Stolen Kisses With Her Boss. Susan Carlisle
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plant to her office and set it on the corner of her desk. Removing the envelope, she pulled out the card inside. Written on it was: “Thanks, Sean Donavon.”
He’d sent her a thank-you plant. Cynthia couldn’t help but smile. That was thoughtful. Dr. Donavon had just earned another point. No matter what he looked like she could fall for someone who took the time to say thank you. She loved her brothers but “thank you” wasn’t something she regularly heard. She didn’t regret her sacrifices or what she did for them but she would like some understanding and appreciation sometimes. She looked at the plant again. Dr. Donavon’s office manager had no doubt taken care of sending the gift.
A short time later the work he wanted done came up in her system.
She opened her email and clicked “compose.”
Dr. Donavon
Thank you so much for the beautiful plant. You shouldn’t have, but I will enjoy having it on my desk.
I received your dictation and will work on it today and tomorrow. I’ll send the reports when they are completed.
Cynthia
* * *
It was almost midnight on Tuesday when she finally finished the last of her work. She’d spent most of the early part of her day typing her other clients’ dictation. Rick had had a basketball game that evening and that had meant she’d made it back to her desk chair late. Still she was determined to have all her typing done so she could start fresh the next day. That meant working late.
Wednesday morning, she opened Dr. Donavon’s normal surgical dictation and listened for the soft cadence of his voice as he spoke through her headphones. Smiling, she reached out and touched the tip of one leaf on her plant. Between his usual work and the special assignment, she was getting to spend many hours with his delicious voice. She was becoming moony-eyed over a man she’d never seen and knew nothing about. He could be married for all she knew. Enough of that—she needed to get to work.
Hours later she punched a key and sent the twenty separate reports she’d finished off to his electronic folder.
Feeling good about what she had accomplished that day, she took a long, hot shower before heading to bed. Having forgotten to turn off the kitchen light, she headed down the hallway. As she passed her office door she noticed the light flashing on her cell phone, indicating she had an email waiting. She received few this time of night so she feared it might be something important. It was from Dr. Donavon.
Had she tried she couldn’t have slowed her rapid heartbeat. What was he doing working this late? She should wait until morning to open it but it would mean she would stay awake wondering what he had to say. Far too eager for her comfort, she double-tapped the key.
Thank you for the reports and you’re welcome for the plant. It was just my small way of saying thank you.
Good night.
S. Donavon
How could a simple business email make her so giddy? She had to get a grip where Dr. Donavon was concerned. More than his voice was starting to get to her. What would it sound like to have him say good night in her ear? A shiver went up her spine. Cynthia shook her head. She’d been up too late. Her mind was beginning to play tricks on her.
She climbed into bed, pulled her quilt over her and smiled before drifting off to sleep.
* * *
Sean didn’t make a practice of sending someone a thank-you gift for helping him with work he was already paying them to do, but he liked Ms. Marcum.
She’d really helped him out. He’d never sent a plant, or flowers for that matter, before. Even after a date. As far as he was concerned they were a waste of money, which was better used on something practical like a power bill or making an investment.
From the tone of Ms. Marcum’s emails, she seemed an agreeable person. Someone he could work well with for a long time. Sean liked to keep good employees happy to prevent having to search for new ones. He’d been successful at it too. His office manager and several of his nurses had been with him for years.
He wasn’t in the habit of taking chances. He’d seen more than once growing up what happened when someone took a chance. He didn’t do it with places to live, friends or when making decisions on which stocks to buy. Only sure things interested him. That was just what the grant proposal had to be: a sure thing. Ms. Marcum was going to help make that happen.
Sean had worked until two o’clock in the morning the night before and still hadn’t gone through all the reports and information he needed to review. Organization wasn’t his strongest skill. He was going to need help. He moved a pile of disordered papers to another area of his desk, then more to another spot.
Disorganization was one trait he’d gotten from his parents that he couldn’t seem to shake. It was almost ingrained. When they got involved in one of their schemes, record-keeping was part of the process and they didn’t do it well. Soon they had no idea how deep they were in financially and couldn’t put their hands on the documentation to figure it out.
When his father discovered the severity of it he would go out and get an hourly job. Then when the next big moneymaker scam came along his father would quit his job and devote all his time to building the new “business.” Sean had heard all his life, “This will be it. We’ll be on the road to riches this time.” That time had yet to come.
He’d left all he could of that behind, except for being unorganized. He needed someone good with written documentation computer skills to assist him. The sooner the better. He only had a few weeks until the submission must be flawless.
Ms. Marcum had done another superb job with the latest reports. She seemed efficient. In her last email she’d offered her assistance. Would she consider helping him out for a few weeks? There was only one way to find out.
Ms. Marcum, I have a proposition for you.
Sean chuckled. Maybe those weren’t the correct words.
Ms. Marcum, would you be able to come by my office around three p.m. tomorrow? I have an opportunity that I would like to discuss with you in person.
S. Donavon
Hopefully she would agree to their meeting and his need for help. He couldn’t allow her to refuse him. How was he going to get the work done if she didn’t assist him? His office staff was already busy enough. There was no time to hire someone else to handle it. He was reaching desperation level. Somehow he must gain her cooperation.
IT WAS LATE in the morning when Cynthia opened the email she’d saved for last.
She responded.
I’m sorry but I have another appointment at three. Can we make it four?
After a moment’s hesitation she sent the email out. She was tempted to rearrange her entire afternoon. She really needed this job. But Rick’s meeting with the scholarship council was too important to miss.
She didn’t have to wait long for a reply.
I have rounds at four. How about we make it five? I won’t keep you long, I promise.
S. Donavon.
Seconds later she typed: See you at five.
* * *
That afternoon Cynthia entered the glass doors of a modern single-story brick building. It was located across the street from the large multistory hospital in the center of Birmingham. A free-standing sign indicated the building contained Dr. Donavon’s office. It was late in the day and only a few cars occupied the parking lot. Most of the patients would have been seen and the staff was probably leaving for the day.
She’d only been here one other time when she’d signed her employment papers. Transcribers worked behind the scenes and Cynthia