2. Lex
2
Ms. Martinez was flustered, adorably so. Her cheeks were the brightest shade of red I’d ever seen. Most women who came into my office to have any sort of surgery were usually comfortable with their body, or at least comfortable with me viewing their body. It was, after all, my profession and the reason they came into my office to begin with.
But as my fingers felt her—literally perfect—breasts I sensed she was nervous, or flustered. Her nipples could cut glass, so perhaps aroused too. I had to fight a smirk because I found myself attracted to her too. She wasn’t the average celebrity with spindly legs and bony hips. Ms. Martinez, whose first name I’d already forgotten but I would definitely look up as soon as she left this exam room, had curves—a lot of them. Full ones with ample locations that appealed to my eyes. But I focused on the exam, on her round full tits.
God, why was I thinking like this?
“You understand that if we reduce the size of your breasts, you may encounter changes in hormones. You may experience loss of sensation in your nipples”—I pinch one, judging the reactiveness to touch and then watch as it hardens further—“changes in sexual desire, and that the surgery may not be successful. Your breasts can actually return to their normal size post-surgery.”
All I could think was, Yes, God, I’d like these to remain this size—wow. And then I internally scolded myself for having such thoughts. It wasn’t normal. I never thought this about patients, so why was I finding myself so aroused by her.
“Dr. Hartman,” she said, and I had the feeling she was going to vomit. Her face contorted and she gave me a deer-in-headlights expression. “I’m Charlotte Martinez from the Register in Tampa. I am here to see if you’d like to do an interview.”
I’m ashamed to admit my hands lingered on those luscious round tits a little longer than they should have when she blurted that out. God, they were perfect. But I reluctantly pulled back, pausing for a moment to look away and collect myself as she scrambled to hook her bra shut and button her shirt. I took a deep breath and walked to the counter, peeling my gloves off as I went.
I’d made it abundantly clear to every newspaper or magazine reporter who called that I was done with interviews. The paparazzi followed me around just as much as my celebrity patients, and it was daunting. To the point that some of my more well-known patients had to come to my home in the evenings or take house calls—which was getting tiresome.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Hartman, it’s just that, well… We want to do an exposé on your life, not just your work. We want to show the world the man behind the knife, so to speak.”
I rolled my neck and glanced at the tablet. She’d wasted seven minutes of my day already and with eight minutes until my next appointment, I didn’t have the time or patience for yet another interview that would only say the same things about me. I did real work here, work the news media didn’t seem to understand or care about. A lot of times they painted me as a ne’er-do-well playboy who had a different woman every day and only cared about the money.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Ms. Martinez. You’ve wasted valuable time I should have been spending with real patients. This is not a joke.” Frustration colored my tone as I turned to see she’d put herself away, a point I couldn’t say I was pleased about. I’d seen a lot of naked women and Ms. Martinez was the only one who’d ever done that to me. My dick throbbed a little, begging to be stroked—or maybe that was my ego.
It took real cojones to fake an appointment with me to get the scoop, and she’d followed through too. Her nervous jitters and flushed face hadn’t been due to embarrassment or unease over an appointment. She was hiding a secret and now I had to send her away—never again to see those gorgeous tits.
“Please, if you’d just give me a moment.” She slid off the table and grabbed her purse again, but she hovered between me and the door, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. Ballsy, I’d give her that, and it impressed me a little that she was sticking to her guns, but I was over this.
“I am not interested in more interviews. I run a serious business. Yes, I work on celebrities, but I’m not name-dropping, and if you’re interested in the life-saving face transplant my team and I did, you can read one of the hundred articles that have already been written.” I scowled at her, though it pained me to do so. She was so gorgeous, and she had guts. I liked that about her. I just didn’t like that she was a reporter, that she’d weaseled her way in here and wasted my time.
Yes, if she’d called me at home I’d have just hung up. If she’d asked me upfront for an interview, it would have been a hard pass. She was sneaky but she was smart.
“Please, I understand you’re serious. I want to help you shift that narrative. Other papers have touted your impressive skill in saving that woman’s life. But I want to show the world you’re more than the playboy they paint you to be. That you?—”
“Cut the crap.” My snarky interruption startled her and she jumped a little. “You reporters are all the same. You may actually be worse than them. At least they respect that when I say no it means stand outside my gated property and stare at my beautiful home because you’re not getting in. You waltzed right in here like you owned the joint and flashed your tits to get me to pay attention, then hoped you’d get an interview?”
Harsh. I felt it as soon as the words left my mouth. She was doing her job, likely put up to it by a boss or coworker. I watched her cheeks grow even darker red, if it were possible, and then her shoulders wilted.
“I’m sincerely sorry, Dr. Hartman.” When she turned her chin up it was with a bright and warm smile. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot and I accept full responsibility for that.” Persistent too—incredible. “I honestly would love to get to know you—I, uh… I mean, to do the interview.”
She squirmed under my gaze like a bacteria in a petri dish and I ate it up. Every second of her torture as she pleaded with me for this interview gave me great satisfaction, even when I started in on her and she kept the plastic smile on her lips.
“Do you understand I get paid twelve-hundred dollars per consultation? You’ve just wasted my time, and twelve-hundred dollars of your precious newspaper’s money. And you think I’m going to change my mind and just do an interview? When? Right now?” I raised my eyebrows at her. “You think a fifteen-minute interview, which is now”—I looked at the tablet and then back up at her face—“six minutes left, is long enough to do an exposé?”
“Sir, if you would?—”
“What part of time equals money don’t you understand?” I stood and slid my hands into my pockets and she backed up a step. The idea of doing an interview with her didn’t actually displease me. She was bold and beautiful, and judging by her nervous yet polite demeanor, she was likely a good human being. Not a single reporter had come along with the intent to show the world the real me. Most of them merely wanted the fame associated with my name, which inevitably brought them a boost to their career. This woman might be no different, but she might also be chasing a dream and just hopping on my tailwind.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I really do want to do a great job on this story and show the world you’re more than just a surgeon. That you’re not the things the tabloids say about you.” Again with the biting of the lower lip. She had no clue what that did to me, and I had no way to tell her without it coming across as nothing more than a cheesy pick-up line from Miami’s number one playboy, which would only fuel the gossip mills.
“Please leave now.” I felt the business card in my pocket, tucked there with the intent that she could hand it to Eva at the front desk to schedule the next appointment, but perhaps it could serve a different purpose now that I knew she wasn’t here with genuine interest in my services.
“You were like me once…” Her smile wavered only for a second. “Young and passionate about your career. I need this story, please. You have no idea. If I go back and tell my boss I didn’t get the interview…”
Resorting to pleading didn’t look good on her, but I just couldn’t get the image of her tits out of my head. I slid the card into my palm and shook my head, deepening my scowl as I pulled my hand out of my pocket and reached toward her.
“Give this to Eva at the reception desk.”
She glanced at my hand then reached for the card with a confused look on her face. “I don’t understand.”
“Get out of my office. Do you understand that?” my voice boomed and she jumped again as she backed toward the door. “And when you receive the time and date, write it down. I don’t take kindly to no-shows.” I was going to enjoy this thoroughly. “And whatever you do, don’t be late.”
“Oh God…yes, sir,” she mumbled. Clearly quite flustered. And then she was gone. And I was standing there with an erection of biblical proportions hoping she didn’t notice it.
Yes, I was going to enjoy this a lot.