When Staci Takes Charge (Leave Your Shoes On 2)
Staci boiled. “Please tell him that I called. Again. It’s important.”
“He’s a very busy man, and I’ve already told you—”
“I understand that he’s a very busy man. But I have something…dire…to discuss with him.”
Tanya sighed over Staci’s persistence. “I’ll let him know.”
Staci shook her head as she dropped her phone on the leather blotter on her desk.
She tried Dr. Hart again the next day. It was Friday, midafternoon.
Tanya told her, “I’m sorry”—surely she had to be tired of that phrase—“he’s prepping for a series of lectures at the moment and can’t be disturbed.”
“Okay, Tanya,” Staci said in a dour tone. “Level with me here. Does this man really exist?”
“Of course he does,” came the curt response.
Exasperated, Staci said, “So Dr. Hart is like…what? Willy Wonka? Too eccentric to return a call or an email?”
“He’s a very—”
“Busy man,” Staci completed for the assistant. “Right. Gotcha. Just…tell him I called, please. Yet again. Staci Kay from Staci Kay Shoes. It’s really—”
“Important,” Tanya mimicked her. Not in a snarky way. Staci sensed a hint of sympathy on the other woman’s end. “I’ll deliver the message directly to him.”
“Fabulous. Thank you.”
Staci disconnected the call.
Okay…What the hell? The guy was all about solving foot problems. Now, so was Staci. So why couldn’t she get him to respond to her?
Worse, Staci wasn’t accustomed to being stonewalled. When she wanted something, she went after it. Precisely the mentality and ambition that had driven her to start her own company.
If Dr. Evan Hart thought he could skirt her, he was in for his own rude awakening.
Whatever his glitch in the system was when it came to contacting her, Staci would break through the barrier. Her sense of duty to her customers burned brighter every day, and she wouldn’t be brushed aside by someone who could help her.
She turned to her computer. Researched Dr. Evan Hart once more, typing in lecture schedule as additional keywords.
A Mount Sinai page dedicated to the almighty podiatric surgeon popped up. Along with a full roster of upcoming speaking engagements.
Staci’s eyes feasted on the most current one—San Diego, tomorrow morning at the convention center.
She reached for the landline on the desk and hit the button for her own assistant. “Courtney,” she said, “I need to be on a plane tonight to San Diego. Try to send me out of BWI so I don’t have to take the train into DC. I’ve got some packing and planning to do.”
“Where would you like to stay?”
“Someplace nice by the convention center.”
“Got it. I’ll send the itinerary and confirmation numbers to your calendar.”
“Thank you.”
Staci printed out the focus group summaries, then powered down her laptop and stored it and the documents in her bag. She left the building and drove to her three-bedroom Baltimore Harbor condo. The spare rooms were for her sister and parents. They didn’t visit all that often and, as usual, that thought left Staci feeling a little lonely and isolated. But she didn’t dwell on the melancholy threatening to seep through her veins.
She was a woman on a mission.
And Dr. Evan Hart was not going to evade her this time.