Submit to Me

1 - Aaron

"Doctor Rhodes, Angela Delmante is ready to see you," my assistant Darcy alerted me as I walked past the counter.

"Thanks." I stopped. Even though I knew the answer, I still turned to her, asking, "She hasn't been waiting long, has she?" My lunch date with my grandmother went a little longer than expected, and I was due back at the office a little over thirty minutes ago.

Growing up, I learned that when Grandma says she wants you to take her to lunch, you bring her wherever that place is she wants to eat.

When she wants you to take her shopping—you take her.

When she wants a heart-to-heart talk—you listen and talk about whatever her beautiful heart desires to discuss.

And when she wants you to take her out for a night on the town—you do it—no matter what you're sacrificing.

I may have given my parents a hard time growing up, but giving my grandmother hell was not something I did. On the contrary, I respected her and still do to this day—she's family.

Darcy's gaze moved away from me and lifted them to the clock on the wall. "Well, her consultation appointment was scheduled for two-fifteen, and it's just shy of three, so I'd say you're a tad bit late," she quipped, holding up her hand, her thumb and pointer finger practically touching each other.

Thanks, Grandma...

For many reasons, I need to thank her.

For her insistence, I take her to lunch during work hours.

For her scolding me for not having a steady girlfriend.

Of my not having children, she could spoil.

For my not wanting to settle down. And for never having or wanting a girlfriend—ever.

She also scolded me for living my life how a teenager would live—with no care in the world.

I also have to thank her for talking me into taking her to Bingo tonight. Just what every thirty-five-year-old guy wants to do on a Friday evening—spend the night with their grandmother and her seventy- and eighty-year-old friends playing Bingo.

Knowing her, she has ulterior motives for me bringing her and her friends to Bingo—and it's most likely because she's trying to set me up with one of her friend's granddaughters.

Which, I don't need any help in that department. But because this is what she insisted I do for her tonight, I flashed her the smile I always showed whenever she wanted me to do something for her—or with her, telling her I'd take her.

God, help me.

"Please do me a favor and tell Angela I'm running behind, but I'll be in shortly. Thank you."

I hurried down the corridor and to my office to retrieve my white jacket and quickly glanced at Angela's file—reminding me of everything she hoped to have done. She wants breasts like Anna Nicole's and a face resembling Raquel Welch. I removed Angela's picture and the one she supplied of a very young, beautiful Raquel and held them up beside one another.

I can definitely do the breasts—that's not a problem.

As for Angela, wanting to resemble one of the most gorgeous women from the sixties may be a challenge, but with my magical hands, it can be done. She already has the body of Raquel and her hair and eyes, but not her cheeks, nose, or lips. So, that will be our primary focus.

Grabbing Ms. Delmante's file and returning the photographs inside, I headed to see my patient.

Warning my patient, I was outside the door. I gently knocked, opened it, and immediately apologized for my tardiness, like I was apologizing to my professor for sleeping in.