs. She flaunts her voluptuous figure as she leans over and wipes our table with a wet rag, leaving streaks of water in her wake. If she bends over any further, her T-shirt clad tits will dry the tabletop for her. How resourceful.