Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Cash
I didn’t expect my first conversation with Eleanor Sinclair would take place in a restaurant with a greasy napkin in my hand.
But here we are.
“I don’t think that’s mine,” she blurts.
“Really?” I rub the scruff at my chin with my free hand. “Because it was under your chair when we walked in.”
She gapes up at me, the fringes of her lashes fluttering. Her eyes are hazel, sliding on the spectrum over to green. Pretty . I might’ve known this already, but I’ve never gotten close enough to my new neighbor to tell. I did pass her in the lobby once early on, but I was late for an emergency surgery. Patient on the table. No time to slow down.
After that, we haven’t gotten within thirty yards of each other, even though we live on the same floor.
Sometimes I’ll spot her coming and going from the parking deck. And we’ve ended up on opposite sides of the courtyard once or twice. I wanted to at least be cordial. We’re neighbors, after all. But Eleanor always seems to be in a big rush, racing away from me before I can introduce myself .
I only know her name thanks to an envelope I found on the ground by the lobby desk. Must’ve fallen out of her mailbox. It was an invitation for a Springs Singles potluck.
Her name and apartment number were on it, so I tried to deliver it, but she didn’t answer her door. I had this weird sense she was watching me from the peephole, so I tried again later with no luck. The third time, I gave up and left the invitation sticking out from under her welcome mat.
The one with the big yellow smiley face on it.
That was two months ago, so we either have the worst timing in the history of clocks, or she’s avoiding me on purpose. But that’s fine. We don’t have to be friends just because we live in the same building, share the same courtyard, and have apartments on the same floor.
If Eleanor Sinclair is getting invited to potlucks for singles, she’s probably looking for a relationship, and I barely have time to see my family these days, let alone the bandwidth to date. Besides, I gave my heart to a woman once, and I’m not looking to get burned.
Ever again.
Maybe if my job weren’t so stressful, things would be different. But I’m a medical device salesman for Powell MedTech. Specifically in our company’s spine department. I sell instruments and implants to surgeons and offer them equipment support in the OR. I assist the scrub techs. The physicians assistants. Circulating nurses.
Everyone involved in the case.
That’s why I moved to Serendipity Springs in the first place. I needed to be closer to Springs Memorial to cover all our cases there. Meanwhile, my partner, Alex, was supposed to focus on the doctors at Mercy General in Worcester. We were dominating the entire region. Until he jumped ship for a position with our biggest competitor. Vortex.
Now I’m one person with a two-person caseload .
If I succeed, my manager, Jason, says he’ll recommend me for a premier spot in Los Angeles. If my numbers drop, though, my West Coast dreams will go up in smoke. Not to mention, Jason will probably move another rep in to share my territory.
To be clear, I’m not a workaholic or greedy about the percentages I earn as a solo rep. I’ve just never found anyone else who cares about the job as much as I do. We’re talking about people’s spines here. Not just paralysis versus the ability to walk. Success or failure in the OR can influence a patient’s future mobility and their need for follow-up procedures, not to mention day-to-day pain management.
I know from personal experience.
That’s why I don’t blame other reps in the business for not being as obsessive as I am. They haven’t broken their backs. Literally.
And after three years in the industry, I’m convinced every case goes more smoothly with me in the OR.
I’m not trying to sound cocky, but you want Powell MedTech in your spine. And you want me in your surgery. Is that a lot of pressure? Yeah, it is. Do I have much of a social life?
Nope.
But that’s okay. Because the look my neighbor’s giving me right now doesn’t exactly scream “let’s be friends.”
“I guess that napkin is mine,” she mumbles. When she plucks the cloth from my hand, something small and dark drops out, landing on the carpet. She darts her gaze back up to me, and her eyes go wide. I’m dying to see what she was hiding in the napkin, but, hey. I’m a team player. I can be discreet for my neighbor’s sake. And she looks so vulnerable, I just want to support her. So I clear my throat in a tacit message that I won’t blow her cover.
Unfortunately, the doctor I’m with doesn’t get the memo .
“What’s this?” Dr. Margaret Hanson, an orthopedic surgeon at Springs Memorial, bends over to examine what fell out of the napkin. “Ugh. Is that a?—?”
“It’s nothing!” Eleanor squawks.
“Ewww.” Dr. Hanson groans. “I’m sorry. I just really hate snails.”
The man across from Eleanor blurts, “Is that one of my escargots?” When I walked up, I overheard him say he’s dating Eleanor, but now he’s openly ogling Dr. Hanson.
Meanwhile, Eleanor scoops the brown blob into the napkin and lays the balled-up mess on the table. “I have no idea how that got there.”
“Yo, waitress!” The man with her snaps his fingers at a server walking by. “The lady dropped her napkin.” He points at Eleanor. “She needs a new one.” The guy is snapping and pointing, and he doesn’t bother to say please. He’s also drooling over Dr. Hanson right in front of his date. Not that his behavior would be better behind Eleanor’s back. I’ve barely met my neighbor, and I know she deserves better than this.
All women deserve better.
As the server hands her a fresh napkin, Eleanor says, “Thank you.” Her face is bright red now, but she casts a small smile up at the server.
She’s still trying to smile .
“Try to keep this one in your lap,” her date smirks, his eyes still devouring Dr. Hanson. He runs a meaty hand over his head like he’s some kind of oversized, slick-haired cat.
He’s hairy enough to be feline, I’ll give him that.
“Anyway, I think our table’s ready,” I say. I hate abandoning Eleanor, but I’m not about to subject Dr. Hanson to his oily gaze a minute longer. “So I guess we’ll just be on our way, then,” I say. “Enjoy your dinner, Eleanor.”
“ Eleanor ?” Cat-man scoffs, sizing me up for the first time. His furry brows contract into a single line on his forehead. “Hold on. Do you two know each other?”
“Yes.” I bob my head. “We?—”
“No,” Eleanor says before I can finish my sentence. I thought giving her back the napkin could break the ice between us, but whatever went down with that escargot didn’t do anybody any favors.
“We just live in the same building,” she adds.
Cat-man huffs out a breath. “So who’s Eleanor ?”
“Eleanor is my full name,” she answers, keeping her eyes averted from me. “But I go by Nori.”
Ah.
Nori. Cute. That suits her .
I take a step toward Nori’s date and extend a hand. “I’m Cash,” I say. “Cash Briggs.”
“Warren Snuze.” He goes in with a tight grip. Like, over-the-top firm. Apparently, there’s a little handshake war going on here.
But only in Cat-man’s head.
“And this is Dr. Hanson,” I say, tilting my head to introduce her.
“Margaret,” she says. “Or you can call me Maggie. Nice to meet you both.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Nori manages.
While her dinner companion continues leering at Dr. Hanson, I offer Nori a tight smile. “Have a good night,” I say, wishing her date was anybody but Warren Snuze.
“Don’t worry.” He wags his brows. “We will.”
Man, this guy’s got a punchable face.
I lead Dr. Hanson over to our table and pull out a chair for her. It’s not until I sit that I realize I’ve put myself in the seat with a direct view of Nori. While I peruse the menu, my gaze drifts back over to her again and again. There’s just something about her that draws my focus. Maybe it’s her vulnerability. Or the way she tried so hard to keep a smile on her face. I just want to check in on her. Take the pulse of her date. Gauge the temperature.
Each time I do look, though, I only end up feeling worse. Her lips curve down a little more, and they rarely move at all. Clearly Warren’s doing the lion’s share of the talking on their date.
Why is someone like her going out with a guy like this?
“The chicken piccata sounds good,” Dr. Hanson says, snapping me back to my reason for being at Vincenzo’s in the first place. The ultimate goal is to earn Dr. Hanson’s business, and dinner gives us time away from the hospital. No pressure, just two people sharing a meal. And if we end up discussing why Powell MedTech’s vertebral body system is superior to our competitor’s, so be it.
“The Margherita pizza sounds good too,” I say.
“Is that what you’re getting?”
I cast another quick peek at Nori, who’s currently slumped over her plate. “I can tell you what I’m not getting.”
Dr. Hanson arches a brow. “The escargot?”
I chuckle. “It’s like you can read my mind already.”
A busboy brings us a basket of bread, and a server shows up to take our orders, then we drift into the usual small talk between two people who’ve only spent time with each other professionally. In this line of work, trust takes a while to build, and I want Dr. Hanson to get to know me outside the OR.
When our food comes, we dig into our dinners, and I still don’t bring up Powell MedTech. Or Vortex. Or my ex-partner, Alex, who worked with Dr. Hanson during her fellowship year. I prefer to work hard, not sell hard. So I take my time, waiting for Dr. Hanson to bring up the job.
Halfway through our meals, she does.
“You and Alex Linton were partners until recently, weren’t you?” Dr. Hanson dabs at her lips with a napkin. “You know he covered some cases with me during my fellowship at Mercy General.”
“I did know that.” I bob my head. “Alex and I split the central region together for a few years,” I say. “He’s a good guy. Really knew his stuff. And his work ethic’s great.” I drop a strip of pizza crust onto my plate. “When our territory expanded, he pushed to stay with the hospitals in Worcester, and I agreed to move here to be our boots on the ground at Springs Memorial.”
Dr. Hanson takes a sip of water and eyes me across the table. “We might as well address the elephant in the room, then.”
“Alex is with Vortex now,” I say.
“Exactly.” She sets down her glass. “He already reached out, asking me to start using his stuff instead of yours.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“And we’re here tonight because you want to win my business.”
“I want to earn your business,” I clarify.
Dr. Hanson nods, her mouth curving up. “I hate to be nosy, but you just spoke highly of Alex, so I have to ask. What exactly happened between you two?”
I take a beat, considering how much to reveal about our circumstances. The last thing I want is for Dr. Hanson to think I’m defensive. Or intimidated by Alex. Because I’m neither. “Vortex offered him a higher percentage than he was making with Powell,” I say. “And they guaranteed the increase for the next twelve months. That’s a hard offer to turn down.”
“I see.” Dr. Hanson presses her lips together. “Hello, higher salary. Goodbye, loyalty?”
Loyalty . Right.
My brain dredges up the memory of an engagement ring abandoned on my nightstand. The note beside the three-carat diamond had four words scrawled in a loopy cursive:
I’m so sorry, Cash.
I let my gaze slide back over to Nori. She glances up at the same time, locking eyes with me before looking away. Something pings in my chest.
A warning not to get too close.
“Did I strike a nerve?” Dr. Hanson asks.
“Absolutely not.” I shake off the moment, force up one edge of my mouth. “The truth is, Vortex was smart to snag Alex. I trained the guy. He’s excellent at what he does.”
“That’s awfully generous of you.”
“I’m not so generous.” My lip quirks. “Alex is excellent, but I’m better.”
At this, Dr. Hanson chuckles. “Good for you.”
“The way I see it, Alex made his choice. Just like I made mine when Vortex tried to sign me.”
“Really?” Dr. Hanson picks up a garlic roll and adds another dollop of butter to it. “What made you turn them down?”
“The money was tempting, I’ll admit. Obviously the money tempted Alex. But the guarantee is temporary,” I say. “What’s permanent is the fact that Powell’s systems are superior to most of the stuff Vortex has to offer.”
“All right, then.” Dr. Hanson leans back in her chair. “Tell me why.”
Over the next twenty minutes, I take her through the advantages of our new vertebral system, sharing anecdotes of specific patients and actual surgeries. Then I get to the part where I offer her the only thing I can actually guarantee: My service.
“I could quote you more statistics,” I continue, “but honestly, I’d rather show you in person just how?— ”
“Sold.” Dr. Hanson lifts a hand, cutting me off. “I’ll tell my PA to book a case at Springs Memorial with you this week.”
“That’s great, Dr. Hanson. You’re really going to love our systems.”
“I’m sure I will.” She cocks her head. “But now that we’ve gotten that bit of work out of the way, tell me why you can’t keep your eyes off that pretty brunette.”
I blink, feigning ignorance even though it’s clear I’ve been busted. “Who?”
“The woman sitting behind me.” Dr. Hanson bites back a smirk. “The one who lives in your building? You’ve been staring at her all night.”
A visual of the flyer for the Springs Singles potluck flashes across my brain, and my gut goes hollow, like the wedding band I never wore.
“Nori?” I shake my head. “I don’t even know her.”
“Maybe not.” Dr. Hanson quirks a brow. “But I think you want to.”