Doc showmance, p.14
Doc Showmance, page 14
“Sorry it’s cold out here.” I pulled her into me. “Let me warm you up.”
“That was smooth.”
“I’ve got moves, Goth Girl. Never doubt it.” I hid the smile itching to cross my face, which wasn’t easy.
“I heard rumors about you and your moves when we were in school.”
“I’m sure you did.” I focused on a small vessel on the ocean, its little light bobbing up and down on the horizon. “What’d you hear?”
“Oh, you know, the typical stuff. Great body, good sex…big dick.”
I smirked. “Won’t argue with that.”
“I also heard you never text the day after, or any days after. You’re shit at the follow-up. You’re a pro at the one-and-done scenario.”
I pushed my free hand, the one not around her shoulder, through my hair. “I was different back then in school. I never made promises and left women with a maybe-I’d-call understanding.”
“And now?”
“These days, I don’t have the time or energy to go looking for dates.”
“Doubt you have to look very hard. If your day was anything like mine you probably had at least three offers. Hell, half the staff swoons when you speak.”
“Only three offers? I’m disappointed. I expected you’d have at least five men wanting a date after that episode and at least one offer of marriage.”
“It’s annoying to be trying to talk serious about a pet’s problem and what I need to do to diagnose the cause, but the guy’s too focused on asking me out to pay attention. I had one dude whose dog didn’t even have a legit issue. He wanted to discuss why his dog got stressed in the car. Hello? That’s not worthy of an ER visit. Go to your regular vet.”
“Give him a break. He fell in love with the hot vet on TV.” I was annoyed other men thought they could hit on her.
“He doesn’t know me. Am I not enough of a bitch on TV? Do I need to be worse?”
“Some men like being manhandled by a beautiful, strong woman.”
“Like you, it seems.”
“I don’t let you get away with that crap. Not many men other than me can handle you, Amber. You’re a lot, you know.” I wiped a small bit of chocolate off her lip and licked it off my finger.
Her eyes widened, and she looked about to burst into laughter. “Did you just wipe chocolate off my face and eat it?”
“Sure did.” No shame I’d done it. “Got a problem with it?”
“You did wash your hands after you helped that tortoise’s constipation?”
“Keeping tabs on me at work, were you?” I grinned. “I like that you care what I’m doing.”
“You think highly of yourself.”
“You like me.”
“I never said that.”
“You blushed. Can’t say I’ve seen you blush before. You’re thinking about my big dick, aren’t you?”
“Good Lord.” She rolled her eyes.
A huge gust of wind kicked up. She shuddered. We had to get to the purpose of this “date.” I leaned in and whispered into her ear so the camera couldn’t pick it up. “We need to get down to business. I’ll ask about the holiday, and you say you have no plans, okay?”
She didn’t make a nod or any sort of confirmation.
“Thanksgiving is next week. You have plans?” I articulated carefully out loud.
“Nah. No big plans.”
“You doing anything?”
“Probably not.”
“Come with me, then. I have to go home to see my parents. My dad’s having some sort of surgery done the week after and won’t give me details. He’s blackmailing me into going home for the holiday as the only way he’ll tell me what’s going on.”
“Seriously? I’m sorry your father is having surgery.”
“He’s an asshole. We don’t get along, but I won’t lie. I’m worried.”
“Are you asking me to be your date to your family’s Thanksgiving dinner?”
“I think I am. Yes.”
“Is it that bad that you need me for moral support?”
My God, she never made anything easy. I squeezed her shoulder as if to say, come on, agree to it so we can get out of this wind. “Amber, will you please go with me?”
She gazed up at me, blinking. In silence.
Finally, she asked, “Where do we have to go? Are they in town?”
As if she didn’t already know. “They’re in San Francisco. We’ll fly up there.”
“So it’d be an overnight?”
“Yeah.”
“If I say yes, that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you. This is just for moral support.”
“You’ll do it because you like me. Don’t be putting things on the won’t-do list yet.”
Twenty
Amber
Thanksgiving Day. We loaded into the back seat of a sleek, dark SUV on the tarmac of a private airport somewhere near San Francisco. We, as in, Ian, Martin the camera guy, and me. The jet on its private runway behind us with the name ToddCo emblazoned on the side made me realize Ian didn’t come from the kind of rich I think about. This was crazy rich.
We’d timed it to arrive early afternoon, in time for the mid-afternoon Thanksgiving dinner. Ian only wanted to stay one night. Our producer said four. Ian agreed to two, bringing us home on Saturday morning, but arriving at that concession involved a lot of bickering, not on my part. I’d already clearly stated I wanted no part of any of this.
Our flight had been awkward, with us sitting far apart and barely talking. Everything about Ian had gone granite the moment we boarded the plane. He’d even lost his stress ever-smile and his ability to speak more than three or four words. A little heads-up on what I was getting into would’ve been great. Even a few small hints might’ve helped regulate my nerves. I tried to tell him I had no clue, but he said he was trying to figure out who was on the invite list, and therefore spent the entire flight on his phone.
“This is luxurious,” I muttered as the driver turned the SUV into a private driveway of an estate in the middle of the city. The house took up what felt like almost a block and had its own parking area. The lot was tastefully manicured with shrubbery and flowers, not the standard slab of asphalt and white lines. San Francisco was crowded to the point there wasn’t much available property. To own something this big confirmed these people were filthy rich.
“It’s the entertainment house. The real house is north of the city. They hold events here since you can see the Golden Gate Bridge from the second story. There’s guaranteed to be some big names for this event and…” Ian didn’t deviate from his stare out the window. His voice held little emotion. “It’ll be a production. I suggest at least one to three glasses of wine an hour so by the time we reach hour two, we’re wasted. Might make it more tolerable.”
“Sounds like fun.” I wanted his attention. I’d even take his perma-smile. This guy next to me was so walled off that he scared me. “How many people will be here?”
“Between thirty and seventy.”
“That’s a lot of turkey.”
The driver opened my door. By the time I got out Ian was striding around the car with his wide smile in place. Scruff shadows lined his jawline, and his dark hair curled at the edges where he’d neglected to get a haircut since starting at the ER hospital. I liked it longer, not that I’d admit it out loud. The last thing this man needed were compliments on his good looks.
He wore a button-down rolled up at the sleeves, whose color contrasted his tan skin, and jeans that looked far too good on him.
He paused to stare at me, but then his face blanched. “Are you changing before the event? I didn’t see a clothing bag.”
“What’s wrong with this? It’s only Thanksgiving.” I looked down at my skinny jeans, boots, and dark sweater. “I’ve had this on since we got on the plane.”
“Do you have a dress to change into?”
I shook my head. “I did try to ask for details, but no one seemed interested in my questions yesterday or today about the dress code.”
“We should’ve stopped on the way to shop.” A glance at Martin, and his face hardened as if he despised our interaction being caught on camera. “They’re probably not going to let you in to film during the event.”
Martin put the camera down. “You’re contractually obligated—”
“This isn’t about me or Amber. You’ll have to see what my mother will allow.” He leaned in to say low, “These are people who can buy the TV studio, maybe already own its parent company. Go wherever my mother puts you. If you have even an ounce of self-preservation, you’ll stay within the boundaries she puts down until this is over.” He stared at my clothes again.
“If I need to change, it’s a national holiday,” I said. “Nothing will be open for shopping other than a gas station. I’m thinking an I love San Francisco sweatshirt isn’t what you’re talking about.”
He tugged a hand down his face. “These people are vipers. I won’t let you show up at a disadvantage. I’m changing into a tux when we go inside. I don’t want you to feel—”
“Feel what? Out of place?” I interrupted. “Poor? Hello, I’m a veterinarian with little to no personal wealth. I’m barely surviving on a residency salary to support my entire family. I come from nothing. Literally nothing. That clearly puts me on everyone here’s judgment plate.”
“I don’t need to fight the chip on your shoulder today, too. Look, I’m sorry. Not my intention to make you feel bad.”
“Too late, Dillweed. Didn’t realize this would be black tie.” I threw it out there sarcastically, but his face… “It’s actually black tie? Jesus, you’re a moron. A little heads-up on the protocol would’ve been nice.”
“Honest mistake. I thought Marianna said that during one of our meetings. Can Thanksgiving be anything other than black tie? It’s never been for me, although I did escape last year since I was filming in India. That was heaven.” He glanced skyward. “You packed nothing other than that to wear today?”
“My experience with family Thanksgiving dinner is a group of stragglers in jeans gathered together to do a buffet-style meal while watching the football game.” I waved at my clothes. “Jeans.”
“That sounds fun, unlike this.” He scrolled on his phone.
“I don’t own a cocktail dress. My life doesn’t call for schmoozing it up at galas. Last time I wore something like that was my high school prom, and I got it from a thrift store.”
“Don’t panic. Get back in the car.”
“I’m not the one panicking. You are. I’d be thrilled to get back on the plane. Hell, I’ll buy my own plane ticket. Just dump me at the airport.”
“Get in the car again, Amber.”
“Why the car?” Hope surged. “Are you sending me home?”
“Hell, no. I’m not suffering this by myself.”
“Come on. Let’s ditch. We can get a hotel up the coast and find takeout.” I grinned.
“We do that, and my father’s private investigator will be at our door in two hours to drag us back. We’re on my father’s turf.”
“Is he mafia?”
“Worse. He’s political and owns just about every worthwhile piece of real estate in this town and everything north of here.” He turned to the driver. “Take us to this address.” He rattled off driving instructions. Inside the car, he spoke into his phone. “Hey, Nabi, it’s Ian.”
I could hear a woman on the other end yelling and talking fast.
“Whoa. Ease up. I need your help. I have my…a friend home for today, and she needs a dress for the dinner. Please.”
Profuseness from the other side.
Ian gave me an uneasy look. “Yeah, it’s Dr. Hardin from the show. You’re watching the show?” He paused. “I guess she could give you an autograph. You don’t want mine?” Another pause. “Glad to hear you’re her number one fan. We’ll see you in a few minutes. Thanks. Hey, try not to embarrass me.”
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“I have a friend who’s a fashion designer.”
“Who has nothing better to do on Thanksgiving than lend me a dress?”
“Nabi does holidays her own way. She does everything her own way.”
We arrived at a row of townhomes minutes later. Each house was painted a different brilliant color. Ian led me up the concrete steps to a purple three-story with a shimmery door. There was no other way to describe the blue-green door. I’d never seen paint that color.
The door flew open before Ian touched the doorbell. An Asian woman with a wide smile and pink hair in a turquoise jumpsuit screamed and hugged him. She jumped back and grinned at me. “Oh my God. You’re Dr. Hardin. This is so exciting!”
She pumped my hand. “Huge fan. Huge fan. You’re so short in real life. You look huge on TV, but maybe it’s just your awesomeness.”
“I like your door,” I said lamely. My face heated.
Nabi looked around me and straightened. “You didn’t tell me we’d be on TV, Ian. I’m not even wearing my best, and my hair…” She hit him in the shoulder. “Get in here before the neighbors see you.”
Once inside, the brightness of the decor blinded me. Vivid colors splashed every surface. Even the side table lamp was bright yellow with a purple lampshade.
Nabi said, “I can’t believe you’re here. Both of you. I knew there was something to that look in the last episode. I’ve seen Ian with his fair share of ladies, but none got that kind of look. Then I wondered if it was bogus TV bullshit, but now you’re here and, oh my God. You’re here. And you’re going to wear one of my dresses.”
“We’re in a bit of a rush, Nabi. Can you help us?” Ian asked.
Nabi walked around me and tapped her lips. “When do you need this dress?”
Ian looked like he swallowed a lemon. “We need it now. We’re going to the townhouse and the whole dinner kicks off in about an hour.”
“I can’t believe you brought her home.” Nabi lowered her voice. “You think she’s ready for this? Ian, are you ready for it?”
“No. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t ever return for a holiday event.”
“She can stay here and you can go,” Nabi offered. “I bet the two of us could find some fun and only a little bit of trouble.”
“Happy to stay.” I liked Nabi.
“Hell, no. I’m not doing Thanksgiving at my parents’ place by myself. Besides, I wouldn’t trust you not to take her to some wild party where she loses her clothes.”
“Me?” Nabi pointed at her chest and put on a dramatic innocent face. “I’d never. If I did, it’d be eons better than that uptight party at your parents’.” She shuddered. “Your parents’ people are barracudas who keep points.”
“Please help us,” he pleaded.
“All right. Let’s get to work.” Nabi rubbed her hands together, and then grabbed my arm. She shooed off the cameraman. “This is ladies only.”
Martin lowered his camera. “I’m contractually obligated to follow.”
“When she gets naked? I think not. You get to stay and film Ian looking constipated.” She threw her head back and laughed. “I cannot wait to see this episode on TV.”
I bit back a snicker.
Inside a bedroom, which had been renovated into a closet with clothing of all types packed tight together on hangers, accessories spilled out of every nook. Nabi tore through clothes racks, muttering incoherently to herself. “This’ll be on TV. It’ll be seen by all those people. I need something chic, but you’re not exactly the shape of my normal models. No offense. I mean, you’re beautiful, Dr. Hardin. It’s no wonder Ian can’t keep his eyes off you. And I hope hands.” She winked at me.
“You can call me Amber. Ian and I are barely into each other in reality.”
She laughed hard. “Girl, you’re funny. I haven’t seen Ian this upset over a woman in…well, ever. I’ve known him since we were in preschool, back when he peed his pants and puked after eating pizza. He’s never touched pizza since. Ask him.”
“Maybe that’s why he looks like fat is allergic to him.” A choked laugh escaped me. “Not sure I’ll be bringing up the time he peed his pants anytime soon, but maybe in the future. He’s been here three minutes. How could you possibly know anything about how he feels?”
She stopped to cock her head. “Was he smiling?”
I thought about it. “Well, no. I guess he wasn’t.”
“Exactly.” She yanked a black gown off its hanger and thrust it at me. “Go put this on.”
It had no back. As in, it had these strappy things that came over a shoulder and did a complex crisscross to end at the waist in the back. “I can’t wear a bra with this.”
“So?”
“I’m on national TV. That means I will be wearing a bra.” And I’ve got a tattoo of a dragon down my spine.
“Lighten up, superstar. You’ve got great boobs. Maybe you’ll drive Ian so wild he’ll carry you off camera and do dirty things to you. Then you won’t be on camera.” She put a hand over her chest and fanned her face. “I would love to be the one to cause that. Hell, I’d love to see you two kiss on TV. Have they caught that already? And it’s in an upcoming episode?”
I shrugged.
“Oh, it’s a secret. You better bet your ass I’ll be tuning in and PR-ing the hell out of this episode since that’s my dress. So, please please, pretty please kiss on TV.”
“This isn’t Telenovela.”
“It’s better. Now go change while I try to find other clothes for you to wear while you’re in town. I’m venturing to guess you need help.” She pushed me into an attached bathroom.
Emerging a few minutes later, I held up the bottom of the gown that dragged the ground to avoid stepping on it. “It’s too long.”
“Honey, everything’s going to be too long. You’re a shrimp.”
I felt myself puff up.
“Settle down, porcupine. You’re adorable. And—Oh my freaking God. That tattoo on your back is incredible. It’s as if my dress was made to show off the ink. The way the artist has it weaving down your spine is exquisite.” She leaned toward my back. “Amazing work. That’s an Asian dragon, isn’t it?” She scooted around to my arm. “This is gorgeous, too. I’ve got a bit of ink, but nothing like this. I need the name of your artist.”
