"Kim, whatever it is, it's evident you need a break. A friend? Besides, I do have a selfish motive."

"Really? What's that?"

"Murphy. We should talk about Mr. Dagwood before she meets with you."

"We can discuss Mr. Dagwood here."

"Um...yeah but... okay," the doctor said.

"I don't want to have lunch with you," she blurted.

He paused.

"Can I ask why?" Mathew asked.

"Because it's inappropriate, and I don't want to. That's why. Thank you for being concerned. It's nothing. Just fatigue. I'd appreciate it if you kept it between us."

"Kim-"

She rose. "I have to go. Work and all, I need to-"

He put a hand on the door and pushed to close it. She cut him an irritated glance. But he spoke softly, appealing to her with those bedroom eyes. "It's pizza, not a wedding ring, Kim. Either you have a slice with me, or I go down the hall and demand to know what Patel did to upset you. Remember, it's the southern gent in me. I can't help myself."

She sighed, exhausted with his pursuit.

Minutes ticked by as she chewed on her bottom lip.

His brow lifted, eyes scanning her face for an answer.

"Fine, let me get my purse," she conceded.

He lifted his hand. "You won't need it. Pizza's on me, remember?"

Kim hesitated once more before she nodded in agreement. "Okay."

She slipped out. In the hall, she felt the ability to breathe again. She looked back at the door, considered his offer and decided she was too tired to fight him on top of everything else. Her hand slipped down into the front of her scrubs where the pill packs were, touching them, rea.s.suring herself that they were there made her feel less frantic. All she would have to do is return to the medical cabinet and put them back in the box. She walked toward the door and stopped, rubbed the pill packs and stared at the door.

"Kim? Shall we?" she heard him behind her.

She backed away from the medical supply room door. "Yes, okay."

She noticed how he looked from her to the door, but she quickly stepped away to avoid his suspicion. She hoped she did.

Once outside of Mercy, Mathew walked beside her, their feet matching the other's stride along the sidewalk. The offer for a quick lunch was a bit unexpected. He hadn't planned it. Seeing her distressed, he felt the need to do something.

His gaze slipped over to her. She showed no emotion. It was as if the past ten minutes hadn't happened. He figured she needed the walk for reflection. So he didn't press. What could be so bad that this nurse, one who never showed the slightest hint of weakness, broke down in tears within his arms?

After five minutes of silence between them, he cleared his throat. His tongue and mouth were dry. He swallowed and then tried to summon his voice. "How's the car? Did you drive it in today?"

She glanced over again and then away. Mathew smiled. She surely wouldn't make it easy. New Yorkers were a bit more reserved than he was used to. "I'm from South Carolina, Charleston to be exact. Ever been?"

"No," she answered softly.

"Beautiful city. You'd like it. Especially with your sons. It's a town for kids-lemonade stands and picket fences. It's nice in the winter but paradise in the spring."

Their eyes met again. There was such warmth there, possibly from the mention of her children. He noticed how she softened when she spoke of them in the parking garage. Her being a mother was s.e.xy to him-her beauty notwithstanding. Though he set aside that acknowledgement, he couldn't help but continue to be the man he was inside. "Decided on New York after my divorce. Charleston wasn't the same for me then."

"You were married?" she rasped, her voice heavy with emotion.

"I divorced last year," he replied.

"I'm sorry," Kim mumbled.

"Don't be. She's quite happy," he chuckled. When Kim didn't respond, his chuckle died in the breeze that pushed at them both. The beginning of summer and still the city winds whipped around the sky sc.r.a.pers delivering a brisk chill. She crossed her arms in front of her. He resisted the urge to offer his arm as warmth. Instead, he kept talking. "I like New York, just need to adjust. It's kind of overwhelming for a country boy like myself."

"You'll adapt."

"That's what they keep telling me. Hasn't happened yet."

They slowed. Mario's Pizzeria's disc shaped pizza pie sign swayed back and forth overhead. The metal pole it was fastened to from the store awning stretched out over the sidewalk. It appeared that everyone had the same idea. And the sweetest smell of baked bread, melting mozzarella, and tangy tomato sauce greeted them. The door was open. A line spilled out stretching along the block. Mathew's stomach clenched with hunger.

"I didn't realize it would be packed tight with the lunch crowd."

"It always is this time of day," she muttered in a single breath, "I've been here before."

Mathew smiled. So had he. "Ah, so you're holding back on me?"

A shy smile tipped the corner of her mouth. He liked her smile.

"Want to wait out the crowd in the coffee shop? Have a cup?" he asked.

"Work?" Kim frowned.

"Work will be there when we get back. Let you in on a little secret." He leaned lower and spoke near her ear. "There are doctors and nurses in there to take care of the sick, just in case we don't make it back in time."

She smiled for him again. How he wished she did that more often. "Okay, coffee," she relented.

Mathew steered her next door. He held it open, watching her pa.s.s and enter.

"What can I get you?" he asked.

"Black, no cream or sugar," she said, her hands returning to the front pockets of her scrubs. He went to the counter and ordered for them both. When he returned he found her seated, staring out of the window with those reflective eyes that retreated from him.

"Strong stuff, this is...you sure you don't want cream?"

"I'm sure. I need something strong."

Taking a seat across from her, he sipped and stared. She kept her eyes lowered. What was it about her that kept drawing his attention? He just couldn't pinpoint it. Sure, she was beautiful, soft spoken, but there was something else.

"Any brothers and sisters?" she asked.

"I have twelve."

She choked. Mathew smiled, pulling a napkin and pa.s.sing it to her. Kimberly laughed, his first time hearing joy escape her. She laughed so hard tears sprung to her eyes. Chuckles from her were nice, but laughter stole his heart.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"Twelve? Your mother had twelve kids? You're lying."

"She sure did. She had seven boys and five girls. I'm number nine, got three younger ones under me."

"Wow...that's...that's impressive. She's a h.e.l.luva woman."

"Oh, we call her Big Mama."

"Really?"

"Southern thing. In every big family there's a Big Mama or Papa, a Jimmy or Bud, even a Roscoe. Mine has them all."

"Sounds like a lot of love." She gave him a small smile.

"Big families aren't easy, but love is sometimes a constant. I want a big family of my own. Therein lies the problem with me and the ex."

Kim looked at him curiously. He figured she wanted to ask about his wife but hesitated on pressing since her personal life was off limits. But he traded his life easily. It helped to reflect. It was part of the process of letting go, moving on. Somehow he sensed that Kim never adapted to that process.

"My ex-wife was an only child. Not really big on kids. I wanted them and she didn't. Guess she was afraid I would turn her into Big Mama."

"Dennis wanted kids," she said softly.

Mathew's left brow arched. The silence thickened between them. Then she sighed but looked toward the window when she spoke. "We wanted to have six. That was part of his proposal. Baby, will you marry me and give me six boys so I can start a basketball team, he said." She gave a bitter laugh, her eyes dropping to the coffee. "He was so happy when we started out the gate with two."

"Six? He really wanted to start a basketball team?"

"No." She looked at him with the saddest eyes. "He grew up in foster care with no real family of his own. So he just always envisioned the one he'd want. He wanted sons, a house on the lake, a wife. He had these ideas of what family would look like...he...had a lot of plans and ideas." She sipped the coffee.

"I'm sorry about your loss."

"Yeah, well no need in dwelling on it," she answered.

"Maybe if..."

"I really need to get back," she said. "I have a lot of paperwork. At lunch I call and check on my babies. I forgot my phone. I think we should head back. You can stay, finish lunch. Yes, you stay. I'll go." She pushed her chair back.

"What about the pizza?"

"I...I'm not hungry," she said starting to rise.

"Kim, tell you what." He reached in his pocket and removed his phone, setting it on the table in front of her. "You call your sons. Take a minute to be alone. I'm going to go next door and get in line. What kind of pizza do you want?"

She looked genuinely surprised at the offer of s.p.a.ce. She slowly sat back down. He rose and leaned over on the table with his palms pressed flat. "Pepperoni, extra cheese?"

"Sure, thank you."

"No problem."

Mathew walked out. Immediately he was greeted with an even longer line. It stretched to the coffee shop window. He took a few steps and brought up the end. From there he could see back through the coffee shop. Kim hadn't touched his phone. Not yet. She just sat there very still. He couldn't see her face but he sensed the emotion that was probably there. Then she moved. Something in her lap, under the table was brought out in her hand. She looked at it. Mathew frowned, unable to see what it was. But her actions clued him in. A pill?

"Hey, buddy, you going to move or what?" a man gruffly asked. The line had moved. Mathew was forced to step away from the view of the coffee shop. The last he saw was her swallow the pill and sip her coffee behind it.

Chapter Five.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood Simone "Mr. Gatlin, good morning, sir. Mr. Livingston left a message for you to see him, first thing." Sheila abruptly got up from her chair. Cain checked his watch. He'd arrived early. The hour hadn't reached eight yet. It appeared that Caspian's new Senior V.P. was an even earlier riser.

"Thank you, Sheila."

"Mr. Gatlin, he-"

Cain looked up. Keith Livingston stepped out of his office. Dressed in a three-piece suit, he looked like a politician instead of one of Hollingsworth's executives. His new boss would have to learn that things weren't as disciplined or structured there as they were in New York.

"A moment, please." His request sounded more like an order as he walked away, heading to his own office. Cain frowned. He hadn't even set his satchel down. He went inside his office to drop off his things. What could be so pressing that he wasn't allowed to get a cup of coffee? Thinking that it may be business critical, he turned and headed to the new Senior V.P.'s office. Keith didn't look up when he entered.

"Close the door," Keith said.

Cain closed the door. His curiosity piqued as he approached and sat in the chair before him. Keith kept scribbling. The silence lingered for a long uncomfortable pause before Keith looked up. "I've had a chance to review the program for some of your key accounts this morning."

Cain couldn't help but frown. He had a chance to review? He gave him that information yesterday. How early was he in the office? "Okay?"

"Looks like you have about thirty people in your division handling some of our most profitable accounts. However, for the past two years you've done nothing to grow the business. No new strategic planning or expanded contracts for services."

Cain swallowed his smirk. He knew where this was going. The rumors were right. The new guy was sent in from corporate to dig into dollars and cents. Of course he started with what was in his reach, but Cain suspected that there would come a bigger aim, Andrew Hollingsworth. The partners weren't happy with Andrew Hollingsworth's bad boy ways.

"We made our capital projections and Hollingsworth signed off on them," he answered.

"True, but barely, and again," Keith flipped through the ledger, page after page. "The burn rate on your operating costs has completely taxed your IBD."

"IBD?"

"Income before depreciation." Keith snapped as if offended that Cain didn't know the term. Well, Cain didn't give a s.h.i.t. There was a whole division down the hall called Accounting that handled that kind of a.n.a.lysis. He should go f.u.c.k with them instead.

Keith shook his head. "I'm sorry, but there really needs to be a complete reorg on how things are managed going forward. We don't want to just keep accounts but turn a profit. Your spend needs to be justified going forward."

Keith sat back. He removed his gla.s.ses, pressed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb as if a headache was forming, then dropped his tone to a more serious one. "I'd like a meeting with your staff this afternoon. Every division is to present to me their product plans for this fiscal year with full disclosure on gains and losses within the past twelve months. I want a complete list of all of your resources and how they are allocated. You will take care of this."