Paging Dr. Hot

by Sophia Knightly

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Alex replies, giving me a wink.

  I force a smile, even though I’d rather kick him at the moment. But no sense in antagonizing the host of my Bowled Over event.

  Just as I rise to leave Antoinette’s office with Alex, she says, “Francesca, please come back to my office later. I need to talk to you.”

  What does that mean?

  “Sure, see you in a minute,” I say, acting calm even though I’m not.

  When we reach the exit, Alex puts his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him. I can’t help stiffening in his embrace.

  “Join me this weekend at my condo in Ocean Reef,” he says smoothly.

  “You have a place in the Keys too?” What is he, Donald Trump? Come to think of it, my bill from American Express came in the mail yesterday. When is he going to pay me back for that dinner?

  “It’s my private getaway. We can pick up where we left off,” he murmurs, giving my waist a squeeze.

  “I can’t. I have to work,” I blurt out. Whew, I just dodged that bullet. In sticky situations, the work excuse always comes in handy. But the truth is I really do have to work. “I’m covering the Doral celebrity golf tournament all weekend.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Yes, too bad,” I repeat, not meaning it.

  Before I know what’s happening, he pulls me in close for a kiss, not caring that we’re standing just outside the station’s glass walls. I don’t like that any of the staff can see us if they walk by.

  Alex’s hands slide down from my waist to cup my bottom, lifting me off the floor while he molds his mouth over mine. I try to object, but his lips don’t give me a chance, his tongue is so busy shoving into my open mouth. Ew! How the heck did I end up dangling in mid-air, with my breasts pressed against his chest, suspended by Alex’s hands in front of my office? I push hard, trying to dislodge myself from his hold, but his arms are rock solid. His greedy style of kissing infuriates me and I’m livid enough to want to smack his face.

  Abruptly he lets go, leaving me with smashed lips and the imprint of his erection on my stomach. From the satisfied feral gleam in his eyes, Alex must think I’m equally turned on by his sneak attack. Blech. Gross—I’m totally turned off by it.

  “I’ll be in touch when I get back. Ciao, linda,” he says with a parting pat on my bottom that’s probably bruised from his heavy-handed groping.

  “Good-bye,” I croak, my mouth numb from his rough kiss. I’ll bet he’s the slam, bam, thank you, ma’am type. At this point, who cares? He ain’t gettin’ any action from me. He might look good on paper and handsome in his green scrubs, but at the moment I can’t stand Dr. Alex Escobar!

  I’m back in Antoinette’s office with a fake smile plastered on my face as I have to listen to her rave about Alex. Just when I think she’ll go on forever, she changes the subject.

  “Before Elise went into labor, she was investigating a case of medical insurance fraud,” she says, her beady eyes penetrating mine like lasers.

  “Really?” I wonder at her sudden change of mood.

  She lowers her voice a notch. “It’s something big.”

  “Oh?” I hope she isn’t going to ask Alex to take over what Elise has been working on.

  “I want you to look into it. This is top secret, sensitive material that can’t be seen by anyone in the medical profession.” She pauses for a weighted moment as if waiting for the words to sink in and then gives me a pointed look. “You get me?”

  “Yes, definitely,” I say quickly. Now I’m intrigued.

  “Elise has it on a flash drive. I want you to get familiar with this file.”

  “Is this okay with Elise?”

  She gives a brisk nod. “It was her suggestion for you to take over since she wants more time off with the twins.”

  “I’ll see if she’s up for meeting with me this weekend,” I say. I won’t tell Antoinette that Elise just postponed getting together until next weekend. I’ll just stop by Elise’s house and pick up the flash drive.

  “Get the flash drive from her as soon as you can. She will guide you through it.”

  “Will do. Anything else?” I ask, since she looks like she wants to say more.

  Antoinette leans back in her chair and eyes me like the sly vixen she is. “I’m curious. Which one is it?”

  “What do you mean?” Where is this conversation going?

  “Who does it for you, Devon Hamme or Alex Escobar?”

  I gasp inwardly, but make myself appear cool and collected. Neither, I’d love to shout. “I’m keeping things strictly professional,” I say, smiling back through tight lips.

  “Good. See that you do. That’s all for now.”

  Antoinette puts on her rhinestone reading glasses and returns to her flat screen with her usual dismissive wave.

  Hmm, I wonder if Antoinette walked by and saw Alex’s predatory kiss while we were outside the glass walls. Nah. She wouldn’t be taking it so well.

  Romeo: Uh, oh…there’s trouble in Latin Loverland. Francesca has been giving Fizzy an earful about Alex’s greedy selfishness and his moves. The more she talks, the more agitated she becomes.

  What about my moves? I’m getting too old for this. Every time I try to get my groove on with fluffy little Coquette, Francesca picks me up. Grrrrrrrrr. I want to take my relationship with Coquette to the next level…at Fizzy’s apartment. That one leaves us alone!

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thank God the weekend is over and it’s Tuesday. I spent all day Saturday running errands, including taking Mom and Dad to the airport and covering the celebrity golf tournament. Sunday was more of the same, except I was able to get a trip to the doggy park in. I went during the late afternoon to avoid running into Devon and Harrison.

  I hate feeling like I have to sneak out of my apartment, but I’m not ready to see Harrison again, even though I miss his company. And I’d rather not see Devon at all.

  Yesterday, I worked nonstop lining up interviews for the Food and Wine Festival and doing final phone calls for Bowled Over. I can’t believe it’s happening in less than two weeks.

  I loved getting so much accomplished, but it was hard concentrating because Antoinette kept interrupting me. She is in a tizzy that Alex hasn’t yet accepted the offer she faxed him. They’ve been going back and forth fine-tuning the perks. Alex knows how to get what he wants and when he wants it—but he won’t be getting it from me. I saw his true colors and they’re far from appealing.

  I could sure use some retail therapy. After running ragged the past three days, I’ve come up for air and some quality time with my little Romeo. We’re trolling Lincoln Road with him at my side in the puppy purse Chloe bought at a New York street fair. Romeo looks gorgeous in the bronze, harness type purse that’s decorated with tiny copper crystals and goes great with his tawny colored coat. He has that top dog look on his face that says he knows he’s a rock star.

  We stop for brunch at News Café and I order the yogurt and fresh fruit plate for me and a few strips of turkey bacon for Romeo. Preening in the chair beside me, he gets his share of attention from waiters and other diners. He is so well-behaved during brunch, that afterwards I pop into trendy Dog Bar on Lincoln and buy him some treats.

  We’re strolling down the sidewalk again, past outdoor cafes and fashion boutiques when I stop in front of my favorite bookstore, Books and Books, and peer in the window.

  Ack! Through the glass, I see a stack of Orgasmic Secrets Revealed books beside a large poster of Dr. Hamme in the window advertising a book signing next Thursday. He is sure making the rounds. There was a notice in the Miami New Times this weekend that he’s having book signings all over town and they included a stellar review of his book.

  The Miami New Times is edgier and trendier than the Miami Herald. Every other page has pictures of beautiful, stacked models advertising boob jobs or Brazilian waxing. Take your pick, Devon, I’m sure you’re all for it.

  I enter Books and Books and aver
t my eyes from the poster where Devon’s hypnotic silver gaze follows me like the eyes in a horror movie portrait.

  Ironically, his books are placed beside Dale Carnegie’s How to Stop Worrying and Start Living: Time-tested Methods for Conquering Worry. I stop in my tracks and stare at the title. Did Mr. Carnegie write this book with me in mind? I mean, things happen for a reason, don’t they?

  Glancing over my shoulder to make sure nobody is watching, I check out the chapter titles. The first two sound fine, but when I get to chapter three, “What Worry May Do to You”, I shut the book. That title is not very comforting, in fact now I’m worrying about what worrying does to me (other than destroy my peace of mind and give me strange nightmares).

  I open the cover again and peek at the copyright date. Carnegie wrote it in 1944. The book I’m holding in my hand has been reissued many times. Okay, I have to buy this book. There’s a cosmic message here and I need to listen to it.

  I leave Books and Books with my self-help book and a Lassie DVD collection for Romeo in hand, when I get a text message from Vinny.

  “Guess who’s here,” Vinny writes.

  “Who?” I text back, humoring him. Vinny loves to play games with me, it’s the way he flirts.

  “Dr. Deviled Ham.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Asked 4 U.”

  “Nooo.”

  I dial Vinny’s cell. “Is Dr. Hamme still there?” I ask, dreading the answer.

  “Oui, cherie.” Vinny chuckles. “Want me to put him on?”

  “No! Is he with Antoinette?”

  “Behind closed doors as we speak,” Vinny says, his voice high-pitched with excitement.

  “I wonder what they’re up to,” I muse out loud.

  Vinny chuckles. “Private therapy.”

  “Stop,” I say, secretly enjoying Vinny’s irreverent humor.

  He blurts out, “Au revoir, Francesca. The pizza guy just got here. I’ll call you back when I find out more stuff.” He hangs up in a rush. Vinny is rail thin, but he can really put it away. He’s always hungry and constantly eating.

  My phone rings in my hand. Thinking that it’s Vinny again, I answer without checking. Damn, I should have checked first—it’s Antoinette.

  “Francesca, I want you to cover an event tonight.”

  “But…”

  “It’s the opening of a high-end lingerie boutique in Merrick Park.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I know you’re supposedly off, but I need you there. Cal, the cameraman, will pick you up at seven in the van. Dress upscale, the place is very chic. Lots of models and Spanish telenovela stars will be there.”

  Telenovelas, nightly soap operas in Spanish, are very popular in Miami.

  “What’s the name of the boutique?”

  “Lisa Lulu’s Intimates. It’s on the bottom level, near Nordstrom’s. The place belongs to Lisa and… Ooh, I just got a delivery—a huge bouquet of red long-stem roses.”

  Antoinette hangs up before I get to ask more questions. I feel my face contort into a scowl. I wish I didn’t have to give up my Tuesday night. Romeo and I were planning to stay in, order Thai food and watch Dancing with the Stars.

  My phone rings again. Now what? Before I answer, I check caller ID. It’s Alex’s cell. Crap! I won’t answer. This is the second time he’s called today. The first time he didn’t leave a message. Maybe he won’t this time, either. No such luck. Blech, I listen to his voice message.

  “Linda, I have a surprise for you tonight.” His tone is cryptic. “Get all dolled up and I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

  He’s delusional. Last week I would have been beyond thrilled to get that message. Not now. I want to ignore Alex’s call, but the van is going to pick me up at seven. I have no choice but to call him back, especially if I want to keep my job.

  I’ll call his office and leave a message with the charming Monique that I’m working tonight and won’t be able to make it. Perfect.

  Romeo: Looks like Francesca has a big date tonight. She got all glammed up and left here in a flurry, but not before taking me for a quick walk around the block. She was all apologetic about us not watching Dancing with the Stars tonight. Good thing she knows I understand what she says to me. I gave her a sympathetic look and put my paw on her hand, so she knows I won’t hold it against her.

  As long as Fizzy comes by with Coquette, I’m good.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I’m riding in the WBCG van beside Cal, the cameraman, while he navigates I95. Cal listens to a baseball game on the radio, while I tune out. I glance at his round, craggy face. He’s such a nice guy to work with; usually chattier than today, but then he is a big sports fan.

  Earlier, Cal wolf-whistled when I got into the van wearing my one-shoulder black jersey mini dress with dangling gold coin earrings and a gold chain belt with a coin pendant.

  I don’t know why I feel like vamping it up tonight. I should be depressed because I’ve realized that Alex isn’t my Dr. Hot, but I’m actually relieved that I’ve seen him for who he is. No sense in wasting time on a doc who has no heart.

  My legs are still sleek and bronzed from the recent wax and tanning session, so I paired the dress with muted gold, strappy high-heeled sandals. Underneath, I’m wearing silky black, see-through tap pants that have a tiny pink bow on the slit above each thigh—nothing else, since the dress has a built-in bra. I believe in dressing up underneath too. It cheers me up.

  I went all out with my makeup too—Guerlain bronzer on my face and décolletage, gold eye shadow, black liquid eyeliner on the top lid only, rosy gold blush and matching lip gloss.

  The van pulls into Merrick Park and my phone starts ringing as Cal parks in front of Nordstrom’s to unload his gear. I take the call right away when I see Elise’s number.

  “Hey, Elise. How are you?” I ask.

  My question is met by a long, almost incoherent string of curses attached to Alex’s name.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, alarmed. I’ve never even heard Elise say “damn”.

  “Antoinette told me about Alex taking over my job. That sonovabitch is ruining my life! It’s bad enough that Alex is the twins’ father and doesn’t want to own up to them, but now this,” she rants. “He is a sadistic jerk!”

  My heart nearly stops.

  “Whoa. Wait a minute. What did you just say?” I croak.

  “Alex is their father. The deadbeat asshole!” Elise sounds on the verge of hysteria. “I hate him! I want to kill him!”

  I feel the blood drain from my face as I clutch the phone until my knuckles turn white. Oh God, oh God, oh God! My first thought is I am an idiot—I’ve been going after Elise’s baby daddy and calling him Dr. Heart, when he is really Dr. Heartless. I get an image of Elise valiantly nursing her twins and I break out in a cold sweat of despair. Alex is not daddy material. He is a narcissist in the worst sense of the word. The jerk.

  A surge of fury rises from my toes and rushes toward the top of my head and I feel like a volcano about to explode. My heart is pounding at the injustice of it all when I realize Elise is still ranting and cursing.

  Breathe deeply and get a grip. Elise needs you.

  “Please calm down, Elise. Hold on a sec, I need to get to a private place so we can talk,” I rasp through my parched throat. My heart hurts as I hear her sobbing on the other line. I turn to Cal, who is staring at me with an alarmed look.

  “Go on ahead,” I whisper to him.

  “You okay?” he asks. “Do you want a drink of water or something?”

  “No, thanks,” I say, patting his shoulder. “I’m okay. I’m dealing with some shocking news. Don’t worry about me. I’ll meet you at the boutique in a few minutes.”

  He nods and leaves.

  Once Cal is out of earshot, I take a deep breath and say, “Elise, honey, I had no idea! This is terrible, despicable news, but…”

  “I feel like killing him!” Elise yells again. “A slow, torturous…”

  “I hear you.
” I feel miserable that I’m going to have to cut her off. “Elise, I’m sorry but I can’t continue this conversation right now. Cal is waiting for me to tape a segment in a few minutes. I’ll call you tonight when I’m back and we’ll figure things out. Don’t despair, I’m here for you all the way.”

  Elise mutters between hiccupping sobs, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.

  “Please don’t cry. We’ll find a way to make Antoinette take back her offer,” I vow fervently. “As far as I know, Alex hasn’t accepted it yet.”

  By the time I arrive at the Lisa Lulu Boutique, I feel ragged, inside and out. I take a quick peek in my compact and see that my hair looks a mess from dragging frantic hands through it and my skin is shiny from the humidity. I fish into my big black satchel and grab oil-blotting sheets for my face and a brush to tidy my hair before I face the camera. But first I have to put on my professional face to meet the boutique owners.

  I find Cal waiting for me outside Lisa Lulu Boutique. When he sees me, he raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Everything cool?”

  “Yeah, everything’s cool,” I lie, struggling to get my professional persona in check.

  Cal holds the door open so I can go in before him.

  “No, you first. I’ll hold it while you bring your stuff in,” I say.

  Seconds later, we’re standing inside the cream-and-gold-decorated boutique, surrounded by the most exquisite, wispy confections of lingerie I’ve ever seen. Fizzy would love this place, so would Chloe.

  Good-looking male waiters in black tuxes are serving champagne and butlered hors d’oeuvres. Cal and I are surrounded by tall and toned gorgeous models who strut like Amazonian peacocks decked out in jewel-toned, short silk kimonos with matching high-heeled satin slides.

  “This place is owned by Lisa and Lourdes Escobar. Do you know them?” Cal asks me.

  “No, should I?”

  “They’re Dr. Escobar’s twin sisters. Lulu is Lourdes’s nickname.”

  Whaaat? My stomach feels like a lump of lead. I’m stunned, paralyzed by the news. I want to get out of here now! “How come Antoinette didn’t say a word about this to me?” I ask, when my wits return.