The Agreement

by Lund, S. E.

  "There you are," he said, kissing my cheek, his characteristically gravelly voice ebullient. "Have you met everyone? There was someone I wanted you to meet in particular." After he glanced around, he took my arm and I limped behind him to the door where Drake and Dave stood.

  "Drake, did you get a chance to meet my daughter, Katherine? I don't believe the two of you have met."

  Drake stopped and turned, his face brightening as he saw my father. He held out his hand and the two men shook and it was quite the contrast. My dad was on the shorter stout side, with a growing pot belly and a grey brush cut. His several thousand dollar suit was on par with Drake's, but it was rumpled, his eyes a bit weary.

  "Judge McDermott," Drake said, shaking my dad's hand vigorously. "Glad to see you. Yes, I did meet Katherine. Finally. You've kept her pretty well-hidden."

  I turned to my father. "Dr. Morgan used his medical skills on me, father. I fell in the alley and he patched me up." I pointed to my knees and my dad made a face but then smiled.

  "Well, that's just great," he said and shook Drake's hand once more. "I knew you’d come in handy one day." Drake shook my father's hand again, an amused expression on his face. "Thank you for looking after my very tomboyish daughter, Drake. She has a tendency to take a bigger bite out of life than she can always chew." My father winked at me, and I saw a hint of affection in that moment instead of criticism. For a change. "Can't call her timid, at least. Maybe foolishly brave."

  I frowned at that and turned to him. "How am I foolishly brave, Daddy?"

  "All your life, you've been trying to keep up with the older kids, like your brother. Going to Africa with Nigel and staying in one of the camps is a perfect example. How many of your friends can say that?"

  I shrugged. "Lots of us volunteer, Dad. We have to in order to stand out on college applications and for scholarships. Dawn went to India."

  He nodded. "Still, you have to admit it was pretty brave." A thrill went through me when he put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. He rarely had anything nice to say about me, so it felt great. "Thanks for looking after my baby girl," he said to Drake.

  "No, my pleasure," Drake said, his voice soft. "Thank you for inviting me. I was pleased to finally meet the mysterious Katherine you’ve spoken so much about." Drake smiled at me.

  "Not hidden," my father said. "Katherine's been very busy with school and the student paper, haven’t you, sweetheart?"

  I smiled, feeling a little overwhelmed by the attention.

  "Of course," Drake said.

  Then, Peter came by and dragged my father off to speak with some high roller and I was left with Drake and Dave by the front closet where our coats were hung. I took mine out and was just about to put it on when Drake stopped me.

  "Here," Drake said. "Let me get that."

  Drake took my coat out of my hands, holding it out for me to slip on.

  "I can do that," I said, not wanting anyone to fuss over me.

  "Please, allow me."

  I slid one of my arms in the coat and he helped me on with the other arm, and for a moment, he stood behind me, adjusting the shoulders while I pulled my hair out from under the neck, and I swore he bent forward and smelled me – my hair. I heard him inhale as he stood with his hands adjusting the collar.

  I turned around and smiled at him, feeling a bit awkward, not certain if I was right.

  "Thank you," I said. He nodded and just watched me as I gathered up my things and limped to my dad, who was standing a few feet away, now engaged in a conversation with Nigel. When my dad saw me coming, he leaned to me and offered his cheek.

  I kissed him the way I always used to when I was a girl and still lived with him.

  "Good night Daddy," I said, pleased that he seemed so nice.

  "Good night, sweetheart." I saw him glance over at the door where Drake and Dave were standing. Then Drake came over and said his own goodbyes to my father. After another round of handshaking and back slapping, my father turned to me.

  "Do you need to use the limo service?"

  I shook my head. "I'll catch a cab."

  Drake made a face at that. "Nonsense," he said. "Let me drop you off. Where do you live?"

  My father rolled his eyes. "In a hovel of a rent-controlled apartment building in Harlem," my dad said as if it was an affront to him. Drake pursed his lips at that.

  "Don't ask," my father said. "She could live somewhere nice, but that's my Kate. Independent to a fault."

  "Daddy," I said, frowning. A nice moment between us was ruined. "I have a perfectly fine apartment." I turned to Drake. "I'm sure it's out of your way. I can catch a cab. But thank you."

  "I insist," Drake said. "I won't take no for an answer."

  I sighed and my father kissed me this time and we were off. Drake opened the door and he and Dave escorted me into the elevator. Dave offered me his arm as did Drake. I didn't want to encourage Dave, but I also didn't want to pick Drake. Instead, I took both their shoulders and limped inside.

  "So, Katherine," Drake said, as we went down to the garage. "You should watch those cuts, make sure they don't become infected. If they do, you can go to a clinic to have them cleaned."

  "Thank you," I said. "My best friend is a nurse, so I'll get her to check."

  "Where does she work?"

  "Harlem," I replied. "She's doing her Master's right now and only works part-time."

  He nodded. When the elevator opened, he very purposely took my arm to help me walk. I initially resisted, but finally gave in when he kept hold of me. As we walked through the garage, I held onto his shoulder to take the weight off my ankle. When we arrived at his car, a shiny black Mercedes, I thought it seemed perfect for him, sleek and expensive. Drake held the door for me and I got inside.

  "Where do you live?"

  I gave him directions and we drove through the streets north and west to Harlem. Dave turned and glanced back at me from the front seat.

  "So Kate, do you feel like going out for a drink? I'm still up for some fun tonight."

  "I don't think so…"

  "Come on, live a little. I've been trying to get you to go out with me for a long time. Why not tonight? Muse is just around the corner from your place. We could have a drink and something to eat."

  I shook my head and caught Drake's eye in the rearview mirror. He was frowning a bit.

  "I don't think so," I said. "I have class tomorrow early…"

  "Kate, you are just such a mean woman," Dave said, laughing. He turned to Drake. "See what I mean? Turned down again!"

  "Maybe you should take a strong hint," Drake said, his voice low, sounding a bit impatient.

  Dave made a face and turned back to me. "No offense meant, Kate."

  I shook my head, my cheeks heating. "No offense taken." I forced a smile but saw Drake watching me in the rearview.

  Still, Dave didn't give up. "One of these days, you will have to go out with me, Kate. Live a little. Nigel told me you've been practically a hermit for the last two years."

  "Final year of classes before I write my thesis," I said. "I've been working hard trying to keep my grades up."

  We drove up to my apartment and I was never so glad to be able to get out of a car, feeling like Dave was totally ignoring Drake's not so subtle warning to leave me be. Dave hopped out when the car stopped and opened my door.

  Drake got out of his door and watched as Dave walked me up the stairs to the front entrance.

  "Good night, Kate," Dave said when we reached the door. "Call me about that interview."

  "I will," I said, regretting that I agreed to it. No doubt he'd take the opportunity to hit on me once more. I turned back to the car where Drake stood watching us. I smiled at him. "Thank you for the ride. Nice to meet you."

  "Nice to finally meet you," he said and smiled back. "Take care of those knees. If you have any problems, feel free to call me."

  I turned and went inside.

  Once I was in my apartment and had my coat off, I calle
d Dawn.

  "You won't believe what happened."

  "What?" she said, her voice excited.

  "I broke a heel on your shoes and fell in the alley on the way to the fundraiser."

  "Oh, God, Kate," she said. "Are you OK?"

  "I'm fine, but your shoes are ruined."

  "Don’t worry about the shoes. I got them from my sister, and you know her. The queen of cheap shoes. She'll never even notice they're missing."

  "You won't believe who I met at the fundraiser," I said, my thoughts turning to Drake.

  "Who? Tell me!"

  "Doctor Dangerous himself."

  "Oh, oh," Dawn said, her voice sounding hesitant. "I can smell trouble over the Ether. Don't tell me you have a date with him or I'll have to come over there and knock you upside the head."

  "No, but he did have his hands all over my bare legs."

  "What?"

  I told her the story of my fall and Drake's doctoring. "Thing is, he's a big friend of my father's. His father and my father were both Marines in Vietnam. Real buddy-buddy. My father thinks Drake is a saint."

  "You better not be getting any ideas. The nurses I spoke to at NYP thought he was a dick."

  "Of course not. I'm meeting with his business manager to do an interview on his father's charitable foundation for my article for Geist, but speaking of dicks, I don't know if I really want to now. I couldn't do an interview with Doctor Delish, Dawn. He's far too gorgeous."

  "Keep away from him. Someone that good looking and rich has to be a total asshole. Plus he's a surgeon. Balls of steel. I'm warning you. Huge balls. Ego galore. Control freak. It's just impossible for him to be anything but a jerk on some level."

  "That's awfully judgmental," I said, feeling a need to defend him for some reason, having faced my own share of criticism from my friends on the left because I was born into a wealthy family. "Don't blame him for being born good-looking and wealthy."

  "This is just for safety's sake, Kate," she said, a warning tone in her voice. "Your safety. He can probably have anyone he wants whenever he wants and knows it. Stay away."

  "I doubt you have anything to worry about."

  I felt somewhat saddened. Part of me wished I could go out with him. He was so gorgeous, like Dawn said, that he probably would barely even notice someone like me. On the short side, mousy brown hair, non-descript green eyes and tits a bit too big for the rest of me which I usually took pains to keep hidden under layers of clothes, I blended in with the background most of the time. Except when I wore a revealing dress and had bloody knees and a sprained ankle.

  I went to bed later that night, desperately trying not to think of Dr. Drake Morgan. Dr. Delish. But of course, each time I closed my eyes, I remembered his mouth, his jaw, his eyes, which I could barely stand to look into.

  I tossed and turned for several hours, fighting with my urges, not wanting to resort to Big. I did not want someone like Drake – someone who was friends with my father – someone who was the opposite to everything I wanted in a man – to invade my private sexual fantasies. He was a Republican. Comfortable around my father's 'people'. Suave. Filthy rich. Powerful.

  Yes, he was the best looking man I'd ever seen, but he was just so wrong for someone like me.

  Finally, I got up and made a cup of chamomile tea and read Anna Karenina until I fell asleep, the book in my hand, Big still in a tangle of socks at the back of my dresser drawer.

  Three days later, I sat in a café across from NY Presbyterian so I could interview Dave. I had on my Doc Marten shoes, with an elastic bandage on my ankle the only sign I'd been injured, my cuts and scrapes mostly healed over. I had the sheet of paper that contained my questions and my iPhone so I could record his answers. I'd called Dave earlier to confirm our interview. I suggested we meet at a café near the Foundation's offices and he suggested one. He called a few moments after I arrived.

  "I'm on my way over. Dr. Morgan hoped to be able to do the interview, but he's unable so I'll be doing it after all. He has a busy day in the O.R."

  Good. Despite disliking Dave, I didn't want to have to interview Drake. He was just so attractive that I knew I'd feel all tongue-tied around him. As I waited for Dave to arrive, I wondered if he would be his usual self and hit on me. He really was a lothario, although very friendly about it. When Dave arrived and saw me, he made a beeline for me. I remained seated, glad he didn't bother trying to kiss my hand again.

  "Kate, so glad you could come meet me," he said, friendly but more formal. "I've been looking forward to this since the fundraiser."

  "Nice to see you again," I said, not meaning it for a moment.

  He took a seat across from me and ordered a coffee when the waitress came to our table. After she left, he turned to me and folded his hands on the tabletop.

  I conducted the interview, turning on my iPhone's recorder. I asked questions about how the foundation started, where it had its main projects, how it choose hospitals to fund, the usual questions I needed to write my article. I asked him what he thought were the most successful projects and he responded, articulate, informed, and helpful. For once, he talked to me as a person, not a Don Juan, and I wondered why. Had Drake said something to him?

  "I just checked out our projects, and we have twenty currently open."

  "Wow," I said. "That's quite a lot going on."

  "We're very busy. When I'm not fundraising, I spend most of my time coordinating shipments of surgical implements and supplies. Dr. Morgan donates a lot of his own money as well as raising funds from other donors. He keeps me busy."

  "Well, I guess that's it," I said and turned off my iPhone voice recorder. "Thank you so much for this. I really appreciate it."

  Before I could rise to leave, Drake Morgan entered the café from the street. Still dressed in his scrubs and white lab coat, he stopped at the front and glanced around the café before spying us in the rear. When his eyes met mine, I felt my cheeks heat. I quickly gathered up my things. I did not want to have to talk to him.

  He was just too good looking and powerful.

  "Thank you for coming down, Kate," Dave said, extending his hand. I had to shake, but he didn't lean down and kiss my hand. I just smiled back, anxious to see if Drake came to our table and if I could escape before he did.

  I couldn't. He walked over and before I could leave, he came up behind Dave and laid a hand on his shoulder, a smile on his face.

  "There you are," he said. "I was wondering if I'd make it down in time."

  "We just finished," I said and shrugged, smiling in relief.

  He nodded, his lips pressed a bit thin. "I told Mr. Mills that I'd be right over and he was supposed to wait and let me do the interview." He made a face at Dave and then turned to me and caught my eye. "Perhaps you could stay behind for a moment so we can speak alone."

  I glanced at Dave, who smiled sheepishly. "I didn't want you to waste your time in case Drake wasn't able to get away from the hospital. Sometimes his surgeries take longer than planned. Nice talking to you again, Kate. Good interview."

  I watched as he left the café, closing the door behind him.

  I turned back to Drake. He didn't sit in Dave's vacated chair across from me but the one next to mine, his arm on the back of my chair. He looked at me directly.

  "Well," I said after a moment when he did nothing and said nothing, just sat there looking at me. "I'm here. What did you want to talk about?" I forced a smile.

  "How's your ankle? Your knees?" He peered down at my legs, which were covered by tights under my short jean skirt.

  "Almost all better."

  "Good."

  We smiled at each other and I finally sighed. "So? You wanted to speak with me?"

  "I just wanted to offer you the chance to ask me anything now that I'm here," he said, his voice low, soft.

  "I think I got everything I need from Mr. Mills."

  "You don't want to hear my side of things? Considering it's my father's foundation…"

  I sighed
. I really should ask him some of the more personal questions I skipped because I was interviewing Dave instead of him.

  "I do have a few questions, more about motivation." I took out my iPhone and started the recording. I took in a deep breath. "Can you tell me why he started this foundation?"

  He moved his chair a bit closer, and leaned in as if he wanted to say something personal. He was a bit too close for my comfort.

  "He was a socialist, committed to eradicating poverty. He didn't expect to become rich and so when he did, he poured almost every extra cent into helping hospitals in third world countries, especially Africa. He said something about unequal development and capitalist exploitation – you'd know more about that than me."

  I frowned, not certain I knew what he meant, but not wanting to push him.

  "The Foundation continues his work today. Everything we do in the Foundation," he said, "is to try to fulfill my father's vision, even if only in a small way. He was so committed to his causes. He made a lot of money, and his company is still making a lot of money. I know he'd want it to be put to good use. He hated being rich and gave most of his money away. We lived in the same apartment all my life, once my mother left. He lived off his salary as a trauma surgeon, which while high, was nothing compared to what his company made."

  I watched as he spoke, keeping my eyes on his mouth instead of his eyes. So bright blue and piercing, I found it hard to look at them directly.

  There was silence for a moment and I realized he wasn't speaking any longer. He smiled indulgently.

  "I'm sorry." I grimaced in embarrassment, although something he said about his mother stuck in my mind. "Can you tell me what project you're most proud of?"

  He spoke about a pediatric neurosurgery program that brought patients to the US for the most delicate surgeries that couldn't be done as safely in local hospitals. I nodded and listened, my eyes focusing on everything but his eyes.

  "Your father died while in Africa several years ago," I said, remembering the story.

  "Yes. He died just after you came back from Africa."

  "What happened?"

  Drake blinked a few times, his eyes becoming distant. He fiddled with the cutlery.