5. Frankie

FIVE

Frankie

Frankie's House

11:08 am

Sitting at my desk, I'm surrounded by a sea of open files and papers, each one more critical than the last. The meeting with Dr. Bench and Hunter Parrish is later today, and I'm trying to make sure every detail is perfectly in place. The pacemaker trial is at a crucial stage, and this meeting could be the turning point that finally pushes it forward.

I glance at my screen, where an email draft to Hunter is open, the cursor blinking impatiently at me. It's just a simple follow-up that I'll send after the meeting this afternoon, but for some reason, I can't seem to find the right words.

"God, Frankie, are you actually emailing him?" Carly's voice breaks through my concentration. I turn to see her standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a teasing grin on her face. Her hair is still a little mussed from her nap on the sofa, but she looks as bright and energetic as ever.

I roll my eyes and lean back in my chair. "Carly, I already told you we're working together on this project. This is strictly business."

"Uh-huh, sure," she says, strolling over to my desk and peering at the screen. "Because business emails I write a draft and fuss over every single word and period. What are you saying? ‘Dear Dr. Parrish, please give me a giant orgasm like you did last time'?"

"Ha ha," I deadpan, closing the laptop a little too quickly. "Yeah, just like that. You really have a way with words. So professional."

Carly flops down into the chair across from me, her grin not fading in the slightest. "Professional stuff, huh? Come on, Frankie, you can't tell me you're not at least a little bit flustered about working with him. I mean, the guy is like walking sex appeal with a stethoscope."

My cheeks warm slightly, and I quickly busy myself with straightening a stack of papers. "He's a surgeon, Carly. We have to work together. That's it. How he looks doesn't factor into any of it."

"Right," she drawls, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "And the fact that you guys slept together once has absolutely no effect on you?"

I shoot her a look. "Yep."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she sighs, leaning back in the chair. "Just remember, Frankie, you're the boss in that room. You're the one with the expertise on this trial. Don't let his stupidly handsome face distract you from that."

I can't help but laugh at that, the tension easing just a little. "I won't. Trust me, I'm focused on the work. This project is too important to let anything—or anyone—distract me."

Carly smiles, softer this time. "I know you are. Just don't forget to take a breath, okay? You're going to do great."

"Thanks, Carly," I say, suddenly more grounded knowing her confidence in me. "I just need to get through this meeting, and then we'll see where things go from there. It's the unknown more than anything."

I lean over and pull the lighter out of the small drawer to light my lavender candle. Immediate peace descends on my anxious thoughts.

She stands up and stretches, clearly satisfied with our conversation. "Well, I'm going to go grab another coffee. Want one?"

I nod, grateful for the offer. "Yes, please."

As she leaves the room, I open my laptop again, staring at the email draft. I know Carly's right. I'm the expert on this trial, and I need to keep my focus on the task at hand. But as much as I try to convince myself that this is just another professional collaboration, I can't completely ignore the butterflies in my stomach at the thought of seeing Hunter again.

Fife's Restaurant

11:48 am

The diner is bustling with the lunchtime crowd, the clatter of dishes and hum of conversation creating a comforting background noise. Carly and I sit in our usual booth by the window, finishing up our meal.

She's been talking non-stop about the latest drama at the hospital, and I've been happily letting her fill the silence while I pick at the last of my salad. "So, what do you think?" Carly asks, suddenly shifting gears.

"About what?" I look up, realizing I've zoned out a bit.

"Dress shopping, duh!" she exclaims as if I should have been following along. "You have to come with me this afternoon. I need a second opinion."

I raise an eyebrow. "Isn't the gala still a month away?"

Carly rolls her eyes dramatically. "Frankie, you knucklehead. It's just shy of three weeks away. May 25th. That's not a lot of time, and it's coming up fast. I need to find something soon. So do you! What if we need alterations? Or, what if we find the perfect dress but no shoes to match?"

I can't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. "You fuss way too much about that kind of stuff. I'm just going to wear the same dress I wore last year. It fits, it got lots of compliments, and I don't have time to shop."

Carly looks at me like I've just suggested wearing a burlap sack. "You can't wear the same dress as last year! I don't care how fabulous it is. You need something new, something that makes you feel amazing."

I wave off her concern. "Carly, that's not really my style. I'm not going to stress over a dress. It's just one night. And, like I said, it's a lifetime away."

Carly crosses her arms, giving me a pointed look. "You'll never get a man with that attitude, you know."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Good thing I'm not interested in finding a man, then. God, you're something else. Do you think of anything else?"

She sighs, clearly exasperated with me. "Frankie, you're hopeless. But I love you anyway."

"Love you too," I reply with a grin. "But seriously, I can't go shopping with you, crazy person. Some of us have to work during the day, remember? And I have that big meeting this afternoon."

Carly pouts, but there's a twinkle in her eye. "Fine, but don't think you're getting out of this so easily. I'll find you the perfect dress, even if I have to drag you into a store kicking and screaming."

"Why don't you do that," I say dryly, standing up as we get ready to leave. "Find me the dress, buy it, and I'll Venmo you for the cost. You can be my personal shopper."

"Not a chance." Carly hands over her credit card for the tab, and I stuff a twenty in her bag. "Good luck with your meeting," she says, giving me a quick hug. "And don't let Dr. Hot Stuff distract you."

I roll my eyes again but smile. "I'll try not to."

We part ways, Carly heading off to whatever adventure she has planned for the afternoon while I head back to my office, mentally gearing up for the meeting ahead. I smile to myself. No matter how different we are, Carly always knows how to lighten my mood.

UAB Hospital

5:14 pm

As I walk through the hospital's sliding doors, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the hum of activity hit me like a wave. Normally, it's comforting, a reminder that I'm in my element, where I belong. But today, there's an undercurrent of nerves that I can't quite shake.

My minds racing as I make my way to the elevator, my heels clicking softly against the hard, slick hospital floor. What is my problem? It's just a meeting, he's just a colleague.

I've had a thousand meetings before, and I've handled them all just fine. But this one is different. And this is exactly why you should never sleep with someone you work with.

I punch the button for the fifth floor, where our lab conference room is, watching the numbers light up as the elevator ascends. Maybe it's because I'm afraid Theo will be able to read all over my face that Hunter had his dick inside of me in the room next door.

The night I've tried so hard to push out of my mind still has its claws in me. But it's not like I have feelings for him. We're both adults, and it was just one night. A momentary lapse in judgment, nothing more. Get it together, Frankie Renna. For fuck's sake.

My nervousness isn't about him—it's about the project. The pacemaker trial is something I've poured my heart and soul into for the last two and a half years. It's consumed me and driven me to push harder than I ever thought I could. That's all this is.

Hunter is a brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon, and his input could be the key to bringing everything together and seeing all my hard work come to fruition. This is a good thing. His expertise could be the missing piece we need to get FDA approval and make this trial a reality.

Protectiveness over the project! My apprehension isn't about the whole sex-with-Hunter thing at all. It's about his opinion—about whether he'll think my work is good enough, whether he'll see the potential I've been fighting so hard to bring to light.

I step out into the hallway, my stomach twisting into knots. What if he doesn't? What if he finds flaws I hadn't noticed, gaps I haven't filled? This project is everything to me, and the thought of it not being good enough, of me not being good enough, is terrifying.

Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I've prepared for this. I know this project inside and out. I've put in the hours and done the research, and this is just another step in the process. I can't let my nerves get the best of me now.

As I approach the conference room, I force a smile, straightening my posture. It's just a meeting between colleagues, I've got this.

The familiar smell of whiteboard markers and the xylene solution used to prepare microscope slides lingers in the air. I take a deep breath and dive into getting everything set up. Where is my lavender candle when I need it?

First things first. I head to the projector, fishing my USB drive out of my bag. As I plug it in, I silently pray there won't be any technical hiccups. The last thing I need is for the presentation to crash right when we're getting started.

While the computer boots up, I pull out the printouts I've prepared for Hunter and Theo. I've gone over these a hundred times, making sure every detail is perfect. Carefully I place them in the men's seats, straightening the edges just so.

The projector whirs to life, and I pull up the presentation. Everything looks good and in order. I click through the slides, double-checking that all the animations and transitions are working smoothly.

Now for the hard part. I stand at the front of the room, running through the key points I want to discuss. "Okay, Frankie," I mutter to myself. "Start with the overview of the current pacemaker technology. Then move into the limitations we've identified."

I pace as I rehearse, gesturing to imaginary slides. "Highlight the improvements our design offers. Emphasize the potential impact on patient outcomes." My voice grows stronger as I go, my confidence building.

"Don't forget to mention the preliminary test results," I remind myself. "And make sure to stress the need for Hunter's surgical expertise in the next phase."

I'm so engrossed in my mental run-through that I blank out the sound of the door opening behind me.

"I got your surgical expertise."

I whip around to the source of the booming voice, and there stands Hunter in all of his fucking ridiculously handsome boyish looks glory.