We're halfway through our glasses of wine — well, I'm one sip from being done, having gulped it down — when Dr. Sebastian Engel asks why I want to be a pharmacist.

"Often students will make that career choice after getting their bachelor's, or when they realize they can't get into medical school. You're making the choice at such a young age."

Out the corner of my eye, I can see Clara listening with rapt attention and an aura of jealousy. Why the hell does he give a crap about me? And why can't he ask Clara these questions? She could tell him the story of her great-grandfather in Havana.

That's much more interesting than anything I have to say.

But even in my grief, I see this is an opportunity: the ability to chat with the richest donor to the school, possibly the one who could control some strings for scholarships. Or jobs. Channeling my inner Victoria, I straighten my spine.

"Before I was born, my brother had childhood leukemia. He went into remission and when I was growing up, I heard all of my mom's stories about his care, in the hospital and out of it. I don't think I'd be good at direct patient care. But I do want to help people, and I think being a pharmacist is an important job."

"And because of the money," Clara pipes up, and I laugh.

"Well, that too. It seems like a stable job."

Sebastian nods thoughtfully. "Those are good reasons. And it takes someone really self- aware to know they aren't interested in patient care. I can't tell you how many doctors I've met who have the worst bedside manner. They shouldn't be around people at all."

His earlier wolfishness has vanished, and in its place is an intelligent, regular guy. But why is he so interested in talking with two girls at this party when he could be hobnobbing with the school's faculty?

There's only one possible answer. He's probably some old pervert. Whatever. He can get his freak on any way he wants. Without me, of course. Clara will be thrilled to indulge his fantasies.

Just then, a guy about my age, with a camera around his neck, comes up to us. "Dr. Engel, I'm with the school paper. Can we get a quick photo of you mingling?"

He nods, and Clara nestles next to him, her arm around his waist. He waves me over with his right arm. "Juliette, come."

Reluctantly, I step over and he pulls me toward him, his arm tight around my waist. My arm circles his back, but I leave it suspended in the air, not touching him. I smile grimly, tight-lipped.

The photographer shoots a few frames, and Clara squeals. "Can you get a photo on my phone?" She points to the table.

I take a half step from Engel when I notice the photographer guy has my phone and is pointing it at us. What the fuck ever. I sidle back to Engel and smile.

When we break apart, Clara grumbles at how he used my phone and not hers.

"I'll text it to you," I say, grateful to have something to do with my hands. Jesus, it's nine-thirty p.m. I need to get home. "What's your number?"

She breaks away from Engel — sorry, Sebastian — and tells me her number. I text her, then save her info as a contact. She's nice enough, and maybe some day I'll actually be mentally capable of friendship.

Sighing to myself, I look up at them. "Why did you get into medicine? Where did you go to school?" I ask a bored-looking Sebastian.

He snaps to attention. "I attended undergraduate and medical school at the University of Florida. Like you, I wanted to help, but in a different way."

I tilt my head. "What do you mean, a different way? Did you enjoy patient care? Where did you do your residency?" Damn, I'm impressing myself tonight with these questions. I've been medical thrillers to take my mind off Griffin, and apparently, it's paying off.

Sebastian chuckles. "Well, actually, I did my residency in forensic pathology."

He likely sees the shocked look on my face, and Clara's nose wrinkles.

"A medical examiner?" I ask.

"Yep. That was my first choice. I wanted to return to my native Germany and be a coroner. But I switched gears once the weight of medical school debt hit full-force. I decided to go into pain management instead. And I have to say, it's been extremely fulfilling. And lucrative." He chuckles, and that's when I notice his watch.

When I was with Griffin, I made a point of looking at men's wrists. Sebastian's watch is expensive. Really expensive.

Just then, the president of the college comes over with the head of the pharmacy department. "Dr. Engel, I wanted to thank you again for everything. I have to leave because I've got another event, but I had to say goodbye." Sebastian puts his hand on the president's arm and turns to us.

"Here are two of our upcoming start students. Juliette Phillips and ..." his voice falters.

"Clara," she bleats.

"Clara." His eyes scan the room.

We shake the president's hand, and then the head of the department, a woman in her fifties. She apparently knows Clara already.

"My dear, I'd love for you to meet another of our donors. Come," she says, gesturing to Clara.

She gives me a look that says, I don't want to go because I love basking in the presence of the dreamy Dr. Engel, but I give a little wave.

"Coffee," she calls, while walking away.

Thank God she's gone. Now I don't have to feel guilty about leaving. I'll slip away when Sebastian moves on, which should be soon.

I shoot him a tight smile. He's staring at me with amused eyes, and I swear he's not looking at me like a fortysomething year old rich as hell donor should look at an eighteen-year-old.

But if I've learned anything in my months living with Victoria, it's to not squander opportunities. This man could be valuable to my future, and I might as well milk this moment as long as possible.

"Tell me about your pain clinics. Do you employ in-house pharmacists?"

He grins. "That's why I love being around students, especially inquisitive ones. This," he gestures to the courtyard and to the school building, "Is immensely satisfying to me. Being around younger people and their energy inspires me. But to answer your question: I have thirty pain clinics across Florida, and I'm about to expand into Georgia, Tennessee and the Carolinas. We strive to give suffering people relief."

He talks for a while about the importance of pain relief in people who have chronic back problems and cancer, which instantly sours my mood.

"What?" he asks. "Your face just darkened when I mentioned the word cancer."

Oh shit. I don't need this right now. Any second, tears will spill out of my eyes. I inhale a few times, then finish the last sip of wine in my glass.

"It's my brother. I told you about his childhood cancer. We all thought he'd beat it, but it's back. He's finishing chemo now and it's been rough for him."

Sebastian nods gravely. "That can happen. Where is he getting treatment?"

I explain Ashton's situation in Jacksonville, but leave out the part about how medicine is unaffordable for the average American and my brother might die because we can't afford a stem cell transplant, which is around a half million dollars.

"They've got an excellent cancer center there. He's in the best hands. Do you still have my card?"

"Hunh?" I ask. Not the most elegant response. I'd forgotten that he'd given me his card that day last summer. "I mean, um, perhaps. I, uh, just moved and things are in disarray."

The understatement of the year.

Sebastian slips a hand into his jacket and extracts a business card. "Here it is again. This one has my cell on it. If you ever have any questions or problems with the doctors up there, let me know. Don't hesitate to call."

I take the card, shocked. It's the nicest thing anyone's done for me in months. "Thank you. That's so...kind."

Why would a man I've met twice be so generous?

"Of course."

I look into his eyes. Dr. Engel is a handsome man, actually. But I feel nothing when I stare at him. Not a shred of desire, probably because I'm dead inside.

Still, I can't deny that he's potentially offered himself as a great resource for Ashton, and if my brother ever needs a miracle, I'll take any help that comes my way.

"I should let you get back to the party," I say softly. "I need to leave anyway."

Her grins. "Of course. You're young and it's Friday. I'm sure you're headed to a club or the beach. A party."

I laugh, a genuinely bitter laugh, as I think of my bed and novel back at the condo. "Hardly."

"Well, I hope whatever you do, you have a safe and wonderful evening." He holds out his hand. "It was truly a pleasure talking with you, and don't hesitate to call me if you ever need anything."

The way he emphasizes the word anything makes me wonder if he's looking for something that isn't entirely professional. But if he is, I don't care. Besides, there are plenty of other willing women here, if all the glances at us are any indication.

We shake hands, and I set my wine glass on a table and walk out.

As I drive home, I chuckle, thinking about how I should introduce Victoria to the wolfish Dr. Engel. He'd be right up her alley. Rich, older, foxy.

As I enter our building, I realize I'm still smiling.

Once inside, I kick off my shoes and slip on my soft pajamas. Ahh. There. I'm alone and a thousand times more comfortable.

I pick up the phone and dial Mom.

"Honey, you okay?" Her voice always has an undercurrent of worry whenever we talk. Probably because for a solid month, I was nearly catatonic. How I managed to get through classes still amazes me.

"I...I am." Something in my chest feels lighter just saying that. "I went out tonight. To an event at the school. A party for a big donor to the pharmacy program. I was only there a couple of hours, but I went, and it wasn't awful."

"Oh, Juliette. I'm so happy to hear that. See? You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks."

There's a long pause.

"I'm still angry, though."

"I know, honey. That's normal. What happened with you and Griffin, it got so intense, so quickly. He made such poor decisions. I think as time goes on you'll realize that he might not have been the best thing for you. You were only together a short time."

"Six months. Long enough to fall in love."

"I know. And I'm not sure living with that Victoria is the best thing for you, either. Maybe you should move somewhere else, with a nice girl from school. That is, if you don't want to come home, here with us."

I sigh. "We've gone over this. The school's giving me scholarships. And I love Miami. It's home."

"But that Victoria. She was always a bit of a wild cat. I remember her from when she and Ashton, Griffin and Zoe were in high school."

"Mom, Victoria just gives off that vibe. She's been like a sister to me these last few months. She's brought me coffee in bed and held my hand as I've cried, and she's really listened. We watch movies together. We're there for each other."

"Well, maybe not now, honey, but sometime over the summer or next year you should reconsider. Doesn't the school have dorms?"

"I dunno," I mumble. "Hey, I'm going to make some tea and read. That's my exciting Friday night. How's Ash?"

"He's doing as well as can be expected. Very weak."

"He told me he was doing okay?" My stupid brother.

"I think he just wanted to put on a brave face."

"Has he said anything about Zoe?"

"No. And I'm not going to press him. And I suggest you don't either."

"Okay. Well, I'll call tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you too, honey."

We hang up and I wonder if I'm doing the right thing by staying in Miami and not moving five hours north to be with my family. Am I being selfish? I won't lie, over Christmas, I considered it.

But I'd already promised Victoria, and being around Ashton was difficult — for me and for him, because we reminded each other of what we'd each lost.

Another reason to be pissed at Griffin: he'd robbed my brother of the love of his life just when he'd found her again.

A wave of tiredness washes over me as I boil water. I shuffle around the kitchen, taking the loose-leaf tea out of the cabinet and the pot and strainer. I'm on the verge of crying again, thinking about Ash and Zoe and how happy they looked together when we visited the hospital.

Did she think of him in her last moments?

And did Griffin think of me as he was dying?

Over the next week, I'm like a robot. School, homework, reading, bed. Although I'm spending a little less time in bed. One afternoon, I even take the bold step of studying at the school library.

There, a minor bit of excitement happens: my photo is in the school newspaper. The one where I'm standing next to Dr. Sebastian Engel and Kendra. I spot the photo in the library when I pass by a table. The newspaper is open to the page with our photo.

"Jesus," I whisper, and roll my eyes. I looked like hell that night, all eyes and fear.

And now it's Friday night again, and I'm home alone.

Meet me at Prana, Victoria texts.

That's it. I'll summon all of my energy and go out for a drink with her tomorrow night. Tonight, though, is for me and my book. I make my usual tea and bring it to the sofa, where I curl up and open a new novel, about a doctor and his interns at a teaching hospital.

The book is enough to absorb me quickly. Reading is the only time I get a respite from my thoughts, and I rip through a novel every couple of days.

Eventually, I drift into sleep, the book resting atop my chest.

I'm startled awake when I hear a knock on the door. I gasp. Am I dreaming? I sit up and look to the door. Who would knock on our door? People who come over — and that's not many, as Victoria and I are pretty private for all sorts of good reasons — have to go through the concierge.

The knock turns into a bang. My heart starts pumping fast and I jump off the sofa.

There's more banging on the door. No, I shouldn't open it if the pounding is that violent. I tiptoe toward my phone, which is on the kitchen counter.

"OPEN UP," the deep male voice booms. "MIAMI POLICE. OPEN THE DOOR."

____