Enough Love, page 1
part #3 of Medical Billionaires Love Series
ENOUGH LOVE
A MEDICAL BILLIONAIRE'S ROMANCE BOOK 3
LAUREN SNOW
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
MEDICAL BILLIONAIRES LOVE SERIES
COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
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COPYRIGHT
Copyright This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 LAUREN SNOW
All rights Reserved All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.
CHAPTER ONE
“It’s hump day!” yells Sammy, as he nudges me in the ribs. “Rachel’s absolute favorite day of the week!” He prances up to the counter and hands a customer her bag of meds through the window, bids her adieu, then swivels back to me.
Little old me. Not bothering anyone. Just trying to do my work and stock the shelves with the rest of today’s orders.
I sigh with annoyance. “Sammy, no. Let’s not.” I stifle a smirk.
Sammy leans in and grins. “Girl, please, you know you wanna smile,” he says, tapping my cheek. “I see it all in your face! You know you glow when Wednesdays roll around.”
“Stop it.”
“Am I lying? Seriously, can I get a witness?” He holds out his arms and looks around as if there’s an audience to back him up.
“I can’t stand you, sir.” He manages to get a laugh out of me. A slight one.
Sammy cups his hand around his ear and cranes his neck toward his invisible crowd. “And why is Wednesday Rachel’s favorite day, everyone?” He scans the phantom peanut gallery in the pharmacy. Crickets.
“That’s right, children! Because Mike is coming to town!” He turns it into a whole song. “Because Mike’s coming to town! Oh, Mike’s coming to town! What? Mike’s coming to town!” He snaps his fingers, throws in a few shimmies and twirls in place.
“You are so dramatic,” I tell him, laughing.
It isn’t long before my other obnoxious coworker, Tina, joins in the antics with a special song of her own.
“Do you know what today is?” she sings loudly from the back storage room.
“It’s their anniversary!” she and Sammy scream in unison.
“I hate you guys so much, I just want you to know that.”
“Trust us, we know,” Sammy replies. “It’s okay, honey. It’ll be fine . . . just like Mike.”
He and Tina burst with laughter. I can’t do anything but shake my head and chuckle. As if I’m not already nervous enough that the handsomest man in Philadelphia will be setting foot in the drugstore in T-minus three minutes.
The awaited guest: Mike Eisenhower. The good-looking, rich hunk that comes in every Wednesday at 3 PM for his medicine. I have the biggest crush on him—although I think Sammy might be neck and neck with me there. But for good reason; the man is drop-dead gorgeous.
Sammy snickers as he watches me scramble to get Mike’s drugs ready: 500 milligrams of lisinopril. His primary doctor prescribed it for his hypertension, a byproduct of his high-stress work environment. Mike’s irritating colleagues were the main culprits. So he said. I feel for him. I totally know what it’s like to work alongside folks that get on your nerves.
I glance at my watch. It is officially three o’clock.
“Here he comes,” Sammy says in a delicate, high-pitched voice. “Right on time, too.”
Mike saunters up to the counter, fidgeting with his cufflinks and adjusting his red tie. He smiles the moment he sees me.
“Rachel,” he says, baring his perfect teeth. I damn near melt at the sight of them. “Good to see you again.”
My face flushes. “Good to see you, too,” I say shyly.
“Day’s going good so far?” he asks, casually drumming the counter with his fingers.
“No complaints,” I reply. “Yours?”
“Better now that I’ve seen you.”
He bites his lip and half-smiles. His dimple shows. I almost lose it. I’m surprised it wasn’t the crisp-cut wavy hair, the storm gray eyes or the deep, velvety voice that got me first.
I freeze and stare in awe at his beauty. As I always tend to do.
“Isn’t there something you’ve got for me?” he chuckles.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” My brain completely malfunctioned just now. I reach for his medicine on the rack and hand it to him, then draw it back. “Wait, I need to see your I.D. and insurance card first.”
“C’mon, Rachel. You know me. We don’t have to do this song and dance every week, do we?” he jokes. He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.
“Sorry, that’s just policy,” I tell him. My eyes flick toward the camera perched above in the corner to my right.
“They record us,” I say discreetly.
“No, I understand, trust me.” He hands me both cards with his fingers. “I know all about being watched.”
What did he mean by that? Did he know all about me gawking at him like a fool every time he visited our store? It isn’t like that should surprise him. Who wouldn’t stare? I mean, look at him . . .
I do a quick once-over, only for protocol purposes, not legitimacy, and hand the cards back to their owner. I’ve exchanged this information with him so many times, by now, I’ve memorized his member I.D. number, his weight of a hundred and ninety pounds, his height of six-two, his date of birth (05/09/1987). All his stats are permanently embedded in my creepy stalker cache.
As he stuffs his I.D. and insurance card back in his wallet, I admire him some more while he isn’t paying attention. Particularly, his muscles and how they bulge through the fabric of his perfectly cut suit jacket. His eyes dart up at me a few times and he smiles knowingly.
“Here you are. Five hundred milligrams.” I hand him his medicine for real this time.
“Thank you very much,” he says, putting his wallet back in his pocket. He wets his lips and those dimples come back. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“I always knew you looked at me whenever I come in here,” he replies. “I just never said anything.”
My stomach somersaults.
“For what it’s worth, I like to look at you, too,” he admits.
My blood runs hot. I almost faint from the revelation.
“Does that surprise you? You’re very pretty, Rachel.”
I scratch my forehead in disbelief that this man actually just flattered me like that.
“You wanna go out for drinks one evening?” he proposes.
A knot drops in my throat. I clear it and clutch my neck in shock. Mike laughs.
“Maybe,” I say, with the daintiest voice.
Good lord. The man of my dreams is actually asking me out and I instantly become a shrinking violet.
“Cool. What time do you usually get off work?”
“Nine normally.” My voice slowly gets back to itself.
“Awesome. I’ll keep that in mind.”
And just like that, I score a date (that’s what we’ll call it) with Mike Eisenhower.
He smiles, reaches inside his suit jacket and pulls out a wad of something. I know exactly what it is.
He places his hand flat on the counter and slides it toward me. I glance around to make sure the coast is clear, and in one smooth motion, I grab the content of his hand. A hundred dollars. Mike always looked out for me with a generous tip every week. It was his way of saying thank you for looking out for him with his meds.
He waves goodbye and leaves. I stand there, my feet numb and my heart fluttering. I cannot believe what just happened to me.
CHAPTER TWO
I hit the expressway just in time before rush hour traffic picks up. The homebound commute usually starts getting pretty hectic around four, so I made sure to finagle my way into a lane well before then. It’s only a quarter to the hour. I’m making very good time. A few snags in movement every few yards, but for the most part, it’s not too bad. Nothing’s backed up yet. Even if it was, I wouldn’t mind it so much. Especially since I could occupy my time thinking about Rachel.
I can’t believe I’d finally done it. I finally built up the nerve to
Ever since I met her, I’ve been thinking of how to approach her. A guy with my money and looks, many would say I should have no issues in that department. The truth is, even though most people look at me and think I’m this suave, confident Casanova, in reality, I’m rather insecure. Have been since I was a kid. And what’s worse, social anxiety grips me with its talons whenever I get around women. It’s gotten better, though. Much, much better. My palms don’t sweat, my cheeks don’t get hot, and I don’t stutter, so that’s progress.
The traffic is rolling smoothly now. No hiccups at all. Exactly how I like it. I’m able to get up to at least sixty-five. I leave a few cars in the dust as I punch it up another ten miles per hour. I need to get over to the right so I can make this next exit. At the last minute, I decide that home is not where I want to go right now. I need a drink. The closest bar I can think of is the Pine Pit which is just a mile or so away in midtown.
I get off at exit 7A, and take the street the rest of the way. When I get there, I tip a guy manning the security kiosk overlooking the parking lot and ask him to park my Tesla somewhere inconspicuous. This area is a little rough and I don’t want to take any chances.
The crowd at the Pine Pit is mild. Happy hour hasn’t begun yet, but patrons are, little by little, trickling in. I take a seat at the bar and order a Manhattan, making sure to ask for just a splash of extra whiskey. I take a sip, roll it around in my mouth to get its flavor, and push it down my throat. It stings. That means it’s working.
To my immediate left is a guy flirting heavy with some chick. I glance at him a few times and then realize who he is. Trey Frances, the spoiled rich dude who’s always in the tabloids for something stupid. I bet the girl he’s chatting with right now is another scandal waiting to happen. I try not to eavesdrop, but I hear snippets of their conversation by default. They are damn close to me.
“So when can we see each other again?” he asks her, lifting his drink to his mouth.
“I don’t know,” she replies. “You tell me.”
“You know the Super Bowl is this Sunday,” he says. “I tell you what. If the Eagles win, I’ll be right back here celebrating. Maybe you can join me. You are single, right?”
“Like I’ve told you for the millionth time, yes! I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Alright, Jennifer. Don’t you lie to me. That is your name, right?”
“I’m not, I promise,” she insists. “And it’s Jessica.”
Yeah, real smooth, buddy. Can’t even remember her name.
But I’m one to talk about smooth. It would have taken me a good few months to even step to her. He gets points for efficiency.
The two laugh and joke and bat eyes at each other. And I can see this Jessica girl is real charmed by this fella. I wonder how he does it. How does one just engage with some random stranger and charm them so quickly?
I peer inside my cocktail. Is it the alcohol? Trey does have a drink in his hand. Liquid courage does wonders when you’re in a bind.
But no. There has to be a better way than this. I’m tempted to ask Trey what his real secret is . . .
CHAPTER THREE
Business at the pharmacy is slow. It usually is on Fridays, though. We had maybe two customers within the last hour. Lucky for me, it’s approaching nine o’clock. Almost time for me to call it quits for the night. I’m just finishing up checking off all the unaccounted for prescriptions for today. After this, I can punch out and be on my merry way.
Tina is chilling at the pickup window, her feet kicked up on the counter while she files her nails and chews gum. The most nonchalant attitude ever. I walk past her to clock out on the computer.
“Guess the fact that we’re being recorded means nothing to you, huh?” I poke at her.
“Nope!” she says proudly. “Who’s relieving you tonight? Bob?”
“Yep. He should be here shortly—”
“Go.”
“Huh?”
“Go home, Rachel. I’ll hold it down ‘til Mr. Bald and Beautiful gets here. Get outta here. Skedaddle.”
“But—”
“What’d I say? Run along, child. Your shift is over.”
I titter and smile at my crazy coworker. Tina knows that I catch the bus home from work, and that the earlier I can get out, the better. Missing a bus at this hour could be a death wish. After 8:30 PM, they only run every hour instead of every twenty minutes. Bumbling around at night by myself is already unsafe as it is.
I gather my things and head for the door. Melanie, the cashier up front, bids me farewell.
“Be careful out there, Rachel,” she says. “Have a good night.”
“Thanks, Mel.”
I check my coat pocket to make sure I have my mace with me. My protection. I’ve got it. I walk to the bus stop which is only a block and a half away from the drugstore. The next bus is supposed to come at 9:15. I glance at my watch. Almost ten past nine. Great. I should be in a good spot. That is, if it didn’t come already. The buses on the Crosstown route had a habit of arriving at stops early if ridership was slow. On the flip side, I really hope there are no delays tonight. I’m the only one at this bus stop. Anything could happen to me between now and 10:15. I’m a perfect target.
The brisk February air bites my face. Clouds of steam jet out of my nostrils. My teeth chatter. My nose becomes a leaking faucet. Symptoms of winter bus ride blues. All of this within just fifteen minutes of being exposed to the freezing temps.
9:25 comes. Still no bus in sight. I huff with impatience. The cold is seeping into my bloodstream. 9:35. 9:45. 9:55. I shift from one foot to the other. At this point, I have to bet on that 10:15 to come.
In my periphery, I see two shadowy figures walking in my direction. I hope they keep walking and don’t stop here. But they do. And they actually stand a bit too close for comfort. I glance at them and smile, just to show that I’ve acknowledged their presence. They’re both in dark hoodies and have their hands in their pockets. Can’t really make out their faces, but one thing I can tell: they look like they’re up to no good.
The key is to stay calm in situations like this, so that’s what I do. I rock from side to side and hum a tune, pretending that I’m unfazed by them. My hands are nestled coolly in my pockets, my one finger resting on the trigger of my can of mace.
“Waiting on the bus, ma’am?” one of them asks me.
The question sends a shockwave through my heart. I should have expected it.
“Um, no,” I lie. “My boyfriend’s coming to pick me up.”
“Ah, ok,” the guy says. “Because me and my buddy saw you waiting for a while and thought you might be catching the Crosstown home. Was just gonna say if you were, it ain’t gonna come soon. Buses have been running slower today due to a few breakdowns. The next one may not come for another thirty minutes.”
“Hmm. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll have to keep that in mind if I ever do catch this route one day.”
“Any time, lady. Any time.”
The air grows thick with silence all of a sudden. I can feel these two men looking at me. I pull out my phone, look at it, then crane my neck and look down the street, acting as if my “boyfriend” should be pulling up any minute now.
“Hey, you look familiar,” the other guy says out the blue.
I turn around and look at him, faking surprise. “Oh, do I?”
“Yeah.” He wags his finger as he tries to recall. “You work at the drugstore right over there, don’t you?” He tips his head down the street.
I try to deny it. “You sure? Think you might have the wrong person.”
“No, I’ve seen you,” he insists. “You work in the pharmacy.”
He’s got me in a web I can’t really get out of. “Yeah,” I say sheepishly. “I think I may have seen you in there before.”
