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was Dr. Donavon doing so now?

      Doctors’ pictures were usually posted on their websites but she’d made it a point not to look for Dr. Donavon’s because she didn’t want to ruin her fantasy image of him. His appearance didn’t matter anyway; this certainly wasn’t a social call.

      With a flutter of trepidation in her belly, she stepped to the reception window. Would she be disappointed when she saw him? The young woman with platinum blond hair and bright red fingernails behind the glass looked at her. She asked with an edge to her voice, “May I help you?”

      “I’m here to see Dr. Donavon,” Cynthia said in a firm tone.

      The woman looked down her nose at her as if Cynthia had requested the impossible. “Is he expecting you?”

      “Yes. I’m Cynthia Marcum. The transcriptionist. He told me to be here at five.”

      “Let me see if he’s still here.” She picked up the phone and spoke to the person on the other end. Putting it down, she said briskly, “He’ll be right out. Just have a seat.”

      Cynthia did as she suggested. She studied the functional room containing metal chairs and a few end tables. There was a magazine rack on the wall and a fake potted plant in the corner. It was quiet and there was only a lone overhead light on. Minutes later the woman switched off the lights over her desk, came out from behind it and headed out of the front door without a glance in Cynthia’s direction.

      Was she alone in the building with just Dr. Donavon? What did she really know about the man? Even doctors could be ax murderers. She should have said no to meeting him after-hours. Waited until morning. She hoped she was a good judge of character even if her decision was based on emails alone. Shaking the idea off, she nervously shifted in her chair. She’d been so caught up in her fantasy she hadn’t been thinking straight. Now she was letting her nerves get the better of her. Surely there was someone else in the office as well.

      Cynthia watched the minute hand move for five agonizingly slow minutes before sounds of footsteps coming in her direction caught her attention.

      What did he look like? The flutter increased, along with her curiosity. Steps grew closer. The quivering grew to a swirling. She felt as if she were going to meet her favorite rock star. After the way she’d pictured him maybe she was.

      Cynthia shook her head and glanced at the ceiling to regain rational thought. She stood. No one could be that good-looking no matter how wonderful his voice was.

      She was wrong. On both counts. The man towering over her was at least six feet tall. With dark hair and crystal-blue eyes, he would make any woman swoon. The fact he still wore a white lab coat over a blue-checked button-down shirt and tan pants didn’t hurt his look of authority. He was glossy-magazine-front-cover gorgeous!

      Her breath caught as she stared. His looks matched his voice and then some. And she was making a fool of herself right in front of him.

      He smiled while giving her an odd look. “Ms. Marcum?”

      Cynthia let out the breath she’d been holding. When had she ever been so focused on someone’s looks? She wasn’t that shallow. Still this man had her gaping at him. She needed to find a flaw if she was going to regain her sanity. She croaked, “Yes.” Then cleared her throat and continued. “Please call me Cynthia. I’m not much on formal names.”

      “Good. Come with me. We can talk in my office.”

      He started down the hall. When she didn’t follow immediately he stopped and looked at her. “Ms. Marcum. Cynthia?”

      “I’m sorry. I’m coming.” She needed to get control. Stop embarrassing herself.

      She followed him along a hall with exam rooms on both sides. She saw a nurse standing at a counter at the end of the hall. With relief, she saw they weren’t alone after all.

      He stood beside an open doorway, inviting her to enter by extending a hand. He joined her, making the area suddenly feel small. Moving behind a desk that had seen better days and was piled high with paper stacks, he remained on his feet. Positioned on her side of the desk was a straight-backed wooden chair that reminded her of one in the library of her elementary school and appeared just as inviting.

      “It’s so nice to meet you, Cynthia. Please have a seat.” He took the chair on squeaky wheels behind his desk. It was by no means the latest model either.

      Cynthia sat, then glanced around. This might be the saddest doctor’s office she’d ever seen. She’d envisioned a businesslike area filled with books, which this one was, but it also had a feeling of neglect. Somehow she had expected more. Minimal yes, but not so outdated and drab. There were no pictures of a wife or children, not even a dog. No indication of a hobby. No curtains hung above the utilitarian blinds. The one lone lamp on the desk only added to the sadness of the cluttered atmosphere. The space was an enormous contrast to the outstandingly handsome man sitting in front of her. What had happened to him for him to keep his personal space so...impersonal?

      Did his home look this needy as well? Didn’t he have a wife, a mother, or at least a girlfriend who could help him out with decorating? Every fiber in her wanted to buy him an antique desk and two tufted chairs. He needed her plant worse than she did.

      Dr. Donavon cleared his throat and her attention returned to him. Those piercing blue eyes watched her closely. “You don’t like my office?”

      He was observant. She needed to make sure she schooled her emotions from showing too much on her face. “I just hadn’t expected your office to look...um...like this. Sometimes I let my imagination carry me away.”

      Dr. Donavon leaned back in his chair giving her a direct look with a small smile on his lips. “How’s that?”

      She glanced around again. “I don’t know. I just thought it might not be so uh...” How could she say this without sounding critical? “Maybe have more chrome and glass.”

      “I’m not really into chrome and glass.”

      Cynthia gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not either. Please forget I said anything. You didn’t ask me here to insult your décor or to be your interior decorator.”

      “My apologies as well. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You’re not what I expected either.”

      “I hope you aren’t disappointed.” She wasn’t sure where this meeting was going.

      “I would say quite to the contrary. You’re a pleasant surprise.” He continued to study her.

      Cynthia didn’t know how to react to that statement. What had he expected? Was he flirting with her? It had been so long since a man had, she wasn’t sure she would recognize it when it happened. “Thank you, I think.”

      “It was a compliment. I’m being rude and have embarrassed you. That’s certainly not what I intended, especially when I need to ask you a favor.”

      “Ask me? A f-favor?” she stammered.

      “Yes. I’d like you to consider helping me get the final draft of my grant proposal together.” He gave her a charming smile. “I could really use your help.” He made a point of indicating the stacks on his desk.

      “Me? Why me? I don’t know anything about putting together a grant.”

      “Maybe not, but I can help with that. From what I can tell you have good organizational skills on the computer and you’re a fast and accurate typist. I need those skills to get this grant out on time. If you’ll accept my proposition, I’ll pay you time and half.”

      Heat crept up the back of her neck. She was sure he hadn’t realized what he’d said about a proposition but she had. After fantasizing about him, and now seeing that he was devastatingly attractive, her mind was coming up with crazy ideas. Cynthia shifted in her seat. She must be careful not to make a fool of herself. “I’ve already agreed to do your transcription.”

      “Yes, but I need someone who can help me get

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