by Floyd, Jacie
“Good of you to be here,” Charley said to the bimbo. “Not every woman would want to be publicly identified as one of the patients in Max’s series.”
Annabel gave herself a mental ka-thunk to the forehead. Of course, the D-cups on display had been surgically enhanced.
“That was you?” A mix of curiosity and sympathy softened Howard’s voice.
“I didn’t want everyone to know my identity, but I’d do anything to help Max,” Shawntel explained to the two men. “If it hadn’t been for him, that butcher would still be running loose, pretending to be a competent surgeon, disfiguring other women.”
“Just the botched surgeries should have been enough to have his license revoked,” Charley said. “But the shoddy implants he performed on you and other women after living through the horror of mastectomies… Well, that was more than incompetence. It was criminal negligence.”
“I wasn’t getting anywhere with the proper legal channels,” she explained. “If Max hadn’t done his series, it might have been years before my case got in front of the medical review board and the courts.” Shawntel looked at Annabel, who cringed inwardly. She felt like a prize idiot. Again.
She had dismissed Max’s series as a forum for strippers and showgirls who wanted to increase their chest size. Why hadn’t she realized the piece was about breast cancer patients? How Max must have laughed at her narrow-minded, ill-informed attitude.
“At first,” Shawntel continued, “he didn’t want to use my specific case in the series, but I kept after him. You know how he is about family. He can never refuse any of us anything.”
“You’re family?” A sharp sense of relief pricked the back of Annabel’s brain, mixing with even greater humiliation.
Shawntel nodded. “We’re cousins. Didn’t you know? Everyone used to say we looked alike. I guess that was before I became a blonde.”
“Yes, of course.” Waves of shame from her unkind and suspicious thoughts swamped Annabel. “There’s a definite resemblance.”
“How’s your health now?” Charley asked Shawntel. “Max said you’re still in remission, and your last reconstruction surgery was more successful.”
“Ye-es.” She bit her cotton candy pink lip. “But I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Of course, just being here is bound to wear you out.” Charley patted her hand. “Have you gone back to work yet?”
“Part-time.” Shawntel smiled brightly. “The sick leave policy at the library is excellent. The library administrator has been very understanding about letting me work shorter hours until I get back to full strength.”
“You work at the library?” Oh, dear God, just kill me now.
Shawntel nodded. “I’m a reference librarian at the Oakley branch. Be sure and call me if you ever need something researched. I’m always happy to help a friend of Max’s.”
Annabel was spared the task of finding her voice as the door opened again and one of the committee members peered out.
“I thought Mr. Williams was here,” the woman said. “We’re ready for his presentation.”
“I’m here, Dottie.” Max strolled up as if on cue. “Everybody ready?” As he went to Shawntel’s side, his solicitous attitude toward his cousin took on a whole new meaning.
Just when Annabel thought he’d ignore her completely, he stopped in front of her. “Too bad we didn’t get a chance to have that talk you wanted. See you around, I guess.”
“Max...” Annabel began as he turned away. “Will you call me later? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
His smile turned up the heat. “Did you rethink your position about what’s missing in your life?”
She should have known he’d think that. “No, it’s not about that. I’d like to talk to you about something else.”
“Sure, Morgan, I’ll call you.” Not much warmth in his gaze. She could hardly blame him.
“You just sit by the phone and wait, all right?”
Right. Her heart sank as she watched him walk away.
That night at the gym, Max moved through a set of crunches, trying to remember the last time a woman had turned him down flat. Just because none leaped to mind before Annabel didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. And he normally made a point of not hitting on women who found him repulsive.
He moved through each stage of his workout trying to remember he had bigger things to worry about than the fact Annabel Morgan refused to sleep with him. But thoughts of her kept intruding.
He’d known for years she found him about as appealing as a slug, and he’d never bothered to improve her impression of him.
When they’d first met, her intelligence, her focus, and her single-minded attention to detail had intrigued him. But when she’d turned her attention his way, she’d shown him nothing but disapproval.
True, there’d been that unfortunate incident with the intern and the rumors about him and DeeDee, but Annabel had assumed the worst from the start. She’d treated him with a prison warden’s lack of humor. All business, all the time. Which tended to bring out the worst in him. Like an ass, he’d encouraged her poor opinion.
But now, her contempt tended to rankle more than when the feeling went both ways. Now he knew she was more than the frosty, unimaginative fishwife she presented to the world. When had he first noticed that natural sexiness she guarded so carefully?
Saturday, maybe, at the concert. Or Sunday, when she flew out of that swing and into his arms.
With his teeth clenched through his second set of curls, he decided to ignore all of their dissimilarities and just accept the attraction that rammed him in the gut like a sledgehammer. Hell, life was a series of risks. What was one more?
But Annabel disliked risks.
She detested them.
Her life had been one big restrictive cocoon. She’d done nothing but play it safe from the day she was born.
And if she smiled and laughed more with him than she’d smiled and laughed in the past twenty years, apparently that didn’t impress her enough to tempt her away from her boring, safe, confining existence. Somewhere in her personal code of conduct, Thou Shalt Not Enjoy Life must be written in big bold letters. A needlepoint throw pillow with that motto probably held the place of honor on her bed.
Well, so what? He drilled the punching bag with a punishing flurry of jabs. She wasn’t his problem.
Damn her. There were plenty of women around who enjoyed getting naked and having fun. He should find one of them, hit the town and party all night. He needed to get stinking drunk, make a fool of himself on the dance floor, and fall into bed with a partner willing to get hotter and sweatier than he was now. He’d done it all a hundred times before. A thousand times.
And somewhere along the line, in one of the many smoky bars, dark corners, or unfamiliar bedrooms, the frantic activity had turned into a meaningless farce.
Maybe that’s why he was still working out his frustration instead of responding to the admiring glances a Spandex-clad cutie on the Stairmaster kept throwing his way.
In the locker room, as he stripped down to bare skin before stepping into the shower, he decided to call Annabel. She’d asked him to, after all. And he had a crazy idea he wanted to run by her.
But right after that, he’d head out and find some action. He knew all the right or wrong places to look.
When clean and dressed, he pulled his cell phone out of his gym bag as he made his way across the parking lot. She answered on the first ring. For a moment, he flattered himself that she’d been waiting for his call, just as he’d sarcastically suggested.
“Just a second,” she said, “I’m talking to Carly.”
He dropped into the driver’s seat of the newly repaired Porsche and floated in the limbo inhabited by people placed on hold. Fiddling with the radio until he found the Reds game, he shoved his seat back and reclined it as far as it would go. He considered hanging up before her voice brought him back to earth.
“I’m back.” She sounded a littl
e breathless. “Sorry, but we needed to synchronize schedules.”
“No problem.” He’d called her, so he supposed the ball was in his court. But she’d asked him to call, so she must have something she wanted to say. “What can I do for you?”
“I like your cousin.”
Surprise, surprise. She’d realized the truth about Shawntel. “Me, too.”
She cleared her throat. “I want to apologize for the things I said and thought about your news series. I didn’t realize—”
“Let me guess, you hadn’t seen it and you figured I used the topic as a good excuse to show boobs on TV.” He heard her sputter, but she didn’t deny it. “And now you feel bad since you’ve discovered it does have some intellectual, social, and medical relevance after all.”
“Well, yes.”
“Admit it. You jumped to the wrong conclusion.” He waited a second to add, “Again.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” No excuses, no evasion.
Well, hell. He’d never been one to carry a grudge, but he hated to let her off so easy. “Just like that? You think you can judge me, my work, and everything about me, and all it takes is a few words to make it right?”
“I hope so.” She hesitated. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Probably.” Now this was interesting. He could think of a number of things she could do. But would she? “I’ll accept an IOU for a future favor.”
“You want an open-ended, blanket IOU for a favor to be named later?”
“Yep.”
“Hmmm.” She took time to consider. “We have to agree the favor won’t be for anything illegal, immoral, or sexual in nature.”
“Now you’re takin’ all of the fun out of it, darlin’.” He should have known she’d negotiate to keep all her familiar parameters in place. Exhaling loudly, he released the last of his anger. “And you’re insulting my character again. If you don’t stop, you’ll owe me another apology.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Again.”
“Apology accepted.” He liked having the air cleared up between them. “And not all your fault. The sexploitation promos the station ran intentionally gave viewers the wrong impression.”
“They were pretty sensational.”
“Tell me about it. Anytime they can link sex to a story, especially during a ratings period, they do. Eating Hot Dogs Leads to Impotence. I hate those salacious leads.” He’d been fighting them for years with little success.
“I know what you mean,” she said. “And I’ve learned my lesson. You can’t tell a news story by its lead-in. I’ll watch and judge for myself from now on. What have you got coming up next?”
Hopefully the equipment scam, but he couldn’t tell her about that one. “A human interest story about a teacher who’s trying to raise funds for a school her twin sister teaches at in Mexico.”
“What will they say about that?” She deepened her voice, imitating a newscaster’s dramatic intonations. “Twins Caught Soliciting.”
“South of the border, at that. Details at eleven.” He chuckled. “Or something worse. I’ll feel really bad about it, too. She’s a nice lady.”
“And I’ll bet you donated money to support her cause.”
Surprised by her perception, he held the phone away from his ear and looked at it as if he could see her that way. “Why do you say that?”
“You don’t ever just report the stories. I’ve noticed you get personally involved and go the extra mile.”
“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone.”
“They don’t call you The People’s Reporter for nothing.”
“That’s just my public relations team at work.” He brushed the embarrassing nickname aside.
“And in this case,” she continued, “it hits the nail on the head. I’ve seen how people relate to you, from the wine steward at Ernesto’s to Shawntel to the kids from my documentary today. For a minute there, I was afraid they’d change their mind and go in with you.”
“Are you kidding? They worship you. They wouldn’t have abandoned you if I’d been handing out free Beyoncé tickets.”
“I’m glad we didn’t put it to the test.”
“Speaking of tests, how did your presentation go?”
“Pretty well.” Caution laced her voice. “How about yours?”
“The same.” Shawntel had knocked the judges’ socks off, but no point in bragging. “Still feel like a winner?”
“Yep.” She voice sounded more desperate than confident.
“I’ll regret seeing you disappointed when I win.”
“Hah. I’ll let you carry the trophy out to the car for me.”
“Big of you. But if you should happen to be so lucky as to win, won’t you have a big, strong somebody with you to do the heavy lifting?”
After a long pause she asked, “You mean like a guest? Or Carly?”
“No, not like a guest. More like an escort. Or a date.”
“Ah, well, no. I had lined up someone to go with me, but they—he had to cancel, and then I couldn’t decide whom to favor out of my stable of admirers, and now it seems like too short notice to have someone get their tux cleaned before Friday. Carly will probably go with me. She’ll be happy to carry the hardware.”
He needed to proceed cautiously. “I’ve been making the same excuses. I mean, if I ask someone to something this special, they’ll read too much into it.”
“You don’t have a date either? What about Shawntel?” He heard the surprise in her voice.
“Charley asked her to go with him.”
“At least somebody has a date.”
“You know,” he said, oh, so casually, “I’ve got a tuxedo all pressed and ready to go... and we’re going the same place, at the same time. Think maybe we should go together?”
“On a date?” Her voice rose several octaves.
“Of course not. You made it pretty clear the other night there wasn’t any point in us going out with one another again.”
“We’re too different.” She reminded him of one of her primary excuses for not getting involved with him.
“Neither one of us want to be serious about anyone.” He reminded her of another.
“We have our careers to think about.”
He needed to get her back on track. “It won’t be hard to think about them at the award ceremony.”
“God, no. Howard keeps implying my professional future hinges on winning it.” The note of tension hummed through the connection.
He’d never admit his hopes to just anyone, but he didn’t mind revealing his career plans to Annabel. “Winning’s kind of important to me, too.”
“How so? You’re already the best reporter in Cincinnati.”
“There are other places besides Cincinnati.”
“You said that the other night. Would you really leave?”
“For a network job?” How could she doubt it? “In a heartbeat. My agent thinks things are looking good, but a win at the Community First could seal the deal.”
“So we both have a lot at stake.”
“But in the spirit of good sportsmanship, the loser will swallow their disappointment and congratulate the winner with a smile,” he suggested and upped the ante. “And a kiss.”
“And the winner will commiserate with the loser,” she added.
“With a kiss. And no hard feelings either way.”
“So we may as well do it.”
“Go together?”
“Sure. As friends?”
“As friends.” He agreed to the word in principle, but in practice, he hated it.
Chapter Eight
“Anna!” Carly hollered with her usual gusto from the foyer. “Come quick. He’s here.”
Annabel stepped into her shoes, smoothed her dress, fluffed her hair, located her purse, and looked around for something—anything—else to do. With nothing left undone, she ordered herself to quit stalling and get her over-dressed fanny downstairs. She was going to the award ceremony with Max.
As a friend. They’d agreed on the terms.
He stood with his back to her, looking out the front door, but she could see his reflection in the glass as she descended the stairs. Was it fair for any kind of friend to look that good? What had she been thinking, agreeing to go anywhere with a tuxedo-clad Max? There should be a law against letting him loose in mixed company wearing one.
Every woman present—herself included—would want to untie that tie and remove that vest. Slowly peel that jacket off his hard body... Unfasten those studs... Slip the shirt off those broad shoulders. Yum!
She floated to the bottom of the stairs before he noticed. He turned toward her when the rustling of her skirt gave her away.
Or she assumed that’s what did it. She’d never worn a Cinderella dress before and couldn’t believe she had one on now. Originally, she’d bought a sensible black sheath to wear to the ceremony. But once she’d agreed to go with Max, she returned it for this frivolous confection she’d been secretly eyeing for weeks.
Layers and layers of diaphanous, glittery gold billowed out around her, gathered together by a wide band that suggested a deceptively tiny waist. The skimpy two strips of fabric that comprised the halter top displayed her average-sized breasts to voluptuous advantage. Carly had said Annabel looked amazing. Judging from Max’s heated stare, he thought so, too, if the word “amazing” could be interpreted as “slutty princess.”
“Wow, look at you.” He spun his finger in a motion that directed her to turn around. “Let’s see the rest of it.”
She twirled for him. She actually twirled. She’d never twirled on command in her life, but Max had her wanting to do all kinds of things she’d never done before.
He made a low wolf whistle when she pirouetted to a stop in front of him. “Backless. Fantastic. You’re not all buttoned up” He reached out and stroked the deceptively casual riot of curls that grazed her shoulders. The gentle caress resonated all the way down to her painted toenails. “I’m glad you left your hair down.”
“Thanks. And I’m glad we decided to go to this together.” She pressed a hand against the drunken butterflies stumbling around in her stomach. “I’m much more nervous than I anticipated.”
