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  LOVE WITH ME

  Copyright © 2018 by Kristen Proby

  All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-63350-038-9

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design by

  Hang Le

  Photography by:

  Regina Wamba

  Interior Design & Formatting by

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  The Big Sky Series:

  Charming Hannah

  Kissing Jenna

  Waiting for Willa

  Soaring with Fallon

  The Fusion Series:

  Listen to Me

  Close to You

  Blush for Me

  The Beauty of Us

  Savor You

  The Boudreaux Series:

  Easy Love

  Easy Charm

  Easy Melody

  Easy Kisses

  Easy Magic

  Easy Fortune

  Easy Nights

  The With Me in Seattle Series:

  Come Away With Me

  Under the Mistletoe With Me

  Fight With Me

  Play With Me

  Rock With Me

  Safe With Me

  Tied With Me

  Breathe With Me

  Forever With Me

  Burn With Me

  Stay With Me

  Indulge With Me

  Love With Me

  The Love Under the Big Sky Series:

  Loving Cara

  Seducing Lauren

  Falling for Jillian

  Saving Grace

  From 1001 Dark Nights:

  Easy With You

  Easy for Keeps

  No Reservations

  Tempting Brooke

  The Romancing Manhattan Series:

  All the Way

  All It Takes

  Contents

  LOVE WITH ME

  Books by Kristen Proby

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  In loving memory of Henry and Lucy.

  ~Jace~

  “You could have given me notice,” Joy, my best friend of more years than I can count says from the passenger side of my little Audi as I drive us toward the party being thrown tonight for the hospital. “Do you know how hard it is to find someone to cover for me at the clinic in less than forty-eight hours?”

  “I’m sorry, I thought I’d mentioned it before,” I reply with a sigh. “You didn’t have to come if it was a pain in the ass.”

  She huffs, then taps my shoulder, and I glance down at her. Those green eyes of hers smile up at me.

  “I’m sorry for flipping you shit. It’s been a week.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I’m seriously so proud of you, Jace.” She reaches over to squeeze my hand. “Being named the head of cardiothoracic surgery in your mid-thirties? Dude, you’re a rock star.”

  I smirk, but her words mean the world to me. Joy has been my best friend since my freshman year of undergrad. She’s been with me through everything.

  I pull into a circular driveway and give my keys to the young kid manning the valet, then Joy slips her hand through my arm, and we walk up the steps toward the party. “You look really pretty. I like this dress.”

  “It’s my favorite,” she says with a smile, looking down at the little red number she’s wearing as we enter the ballroom. “And these heels will likely kill me, you’ve been warned.”

  I laugh and pass her a glass of champagne, choosing a bottle of water for myself. “Seriously, thanks for coming with me. You never let me down when it comes to these things.”

  “Getting dressed up is kind of fun,” she admits and sips her bubbly. Joy is as tall as my shoulder in her heels. Her honey-brown hair is wavy and styled perfectly, and she has minimal makeup.

  Because she doesn’t need it.

  She’s pretty and funny, and she’s the best friend a guy could ask for. Which is why we’re just friends.

  I don’t need to fuck up a good thing with my libido.

  “Also, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I’m surprised your family isn’t here.”

  I shift on my feet, looking around the room. All of the board members are here with their spouses. Colleagues from my department. People I respect and admire.

  “They would have come,” I reply with a shrug, “but the family will have a private celebration next week. You’re invited, of course. What made your week bad?” I ask as we make our way to a long table set up with a spread of finger foods.

  “A guy brought a carrier full of mice into the clinic, and they all got loose. It was chaos. One of the little suckers was elusive for two days.”

  I laugh, picturing Joy chasing mice around her veterinarian clinic.

  “It’s funny now, but at the time? Not so much. What about you?”

  “Busy,” I reply with a sigh. “Very busy.”

  “Because you’re the best cardiothoracic surgeon there is, proven by this shindig thrown in your honor tonight,” she replies with pride in her voice. “Of course, you’re busy. You should take a vacation.”

  I snort. There will be no vacation for me for the foreseeable future. With this promotion comes a lot more work. We’re interrupted for the next two hours by colleagues and administrators, wanting to chat and network. Joy is intelligent and charming, another reason I take her to every formal function we have.

  I’d be bored to tears without her.

  “Congratulations, Jace,” Mick Leamon, my medical director, says as he approaches with his wife, Elizabeth.

  “Thank you, sir. You remember my friend Joy Thompson?”

  Joy shakes Mick’s hand with a smile, but he looks at me with confusion.

  “Of course. Hello, Joy. Still nothing more than friendship here?”

  “Oh,” Joy says with a laugh, waving him off. “No, Jace and I are old friends. I’m proud to be his date tonight.”

  Mick relaxes with a smile and nods, slapping me on the shoulder with a wink.

  “Good. Not that I can say this officially, but not having the entanglements of a young family will only benefit you in your new position as chief, Jace. If you thought we demanded a lot from you before—”

  “I know,” I reply, already anticipating what he is about to say. “I should just sell my house and live in my office.”

  We all laugh and settle into an easy conversation about the hospital, and the evening goes by quickly.

  Exactly three hours after we arrived, after dinner and my speech and all of the well-wishes, Joy gives our it’s-time-to-leave sign.

  She pulls on her earlobe, Carol Burnett-style. It’s our safe word for events like these.

  Once we
’re settled in my R8, and I’m driving back toward her house, she sighs.

  “Another successful event. Are you working tomorrow?”

  “Bright and early,” I confirm. “Tomorrow is full of routine surgeries. There shouldn’t be any surprises. I also have a couple of meetings. How about you?”

  “I have surgeries in the morning as well, and appointments in the afternoon. I’m on call tomorrow night.”

  “So, basically, I won’t see you again until it’s time to get dressed up for another frilly party.”

  She laughs and shrugs. “This is just what we do, especially now that you have a fancy new title. But I’m always around if you need me.”

  I was wrong. Today has been anything but routine.

  “His blood pressure is dropping,” my lead nurse announces, and I know we’re fucked.

  “Clamp that,” I order as blood continues to flow over my hands. “Stop this fucking bleeding.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Maroon 5 is blaring through the speakers of the room, singing about maps. I love music while I work.

  But now, it’s distracting me.

  “Cut the music,” I order. My voice is hard, and I’m focused on keeping the man on my table alive.

  Twenty minutes later, the heart monitor is a steady beep, signaling that he’s crashed.

  I step back and take off my mask. The room goes silent as the machines are quieted.

  What the fuck just happened?

  What was supposed to be a routine valve replacement turned into utter chaos.

  “Time of death, 4:33 p.m.,” I say at last. “I’ll go out and talk to the family now.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Crawford.”

  I nod and walk into the scrub room, wash up, then make my way to the waiting room for a conversation that I absolutely despise.

  “Mrs. Walters?”

  “Can we see him?” the woman in her fifties asks. She’s surrounded by her children and their spouses.

  “Can you come with me, please?”

  “Of course.”

  I lead the family to an empty room nearby, shut the door, and turn to six hopeful faces.

  “I’m very sorry, but Mr. Walters didn’t make it.”

  Tears. Anger. Anguish. Confusion.

  It’s thirty minutes of hell as I recount what happened in the operating room, and what I think went wrong. But no explanations are enough because it won’t bring their loved one back.

  “Mrs. Walters, I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

  It’s another hour before I can return to my office, shut the door, and stare out of the windows to the Seattle skyline. Mr. Walters was my last surgery of the day, and only the fifth time in my career that I’ve lost a patient under my knife.

  I’m in the business of saving lives, and I failed today.

  I brush impatiently at a tear on my cheek and reach for my phone. I don’t want to go home to an empty house tonight. I’ll make myself crazy.

  But I’m not in the mood for my family. I love them, and they mean well, but I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to be.

  So, I text the one person in the world that I trust the most.

  Hey, Joy. I need you.

  ~Jace~

  “Dr. Crawford, Dr. Leamon has asked to see you in his office.”

  My nurse’s face is impassive as she takes my charting laptop from my hands. She’s tired. We’re all exhausted after the seven-hour surgery we just came out of.

  “Any idea why?” I ask.

  She doesn’t look up as she shakes her head. “No, sir, you know what I know.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She offers me a wave, her eyes still on the task at hand as I walk down the corridor.

  I stop by my office to shed my coat and stethoscope, then walk up a flight of stairs to the medical director’s office.

  “Hello, Mick,” I say as I step into his space and close the door behind me.

  “Jace,” he says with a friendly nod. “Have a seat.”

  “What’s up?”

  He frowns and glances down at the open folder before him. Mick Leamon is a tall, fit man of sixty-three. His hair is shockingly white, probably from close to forty years’ worth of surgeries.

  He’s also someone I’ve grown to respect and admire.

  “I’m not going to beat around the bush, Jace. We have a clusterfuck on our hands.”

  “How so?”

  “Do you remember a patient by the name of Manuel Walters from a couple of months ago?”

  “He died on my table.”

  He nods, his expression grim. “That’s the one. The family is suing you and the hospital for wrongful death.”

  My hands tighten in my lap, and my stomach clenches. I’ve never been sued for malpractice. I’ve never even been threatened.

  This could tank my entire career.

  “Mick—”

  “I know,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I know that you went by the book and that the investigation will find that you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not worried about this.”

  “Well, I’m glad, because I’m sure as fuck worried.”

  “Seattle General has an excellent team of attorneys who are already working this case.”

  “Why aren’t they here with us?”

  His lips tip up into a smile. “Because I thought it would be more comfortable if we started this with a friendly conversation.”

  “Should I hire my own attorney?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Let me rephrase, if it was your medical license on the line, would you hire your own damn attorney?”

  “No,” he says without pause. “The hospital stands with you, as do I. The attorneys are representing you. I don’t think you need more counsel, but that’s always an option if hell freezes over and it comes to that.”

  I exhale and nod. “Okay.”

  “I’d like for you to meet with the attorneys on Tuesday at noon.”

  I frown. “Mick, I’m in surgery on Tuesday.”

  “No.” He closes the folder and rubs his hand down his face. “You’re not. Unfortunately, as of right now, you’re on paid leave while the investigation is underway, until we can get this cleared up.”

  “For how long?”

  He shrugs. “A month? Six? Hell, I don’t know, Jace.”

  “Months?” I stand and pace the office that overlooks Puget Sound. “Jesus Christ, Mick.”

  “We need you here, Jace, so trust me when I say that we’re doing everything we can to wrap this up quickly. In the meantime, I’ll fly Sean Tiller out from Boston to cover your surgeries.”

  “I hate Sean Tiller.”

  “He’s an excellent surgeon.”

  “And a pain in the ass.”

  “I won’t argue there,” Mick says with a laugh. “So, we’d best get this investigation wrapped up so you can get back into the operating room.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong that day, Mick.”

  “I know that, too.” He’s somber again, sympathy and concern in his blue eyes.

  “The chief position—”

  “Isn’t going anywhere,” he immediately assures me. “It’s still yours, and we will just make do until you get back to work. Go get some rest, see your family, go to the movies. Go do whatever it is you do when you’re not here, and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

  I stare at him for a moment, then nod once and march right out of his office to mine so I can grab my things before I hurry to my car.

  But now I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go home. I don’t need to be in my head right now.

  Joy.

  I want to see Joy.

  She was with me after Walters passed, so she already knows the story, and she’ll have words of wisdom.

  She always knows what to say.

  Since the gala two months ago, and losing Walters, I’ve been spending more time with Joy—when we both have time away from our respective jobs.

 
Which isn’t as often as I’d like, so it’s not like I see her every day. But we’ve managed to squeeze in an evening or breakfast here or there.

  I can’t explain what’s happening, other than I just can’t stay away from her.

  She’s working today, so I drive right over. Her vet clinic isn’t far from her home, and at this time of day, she should be just about finished.

  I haven’t been here in years. Joy’s remodeled the waiting room with new tile floors, comfortable, grey chairs, and a coffee station with fresh-baked cookies.

  She said the smell of the cookies covers up any of the unsavory odors from the animals.

  She’s a smart woman, my Joy.

  “Fuck off.”

  I stop short, blinking and looking around the empty lobby.

  “Be nice, Bill,” Stephanie, the receptionist, says with a frown. “He swears.”

  “Fuck off.”

  I glance behind her to find a parrot perched in a large cage. “Pretty bird,” I say.

  “Shithole.”

  I can’t believe it, but I actually laugh. This might be the worst day of my life, but Joy’s bird is a kick in the ass.

  “Is Joy here?”

  “Yeah, she’s finishing up an emergency surgery. Everyone else is already gone for the day, and I’m just waiting for her to finish so I can lock up and go.”

  “Is she alone back there?”

  Stephanie cocks her brow like I just asked a stupid question. “No. She has a tech with her.”

  “Go ahead and lock up. I’ll wait.”

  “Sorry, but I’m not getting fired for you.”

  “Fuck off.”

  I laugh again. “Bill has a bit of a potty mouth.”

  “Yeah, it’s why he’s here. His owner, who also had a potty mouth, died a couple of months ago. We can’t rehome a parrot that swears like a sailor. So, it seems he’s an office bird now, and he just insults the customers.”

  “He adds color,” I say with a shrug.

  “If you’re going to wait, do you mind if I go in the back for a few minutes? I have some medications to organize.”

  “Go ahead,” I reply with a nod, watching Bill, who ruffles his feathers as Stephanie passes.

  “Shithole.”