by Tia Souders
“Anything else I can help with?” he asked.
Marti clasped her hands in front of her and smiled a saccharine smile. “Nope,” she said, popping the “p.”
You’ve got no hold over me, Doctor.
MARTI CHEWED ON HER lower lip as the nurse left the room and Mel got dressed. What were the odds of running into Logan so soon after meeting him? And right when Blue’s boyfriend ultimatum was fresh on her mind? You could go forever in this city without reconnecting with someone. It was almost like she was meant to run into him—like the universe was giving her a little shove. Oh, did you say you needed a hot, surly man to save your job? Here you go. You’re welcome.
Fate or not, she would not confront him. Nope.
She most definitely would not entertain Blue’s idea of using him as the man for her column.
She’d forget all about seeing Logan Love again.
Marti paced as Mel scooted off the bed and reached for her clothes, chattering on about what a crazy coincidence it was, and how hot he was, and how maybe she should learn the Heimlich if I’m going to choke to death when I see a hot dude. Blah, blah, blah...
With a grunt, Marti pivoted toward the door, like there was a magnet, pulling her in, begging her to be tortured.
“I’ll meet you out in the waiting room after you’ve finished changing,” she called behind her.
She stepped outside and softly closed the door behind her. When she turned toward the waiting room, Logan appeared out of nowhere, like he knew she’d come to find him, which only irked her more.
She jolted and her heart leaped in her throat, but she recovered quickly. Squaring her shoulders, she tipped her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Go on any more ten-minute dates?” He rocked back on his heels as mischief danced in his eyes.
“Cute.”
“Thanks.”
“I wasn’t—” Marti fisted her hands at her side. Is he trying to annoy me?
“Why don’t we just address the fact that you’re a doctor, and not just any doctor, but a gynecologist? I work with a lot of women,” Marti mimed, doing her best impersonation of him. “Pfft.” She rolled her eyes. “You forgot to mention you examine lady-bits for a living.”
“Wow. I see we’re reverting back to middle-school terms. Your sophistication continues to amaze me. Regardless, I’ll bite. What difference does it make what kind of doctor I am?” Logan leaned back against the wall, the picture of ease.
What difference? Ha!
Actually, what difference did it make? It’s not like she planned on dating the guy or anything. She certainly wasn’t interested in him—or anyone for that matter. She’d find some other poor schmuck to date for her column, then dump them once she boosted her ratings again.
“It’s the ick factor.”
He quirked a brow. “The ick factor? Lady bits? What are you, five?”
He had a point, but still...
“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you,” he said.
“You are?” Marti swallowed down her shock. “I mean, of course you are.”
He nodded. “I have this thing for the hospital Friday night. It’s standard to bring someone, and I don’t have a date yet.”
“Shocker, seeing as how you’re so charming and all.”
His smile widened. “So, I figured I’d take you.”
“Oh, you figured, did you? Not happening.”
This couldn’t be more perfect. He was asking her on a date. It was exactly what she needed. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to say yes. She refused to feed his clearly inflated ego. Just because other women probably groveled in his presence, it didn’t mean she would, which begged the question, if Dr. Love was so perfect and so intent on settling down and getting married, why on earth was he still single? There were definitely some skeletons in his closet. She was sure of it.
“And why not?” he asked.
“I happen to have plans already.”
So what if her plans involved a giant tub of buttered popcorn and binge-watching reruns of Poldark. To each their own. That was the whole point of being single. She could do as she pleased, when she pleased.
“Cancel.”
Marti scoffed. “Why should I?”
His full lips curved into a smirk. “If you don’t accompany me, I’ll go to the New York Times and fill them in on how you exploit men for dates and lie for the sake of a good story.”
“No one would believe you.”
“Wouldn’t they? I’m sure I could go back, re-read some of your articles and find some of these men. Maybe they’d like their second shot at—what was it? Their ten minutes of fame?”
Marti gasped and narrowed her eyes. The audacity of this man was unreal. “You wouldn’t.”
CHAPTER FIVE
LOGAN
“WANT TO TEST THAT THEORY?” he asked.
He should stop now while he was ahead, but Marti was in a position to help him reach his goals. Her column could launch his foundation nationwide. It’s what he had wanted since he started Hidden Heartbeat to help underinsured patients, but shifting a charity, especially one like his, from the state level to national was a huge feat. It required massive funding, notoriety, promotion, and the kind of celebrity he didn’t have.
But as he stepped forward, leaning closer to her—so close, he could smell the floral scent of her perfume—he felt a stirring in his gut. He wondered if maybe there was a part of him, albeit a small part, that wanted more than what Marti could offer his charity. He was drawn to her, despite her cynical view of men, and for reasons he couldn’t explain.
Still, he wasn’t a complete fool. Marti had made it perfectly clear she didn’t want a relationship. So he wasn’t interested in her, not really. This was merely professional—strategic—but teasing her was too much fun to resist.
Marti nailed him with a sharp gaze, her apparent loathing of him so strong, he felt it in his bones.
“Come on.” He tipped his head. “I can’t promise it’ll be that exciting, but I can promise good food, music, and it’s for a good cause. I need a date. Why not go? You can even write about it in your column, put whatever spin you want on it.”
Marti huffed. “And why would I want to do that?”
“You wrote about me once already.”
A blush colored her milky skin crimson. How cute.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I write about my personal life all the time. And you had more entertainment value than Tim, but that’s not saying much, so . . .”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
Her jaw tightened. “Fine.” She stepped forward, poking him in the chest and forcing him back. “But just so you know, I won’t enjoy it. I’m only going because you’re forcing my hand, and anything that happens on the date is fair game to write about. Even if I find out you wear a toupee or have some kind of secret fetish. And after Friday night, I’ll have fulfilled my obligation and owe you nothing. Got it?”
Logan reached out and wrapped a hand around the delicate finger stabbing his ribs. His pulse raced. “Got it.”
Just then, the door behind Marti busted open, and Mel stepped into the hall.
Marti jumped away from him and cleared her throat. Her eyes widened, and she averted her gaze like she was a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
Mel’s gaze shifted between them before her lips twisted into a knowing grin.
Logan motioned down the hall. “As I said, take a left and you’ll see a sign for the waiting room.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
He bit the inside of his cheek, and his amusement mounted as Marti sent him a look that could skin the hide off a grizzly bear. Then she grabbed Mel’s arm and all but dragged her outside.
He laughed to himself, even though he realized he should probably feel sorry. He was using her, and he just blackmailed her. Yet the only thing he felt was satisfaction, because aside from the coppery locks, eyes the color of his favorite navy suit, and those long, lean legs, she was entertaining. She made
him laugh, which was more than he could say about anyone in a long time.
But Marti was a one-time treat, like a decadent dessert you know is bad for you, but you just can’t resist. One bite and you’re addicted. One bite might take you to heaven or hell.
So he’d take her to the gala. He’d have his treat, this one bite. He earned it. He’d just have to find the willpower to refuse the rest.
CHAPTER SIX
MARTI
IT WAS WEDNESDAY—TWO days since agreeing to her date on Friday night, and she had a deadline fast approaching.
Marti stared at her blank computer screen. It was like she wanted to get fired. The only thing worse than having her fan base fizzle and die was having no column at all, and unless she got typing, she’d have no article to meet her next deadline.
She groaned, knowing she needed to write about her chance run-in with Logan and how he asked her out. It was the perfect lead-in to their date and establishing a relationship. It was exactly what Blue wanted. Yet she hesitated. Why?
She thought of his smug smile, so sure of himself. He was attractive, yet so awful, and he kept turning up. First the pub, and then Mel’s OBGYN, and now she had to face him at a formal event on his arm. He’d probably flaunt her around like arm candy. In fact, it was probably his reasoning for asking her in the first place. Heaven forbid the hotshot doctor go alone. Worse yet, if she were even to entertain using him for her column, she’d have to act like she enjoyed every second of it.
Her stomach rolled at the scene she painted in her head.
Shoot me now.
The man was like a rash she couldn’t shake, and though she should take advantage of him for her column, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Caroline popped her head over Marti’s cubicle and wiggled her blond brows at her. “Writing about the hot doctor.”
Marti groaned. “Mel told you?”
“Pretty big coincidence. If you ask me, I’d say it’s kismet.”
Caroline and her romantic notions of love. Marti’d better watch or next she’d start throwing around words like fate and soulmates—both completely fictional concepts. “I’m starting to regret telling you guys about that.”
“Hey,” Caroline said, rounding the corner fully, “I, for one, think this is a great thing. I mean, you’ve been single for far too long. It’s about time you really put yourself out there.”
“Eeh,” Mel chimed like the buzzer on a game show. “Wrong.”
“What she said.” Marti pointed a finger at the cubicle next to hers where Mel clearly sat eavesdropping.
Caroline rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Whatever. All I know is that after Googling him, you’re crazy if you don’t use him as your subject because he is ridiculously good looking. And—”
“A doctor,” Marti finished for her. “I know. He’s every woman’s cliché dream.”
“And the problem is? You need a man for your column, don’t you?”
Maybe.
Marti puffed a lock of hair out of her face. She knew Caroline was right. Logan was perfect and obviously available, but she’d made it very clear to him how she felt about relationships and dating. There was no way he’d ever think she was actually interested in him, but that didn’t seem to stop him from asking her out.
Could she do it? Pretending to want any guy would be a challenge, but with him...
She imagined flirting with Logan, holding his hand, kissing him, and staring into those dark green orbs. It was enough to make her dry heave. Someone might as well set her on fire. Torture was kinder. The attention would go straight to his head. He’d poke fun at her relentlessly.
“I’ll think about it,” Marti said, mostly to get rid of Caroline because she had zero intentions of actually considering Logan.
“My job is done here,” Caroline said with a triumphant smile.
Mel’s laughter trickled from the cubicle next to hers. With a groan, Marti rested her forehead on the cool surface of her desk, contemplating her life and how it had gone downhill so fast.
Karen popped her head above Marti’s cubicle. “Hey—oh!”
Marti peeked up at her, and Karen’s big brown eyes rounded with worry. “Everything okay, honey?”
“Just peachy.” Marti formed a circle with her thumb and pointer finger, flashing her an okay sign.
At fifty-five, Karen was married with kids and even grandkids of her own. She was the mother hen of the editorial team at PopNewz. Everyone adored her, and Marti was no exception. If Marti lost her job because her column suddenly plunged into the depths of despair, she’d desperately miss Karen’s banana nut muffins, her kind smile, and soothing tone.
Hey, maybe Karen would date her. Then Blue would get off her back, and she’d never have to go hungry again. Problem solved.
“I have something for you. Someone dropped it off,” Karen said. “Maybe it will cheer you up?”
Marti’s ears perked up at her optimism and she straightened, accepting the envelope from her outstretched hand. But when she noted the sloppy scrawl on the front, it was a pinprick to her bubble. It was a man’s handwriting, and suddenly, she was certain she knew who it was from.
She held it out from her like it was filled with anthrax. “Why didn’t he just email me?”
“He said he was in the area.” Karen winked. “I think it’s kind of sweet. Takes more effort to write and hand deliver a letter.”
Marti grunted as she tapped it against her desk. “Karen, how would you feel about marrying me? Would your husband mind sharing?” Now that would make for some interesting headlines. PopNewz’s Queen of Single elopes with older, female coworker.
“Are you kidding? He’d probably be excited at the chance of a two-for-one. But what would people think if Miss Single In the City got hitched? Your column would be dead, and they’d hate me for it.”
“I don’t know about that,” Marti muttered. Little did she know it might already be on death’s door.
“Oh, don’t go acting all modest. You know every guy in the city would be clamoring for your hand if they thought they had a chance.”
Marti leaned back in her chair and picked up the cup of coffee from her desk. They would, wouldn’t they?
Who needed Logan when she could have any man she wanted? Except she wanted no one.
Then a though hit her.
Maybe Logan’s your-not-my-type routine was all a front to save face because he knew he didn’t have a chance with her.
Interesting.
Marti took a sip of her coffee, mulling over the things he said about her last Friday at the pub. He hadn’t exactly held back, had he? So, if she was wrong and he really did abhor women like her, then he had another agenda.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Marti said, shutting the thought down. “But if I don’t get this article in, I’m going to be Miss Unemployed in the City.”
Karen chuckled. “Stop by my desk in a bit, and I’ll have a muffin for you.”
“Will do.”
Karen turned and trotted off, and Marti hollered after her. “Think about that proposal and let me know.”
“I asked her first,” Mel called back.
Marti snorted and picked up the envelope then ripped it open to reveal Dr. Logan Love’s letterhead.
Miss Marti McBride,
I assume this note finds you well. I read an old column of yours yesterday.
Marti smirked. So he was checking up on her? Another thing of interest to note.
It was titled Loving Yourself So No One Else Has To. Riveting read. I could use a little more self-love in my life. Maybe on Friday you can share some more personal pointers with me, since you’re the expert, after all.
Marti rolled her eyes.
Anyway, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re working on your next masterpiece, Men Are the Devil, Who Needs Them. Feel free to use that title. It’s on me.
You’re welcome.
Because I know how much you value your independence, I as
sumed you would not want me to pick you up for our date. In the effort of compromise, I thought we could meet there. Be at the Grand Ballroom at Gotham Hall at 7:30 p.m. sharp.
I know you’re secretly anticipating our next encounter. (Don’t deny it.)
Sincerely,
Your blackmailer,
Logan Love
Marti pursed her lips. She didn’t know whether to laugh or light the letter on fire.
She thought about penning him a letter back, then pictured his satisfaction at receiving a reply and decided against it. No, her silence was better.
With a huff, she set the envelope aside and turned to her computer, then started to type. After she finished, she bolded the title for her next article, a smile splitting her face in two—Why Arrogant Men Are Really Just Hiding an Inferiority Complex.
SHE WORE THE EMERALD green dress. Not because it perfectly matched the green of Dr. Love’s eyes. Instead, she wore it because it offset her auburn hair, turned it to flames down her back, and transformed her skin to peaches and cream. All of which had absolutely nothing to do with wanting him to think she looked good. If anything, she wanted his heart to stop. To show him what he was missing. Maybe he’d have an aneurism and she could go home early. Ah, the possibilities.
Eat your heart out, Love.
And who knew? Maybe she’d meet some debonair man in her midst, one worthy of fulfilling her boyfriend ruse. How sweet would it be to find a man for her new little project right under the cocky doctor’s watchful eye?
The thought made her quake with excitement.
She stepped into the gala on golden stilts. They peeked under the hemline of her dress like diamonds as she walked. The cool air nipped her back, left bare in the backless gown. The ethereal blueish-purple lighting of Gotham Hall illuminated the space, mimicking a brightly lit night sky among the 3,000 square foot stained-glass ceiling.
