How Much I Feel Read online

  How Much I Feel

  Miami Nights Series, Book 1

  Marie Force

  Chapter 1

  CARMEN

  It took only one day for my dream job to turn into a nightmare. Actually, that’s being generous. In reality, it took one fifteen-minute meeting with the hospital president to throw years of studying, planning and dreaming straight out the window into the blistering south Florida sunshine.

  Nowhere in the elaborate job description I’d been given at my interview to be Miami-Dade General Hospital’s assistant director of public relations did the words “babysitter” appear. Let’s face it, if I’d known what they really wanted me to do, I wouldn’t be wilting in the scorching early-morning heat waiting for Dr. Jason Northrup to arrive for his first day.

  “Anything he wants or needs, get it for him,” Mr. Augustino had instructed. “Just keep him away from the executive offices.”

  “But today’s my first day, too. Wouldn’t it be better to have someone who knows the facility meet and escort him?”

  “I want you to do it,” he’d said, leaving no room for further argument.

  “Should I bring him up here to speak with you?”

  “I’m with the board of directors all day. Don’t bring him anywhere near the conference room.”

  Something stunk to high heaven about this whole thing. Why wasn’t the hospital rolling out the red carpet to welcome Dr. Northrup? Mr. Augustino had referred to Northrup as a world-class, board-certified pediatric neurosurgeon. If he doesn’t warrant the red carpet, who does? Most puzzling of all is why Mr. Augustino would let the newest person on his staff handle such an important task and not want to be there himself.

  My boss’s late directive gave me no time to research my first “assignment,” which has me unprepared and out of sorts as I wait for him. Mr. Augustino gave me a photo of a sinfully handsome man with dirty blond hair, golden brown eyes and the perfect amount of scruff on his chiseled jaw. I can only imagine Northrup’s type: privileged, pampered and pardoned for his sins. Now it’s my job to kiss up to him and make him feel “welcome.”

  After years of waitressing and taking care of actual children to put myself through college and graduate school, being told to babysit him infuriates me. All the carefully cultivated marketing and publicity plans I put together in anticipation of wowing the bosses on my first day are still stashed inside the leather-bound portfolio I clutch to my chest, useless in light of the task I’ve been given for the day as I roast in dense late-June humidity.

  One thing I’ll say for Miami-Dade General Hospital is the grounds are gorgeous with lush landscaping, colorful flower beds and grass kept green in the summer heat thanks to artfully hidden sprinklers.

  Naturally, the good doctor is late, which gives me far too much time to consider my limited options as I try not to completely wilt in heat that makes my armpits feel swampy and has my ruthlessly straightened hair starting to curl. I could go to HR and tell them the position isn’t a good fit after all. With less than a day on the job, it won’t show up on my permanent record, especially since I only just completed the paperwork needed to enroll in the hospital’s payroll system and health insurance program. I could still put a stop to it.

  But then I recall how proud my parents and grandmothers had been when I landed my first big job after years of school. I think of the apartment I recently rented in Kendall as well as the wardrobe of power suits I purchased on credit so I could present a professional appearance at work. Paying for all of that is dependent upon my new cushy salary, which will be lost if I quit.

  Quitting isn’t an option.

  Not when I haven’t even given the job a chance. Besides I’m not a quitter. My beloved Abuela would be so disappointed. She and my equally beloved Nona were happier about me landing this job than I was. I can’t disappoint everyone in my life by walking away from this opportunity. I’ve restored a bit of steel to my spine by the time the roar of a sports car draws my attention to the hospital’s long driveway.

  I watch in disbelief as a sleek black convertible Porsche growls its way up the half-circle drive with Northrup at the wheel and a bottle blonde in a sexy red dress riding shotgun.

  “What a cliché,” I mutter as he brings the low-slung black car to a halt two feet from where I stand ready to “welcome” him.

  He alights from the car with cat-like grace, tall, muscular and even handsomer than his photo—of course. As he comes toward me, he flashes a cocky smile, and damn if every cell in my body doesn’t stand up and sing Hallelujah in a loud chorus of tightening nipples and dampening panties that infuriates me.

  I don’t want any part of me reacting to any part of him, but I’d have to be dead not to notice this man. And while I might’ve been mostly numb for the last five years, Dr. Northrup is living proof that I’m still very much a living breathing woman who recognizes a hot man when she sees one.

  He props Wayfarer sunglasses on hair that’s messy from the convertible. On him, messy is sexy. His golden eyes sparkle, his smile is straight out of a toothpaste commercial and his body. . . Wow. He must’ve spent as many hours in the gym as he logged in medical school.

  I realize I’m staring but can’t seem to bring myself to blink. Have I ever seen a more perfectly beautiful man in my entire life? The thought makes me feel disrespectful to the memory of the only man I’ve ever loved and snaps me out of the stupor I slipped into at the sight of Northrup.

  I clear my throat and clutch the portfolio more tightly to my chest, desperate to hide any evidence of my ridiculous reaction to him. “Dr. Northrup?”

  “That’d be me. And you are?”

  “Carmen.” I extend a hand that I pray isn’t sweaty. “Carmen Giordino, deputy director of public relations. Welcome to Miami-Dade General Hospital.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Giordino.” Somehow he makes the act of taking my hand, squeezing it lightly and releasing it into an erotic sex act that once again steals the breath from my lungs and the starch from my spine.

  I hate him for making me react to him the way every other woman with a pulse has probably responded to him since puberty. I hate him even more when I discover he’s pressed a fifty-dollar bill into my hand. I’m about to ask him what it’s for when he fills in the blanks for me.

  “Do me a favor, and please take Betty to the cafeteria, buy her some breakfast and send her off in a cab,” he says in a low tone that only I can hear.

  “But—”

  “Did someone ask you to meet me and see to my needs?”

  The way he says the word needs has me imagining him sweaty, naked and at my disposal, which only further infuriates me. I’m not sure who I’m more pissed with—him or myself. I feel my face go hot, and when I open my mouth to respond to his outrageous request, nothing comes out.

  “What I need is for you to take care of her.” He gives me an imploring look, and it’s all I can do not to swoon. “Okay?”

  It’s insulting enough to be asked to babysit a neurosurgeon, but being asked to babysit his bimbo one-night stand is another story altogether. “I’m sorry, but I’m not willing—”

  Ignoring me, the good doctor turns and gestures for “Betty” to join us on the curb. “Come on over and meet Carmen Giordino. She’ll help you find the cafeteria and a ride to the airport.” He kisses the blonde’s cheek. “It was good to meet you, but I’ve got to get to work now.”

  “Thank you so much for everything, Jason,” Betty says with her worshipful gaze on his perfect face.

  Northrup flashes his version of a sincere smile. “My pleasure.”

  I roll my eyes, imagining what “everything” included in this case. The pang of jealousy that nips at me only serves to further annoy me. What do I care if she got to take a
spin with him?

  He tosses his car keys to me, and I have the immediate choice of either catching them or letting them hit me in the head. I grab them a second before they would’ve hit me. “Can you find the staff lot and get Priscilla settled for me?” Winking, he adds, “Thanks. I owe you one.” Glancing at Betty, he flashes that brilliant grin. “Or maybe two.”

  “But where’re you going?”

  “To check out my new digs. I’ll catch up to you after a while.”

  “I’m supposed to—” I stop myself when I realize I’m talking to his back. So now I’m babysitting a bottle blonde and a Porsche 911? This day just gets better and better. I’ve never been prouder of the years I spent sweating my way through college and graduate school than I am in this moment.

  My low growl has Betty stepping back from me, tottering on sky-high heels. “I’m not really all that hungry.” Her nervous titter sets my nerves further on edge.

  I release my tight grip on the leather portfolio and let my arms drop to my sides, feeling utterly defeated an hour into my new “dream” job.

  Betty’s eyes go wide, her red lips forming an O.

  “What?” I look down to see what Betty is so focused on and see that the veneer on my “leather” portfolio has baked onto the front of my very expensive and still-not-paid-for navy power suit. I let out a shriek of frustration.

  “I’m sure it’ll come off at the dry cleaners.” Betty’s kind smile makes me feel bad about the nasty thoughts I’ve had toward an innocent bystander to my career implosion.

  Deciding I have nothing to lose by making Betty my ally, I glance at the other woman who towers over me thanks to those four-inch heels. “Could I ask you how you came to meet . . . him?”

  “It was the oddest coincidence.”

  Aren’t they all?

  “I was at the luggage thingie in the airport waiting for my bags that never came and my now ex-boyfriend who never showed up to get me.” Betty swipes at a tear. “Then the airline couldn’t book me on a flight home until this morning. I used all my money and maxed out my credit card flying here to see the jerk who stood me up. No luggage, no money, no jerk. Jason saw me crying and asked if he could help. Thank God for him, or I would’ve had to sleep in the airport. He even took me out for a nice dinner and bought me a bottle of my favorite wine.”

  “And what did he get in return for all this hospitality?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. Horrified, I’m about to apologize for my rudeness when she continues.

  “Nothing.” Betty doesn’t seem insulted by my question, which she absolutely should be. “He did me a favor and asked for nothing in return. He even slept on the sofa so I could have the bed. Then the alarm on his phone didn’t go off. He was running late for his first day and was all stressed out. Do you know what time it is? My flight to Philly is at ten thirty. I’d like to see if they found my bag before then.”

  I check my phone, see that it’s almost nine and eye the Porsche. “Get in.” I wonder if it’s possible to be fired on my first day. I’m about to find out as I slide into the scorching hot leather driver’s seat and kick off my heels so I can drive this thing. The car starts with a growl that vibrates through my body, reminding me of the tingling reaction I’d had to its owner. His car smells the way I imagine he does—citrus and spice and hot man.

  I’m thankful to my late husband, Tony, for teaching me to drive a stick in high school. That skill is about to come in handy.

  If my palms were sweaty before, they’re downright wet now as I navigate onto the busy interstate in a car that costs more than I’ll make in ten years. Dr. Northrup told me to park it, not drive it twelve miles roundtrip to the airport. What if I crash it or hit something? The thought makes me sick to my stomach as does pondering what the humid breeze is doing to hair I spent an hour straightening earlier.

  It occurs to me in a sickening moment of dread that I never got the chance to tell his royal highness to steer clear of the executive suite. He won’t go there, will he? Oh God, please let him be more interested in operating rooms and laboratories than conference rooms.

  Mr. Augustino instructed me to babysit Jason Northrup who had, in turn, asked me to babysit Betty. So in reality, I’m just following orders by driving Betty to the airport, right? This has to fall somewhere under “other duties as assigned,” doesn’t it?

  In the highly unlikely event that Betty ever returns to South Florida and encounters a medical crisis, she’ll remember the fine treatment offered by the staff of Miami-Dade General. There. I’ve done my part for public relations today.

  “This is really nice of you,” Betty says, as we take the airport exit.

  “No problem at all.” I pull up to the curb at the departures level a few minutes later and release a sigh of relief that I hadn’t hit anything on the way.

  Oh my God!

  My purse, wallet, driver’s license and cell phone are stashed in the top drawer of my desk back at the office. So on the return trip I can also worry about being arrested for driving a “borrowed” car without a license. Fabulous!

  The cop directing traffic at the drop-off area picks that moment to blow his whistle, which startles me and causes my foot to slip off the clutch. The car lurches forward and stalls. I miss hitting the car in front of me by less than an inch. It’s official—before this day is out I’m going to suffer a nervous breakdown. Hopefully I’ll be back at the hospital when that happens.

  Betty leans forward, stretching her neck to view the distance between the two cars. “That was a close one.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I’ll get out of your hair so you can get along back to work.”

  “It was nice to meet you. I’m sorry you had such a lousy trip.”

  “It wasn’t all bad,” Betty says with a shrug. “I found out there’re still nice people in the world willing to help a stranger in need.”

  First impressions, I’m finding, are often misleading. “Take this.” I hand the fifty from Northrup to Betty. “He gave me this for your breakfast and cab fare.”

  Betty eyes the money with uncertainty. “I wouldn’t feel right taking his money after all he did to help me.”

  “Look at this car he’s driving. I bet you need it more than he does. Take it. Get yourself home, and then you can write to him at the hospital and pay him back.”

  Betty brightens at that idea. “I’ll do that. Thanks again, Carmen.”

  “My pleasure.” I watch Betty scurry into the terminal as well as anyone can “scurry” on four-inch heels. Her jerk of a boyfriend missed out on a gem, that’s for sure.

  I return my focus to the task at hand, which is getting Dr. Jason Northrup’s Porsche back to the hospital without a scratch or dent and without getting myself arrested.

  Chapter 2

  CARMEN

  The metal door slides shut with a loud clank that makes me jump out of my skin. Looking through the bars, I begin to laugh hysterically. This was not how I’d pictured the first day of my professional life unfolding. It hadn’t even been my fault. The car in front of me had swerved, startling me into swerving, too. Of course the cop behind us had only seen me swerve and pulled me over.

  When I couldn’t produce my driver’s license or proof that I had permission to drive the car, the officer said he didn’t have any choice but to bring me in and impound the Porsche until I could produce my license and prove that I hadn’t stolen it.

  At the thought of my parents finding out I’m in jail, I choke on my laughter while my hands tremble uncontrollably. I’ve never even been to detention, let alone jail. How could this be happening?

  They let me call my office at the hospital, you know where I started my dream job today, to leave a message for Dr. Northrup. I asked him to call the station to confirm I hadn’t stolen his Porsche. That’d been a tricky proposition—having the admin in the executive offices track down the new neurosurgeon, who I’m supposed to be babysitting, because I need him to confirm I didn’t steal
his car.

  I’m wondering how that sentence will look on my first performance appraisal.

  If or when he makes that call and gets me out of lockup, then I’ll retrieve the car he calls Priscilla from wherever they’d towed it to. God, what if they damaged it? Will he expect me to pay for the repairs? How much will it cost to get the car back?

  And what if he says I did steal his car since he hadn’t exactly given me permission to drive it off the hospital campus? When it settles in that I’m probably going to be here a while, I turn away from the bars to examine the tiny cell. At least it seems somewhat clean. The second I notice the toilet sitting against the back wall I feel the urgent need to use it. But the thought of going where anyone can see me is unimaginable, so I’m determined to hold it until I have some privacy.

  I lower myself gingerly to the narrow bunk. What if no one comes for me? What if Northrup reports the car stolen? What if I have no choice but to call my parents to bail me out? The thought of them coming to get me here has my stomach surging with nausea.

  I have no idea how long I’m there. Judging by the discomfort coming from my overtaxed bladder, it has to be more than an hour.

  The tingling sensation that dances over my skin is the first indication that Jason Northrup has materialized outside my cell. I have my own cell. Awesome.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” He flashes the sexy grin that made my heart race and my panties go damp earlier.

  I’m in the biggest fight with my heart and my panties.

  I jump to my feet, which I immediately regret thanks to the aforementioned bladder situation. “I didn’t steal your car.”

  “Then how’d it end up getting impounded on I-95?”

  “I gave Betty a ride to the airport. You told me to take care of her. She said her flight was at ten thirty. If I’d called a cab or Uber, she would’ve missed the flight.”

  His eyes drop to my chest, and just like that my nipples react.