When Staci Takes Charge (Leave Your Shoes On 2)

“The adorable geek. Yes. That was me.”

“Total brainiac?”

“The teachers literally did not know what to do with me. But my mother was deeply engrossed in one of her projects prior to the Alzheimer’s research, and couldn’t be bothered to meet with the school administrators to determine what sort of honors classes I ought to be enrolled in or discuss other schools they felt were more suitable for my IQ.”

“Wow. So…what? You were left to fend for yourself?”

“In school and out of it. But that’s not really the point.”

“Where you come from, Evan, is a huge part of who you are today.”

“Singularly focused on my work. I think we’ve already established that.”

Staci sipped her beer, then gave him a shrewd look. “That’s not exactly true anymore, is it?”

Evan groaned as he thought of everything he’d done to this beautiful woman the night before. And some of the things he still wanted to do to her. “As usual, you make a very good point.”

“So how’d it all shake out?” she asked.

He shrugged and said, “I tried to get a little bit cooler by at least being associated with the football team—since there was no chance in hell my mom would sign the forms for me to even try out—and it was all okay for the most part. Then one day, our quarterback—a fourteen-year-old kid who’d always been the first to come to my defense whenever someone pushed me around—got sacked during a game. His body went one way, his foot went the other. Bones snapped and shot through his skin. He let out the most blood-curdling screams and passed out f

rom the pain.”

“Oh, God.” She cringed. “That’s horrible.”

“Yes. It was bad. Unfortunately, it got worse. He wasn’t treated properly, and his foot became infected. So severely, he had an emergency amputation.”

“Okay,” she said in a solemn voice, quickly catching on. “He was your friend. A secret friend, right? Because he was popular and you weren’t, so…He’d stick up for you, but couldn’t really be seen with you. And then he shattered his foot and it was removed and he needed a prosthetic one. That’s why you’re interested in the field.”

“Prostheses aren’t my specialty,” he reminded her.

“Because you have to start somewhere, Evan. You’re only thirty-three. And you can’t become a world-renowned surgeon who operates on former supermodels and the like without putting your sole focus into that one area of expertise.”

“Chris was never fully treated and he died from continuous infections.”

“Shit.” She sat back in her seat.

“That’s why I went into podiatry. It’s the first line of defense—trying to solve the problem before amputation, particularly in diabetic patients. As far as prostheses go…I just keep thinking there could have been something suitable for him that his body wouldn’t have rejected.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Yes. Mostly with upper limbs, though.”

“But you’re still doing so much at the root cause. Doesn’t that mean something to you?”

“Of course.” Evan sipped his beer, then said, “I just feel a certain obligation, that’s all. To Chris.”

“That’s because you’re a very conscientious man, Evan Hart.” Her hand covered his as it rested on the table. “You’re a great champion for a great cause.”

He pinned her with a look. “So are you, Staci.”

He downed his beer, paid the tab, and said, “Let’s get out of here. Go back to my apartment. We’ll order in Chinese and watch a movie.”

Evan’s driver picked them up at the curb. Once settled in his spacious apartment, with a fire blazing in the tall hearth, boxes of food spread out on the coffee table, and red wine poured, Evan felt a little more in his element.

Staci had a very natural, compelling way of tapping into his life, his past. He found it impossible to refuse answering her questions, but that didn’t mean it made him comfortable. He’d spent so much of his life in isolation. Studying, planning for the future, rising to the top of his profession. He didn’t allow himself to be mired in the past, or in emotions.

Yet Staci easily drew him out of his shell.