The Perfect Affair

by Lutishia Lovely

  “My story isn’t near as glamorous as yours,” she responded.

  “I’d still like to hear it.”

  She took a sip of the lemon water that had been placed on the table shortly after they sat down. “For starters, I was born and raised in Toronto.”

  “A true Canadian, eh?”

  Jacqueline laughed. “I guess you could say that.”

  “Is your degree in journalism or did you just stumble into this job?”

  “I’ve always loved words, and writing. Grew up fancying myself as a best-selling author like Terry McMillan. But after several proposals and even more rejections, I decided to try another track into the literary world and began freelancing wherever I could find the work. I covered a few conferences for Science Today and they liked what I wrote. So they put me on contract.”

  “Does that mean you are no longer a freelancer?”

  “I have the ability to write for other magazines, so in that sense, yes, I am. But regarding scientific and medical research, for the next three months, the right of first refusal goes to Science Today.”

  “How did you become interested in science?”

  Jacqueline finished her lettuce cup and after wiping her mouth, placed her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. “Under all this makeup and designer wear . . . I’m a geek.”

  “No way!”

  “Oh yes. Straight-A student, even with all the moving around I did as a child. With a bit of ADD thrown in, I might add; nothing holds my interest for too long. Fortunately, for me, this boded well. I’d tackle a couple of subjects, English and geography, for instance, and then turn to another challenge, like science and math.”

  “Where did you graduate college?”

  Jacqueline hesitated. “I didn’t.”

  Randall didn’t try to hide his surprise. “You’re writing in-depth articles on science and medical technology for Science Today without a degree?”

  “Talent, skill, and determination made up for any education I didn’t possess.”

  Randall’s eyes shone with admiration. “Impressive.”

  “Thank you.”

  Their entrées arrived and over scrumptious servings of “angry”—translated, “spicy”—Maine lobster with noodles and Alaskan halibut with rice, Randall and Jacqueline became better acquainted. They passed on dessert, left the restaurant, and headed to the bank of elevators.

  Randall yawned.

  “Tired?” Jacqueline asked him.

  “I am. It’s been a long day.” He looked at his watch. “It’s one o’clock in the time zone where my day started.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “How’s that?” Randall asked with a curious look.

  “Because I have a feeling your schedule will be crazy, and I’d love to finish the interview with you that began in the car.” An elevator door opened. “Just fifteen minutes?”

  Randall looked at his watch. “And not one minute more.”

  “Great! I’ll go get my iPad and be right back.”

  “Let’s go upstairs, if you don’t mind. I have a suite. We can talk in the living room.”

  After a brief pause, Jacqueline responded, “Are you sure that’s okay? It’s a little loud in the lobby, but I can make it work.”

  “I’ve been going nonstop since five this morning and have had only three hours’ sleep. If you want this interview, it will have to be in my room. Don’t worry, I’m too exhausted to do anything but talk. You’ll be safe.”

  Twenty minutes later Jacqueline returned to her room, tired but happy. She’d kept her promise of interviewing the doctor for only fifteen minutes, and he’d kept his promise about her being absolutely safe in his room.

  She didn’t know how she felt about that.

  Yawning, she pulled out her notes for the next day’s interviews. Try as she might to stay focused, her mind kept drifting. When she realized she’d been staring at the same page for the last five minutes, she stood, stretched, and walked over to the window. The large square panes offered a sweeping, unobstructed view of downtown Los Angeles, with lights that twinkled and stretched for miles. Jacqueline leaned against the glass as a myriad of diverse thoughts fought for dominance in her head, thoughts of the wild roller-coaster ride that had been her life last year—the job that had fooled her, the man who had failed her. Her face turned hard as she remembered her last employer. The official reason for her termination had been downsizing. The truth was that she wouldn’t sleep with her boss. If he’d been fine and packing, she might have entertained the idea. It probably hadn’t helped matters when she informed him that she didn’t do trolls.

  And now here she was with someone like Dr. Randall Atwater, someone who seemed like a good, kind, upstanding man. She remembered how his eyes lit up when he mentioned his children. She remembered how her heart soared when he didn’t mention a wife. He wasn’t wearing a ring either. Didn’t mean he wasn’t married. But she could hope.

  “Doesn’t matter to me one way or the other,” she mumbled as she crossed the room to the bathroom and began her bedtime preparations. “I’ve never blurred the lines between professional and personal and I’m not going to start now!”

  She’d said it with conviction, even repeated it silently as she washed her face and brushed her teeth. By the time she lay down, she’d almost convinced herself that she really had absolutely no interest in a personal relationship with Dr. Randall Atwater. But just before sleep claimed her, the truth flitted through her mind. She was attracted, impressed, and quite taken with the man she’d met just hours ago. A man who was definitely not a troll.

  Fire.

  Lots of it.

  All around her, and hot, scorching her skin as she tried to enter the hallway where she’d heard the voices.Two were not a surprise to her but the third voice should not be coming from that room.

  “Jackie . . . help!”

  With an arm covering her nose and mouth, she crept forward. “Where are you!”

  “In here,” the little girl shrieked, her voice raspy, filled with smoke and terror.

  “Walk towards me!”

  “I’m scared!”

  Jacqueline took tentative steps, following the sounds as speaking gave way to coughing.

  “Can you see me? Reach out your hand!”

  A small, outstretched arm burst through the smoke.

  Jacqueline trudged forward, smoke and flames impeding her desire to rush toward the hand. “I see you!”

  She was almost there.

  So close she could almost touch her, could almost grab the hand that reached out in desperation.

  She grabbed the hand, which grew larger as a contorted face came into view.

  “Mom? No!”

  She was instantly, harshly pulled into the flames, her mother’s brash, maniacal laugh surrounding her.

  Jacqueline awoke with a start, gasping for breath, covered in sweat.

  The nightmare had returned.

  CHAPTER 5

  The ringing iPhone alarm woke Randall from a deep sleep. Six a.m. had come way too soon. He went one round with the snooze button, rolled out of bed and hit the shower, shifting the water temperature from hot to cold to help wake him up, and then donned a suit. After quickly checking his e-mails and making the required phone calls, he grabbed what he’d need for the morning activities and left the room.

  Stepping off the elevator, he entered the quiet chaos of over one thousand medical- and science-minded professionals descending upon a space. Small groups of two to six individuals stood clustered in conversation, or sat sipping coffee and comparing career notes. Randall nodded this way and waved another, knowing many of the faces dotting the lobby on this sunny Tuesday morning. He spoke, but did not stop to chat. The welcome breakfast was about to begin and as one of the featured guests, he needed to be in the banquet hall at least fifteen minutes in advance.

  He made it there with five minutes to spare and immediately spotted his best friend standing on the speaker platform.


  “James!”

  A nice-looking man, well dressed in a navy pin-striped suit, stark white shirt, and a winning smile, turned around. “Well, if it isn’t the brainy biologist.” He stepped forward, hand outstretched. “How are you, Randall? Look like life’s treating you well.”

  “Can’t complain, doctor,” he answered, returning the handshake. “Can’t complain at all. How are you doing?”

  “Good, man. Real good.”

  “The wife?”

  “Debbie is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. She’s made me believe in love again.”

  “She must be handling her business! You sound like a whipped brother if I ever heard one.”

  “The sex is great, no doubt. But believe it or not, that isn’t the best thing I love about her. It’s her compassion, her generous nature, the way that she not only cares about me but takes care of me and the family. I wish I’d given these traits more consideration the first time around. Divorce is an ugly business. I want me and Debbie to last a lifetime.”

  Randall placed a hand on his friend’s arm, touched by his words. “If you want it, then it will happen,” he responded. “You know I’m pulling for you both, and wishing you the best.”

  Their conversation was interrupted as other panelists mounted the dais and the room quickly filled with conference attendees. James and Randall took their seats at the head table and soon were enveloped in tasty dishes, welcoming speeches, and an outline for the trends-and-technology-filled week ahead. Those on the panel were there to offer a brief description of their workshop and to contribute to the discussion of the conference theme: Old Science in a New World. He’d always been confident in front of a crowd, so when it was Randall’s turn to speak, he stood, approached the podium, and delivered his prepared spiel flawlessly. The audience listened with rapt attention, and all of the women and several men noted that he looked as good as he spoke.

  “Good morning, my fellow professionals. My name is Dr. Randall Atwater. As most of you know, I recently received an award for my research on the use of plant stem cells to heal human diseases.” He waited while the spontaneous applause that broke out at this announcement died down. “I appreciate that,” he said with a grin way too sexy for this time of morning and this type of crowd. “And I am honored. However, I mention it only to let you know that I’m much more excited about how many medical problems can be appropriately addressed by the focus of said award, how many sick people can be healed, and how many lives can be changed than I am for any type of award or honor that can sit on a shelf or be hung in my office. My workshop will expound on what you’ve already read about this groundbreaking work, as well as get you up-to-date with the work I’ve done since receiving that acknowledgment.

  “In my workshop, I’ll be sharing all that I’ve recently discovered with you. But know that I also want you to come prepared to share with me. I and my partner in this research, James Sullivan, will be picking your brains and engaging you in lively and hopefully meaningful discussions about how we can continue on our path toward finding cures for debilitating brain diseases and all types of cancer. Come to learn, but just as importantly, come to share. I look forward to seeing and meeting all of you. Thank you.”

  Jacqueline sat at a table near the back of the room, fingers flying over iPad keys, recorder immortalizing the moment, mind racing with how to turn all she was hearing into articles that were educational, informative, and concise. She really did love hearing all of this cutting-edge information and got excited that she was a part of disseminating it to the masses. Her concentration on precisely gathering said information kept her focus away from the man she’d become aware of as soon as he’d entered the room—Randall, whose body once again blessed a navy suit, and all of those who watched him wearing it.

  “Jacqueline?” One of her tablemates, a serious-minded college student covering the event for his college paper, looked at her with an adoring smile. Jacqueline returned it with a patient one of her own. He was cute but had zero chances, even though he’d been flirting since she’d arrived. “Are you planning to attend Dr. Atwater’s workshop?”

  “Absolutely. What about you?”

  “I hope so, but I’ll have to try to get one of the general spaces reserved for attendees. I couldn’t get a media pass.”

  “Good luck. They’re very limited. His and Dr. Sullivan’s workshop is being touted as the top draw for what normally doesn’t attract this much mainstream attention.”

  “Yes, unfortunately, that’s what I found out.”

  “Here’s my card, which includes my cell number. There’s going to be a great deal of information disseminated this week. Let’s keep in touch. Perhaps we can trade notes on what the other might have missed.”

  Jacqueline and Evan engaged the other attendees at their table as they listened to the remaining speakers’ introductory presentations. By the end of the breakfast it was clear to Jacqueline that her early hunch had been correct: Getting an exclusive interview with Randall Atwater had been a major coup, one that might not only ensure her continued presence at Science Today, but also one that could open doors to any number of opportunities. After this week, she realized, she’d have to step back, regroup, and decide which direction she wanted life to take her in.

  Where she wanted to go right now was not in question. The introductory breakfast over, she made a beeline for her intended target and was not at all daunted that he was surrounded by a crowd of reporters, scientists, and adoring fans.

  She pushed her way through, looking as stern and professional as her black conservative pant suit—well, except for the girls, a bit discreetly yet deliciously spilling out of the sleeveless floral blouse that she’d paired with precision. “Excuse me, Dr. Atwater!” She watched as Randall looked in her direction, gave her a nod, but continued to chat with the reporter standing before him while a cameraman filmed it all. Inching forward, she was able to snag Randall’s partner, James, just as he finished with a TV reporter.

  “Dr. Sullivan,” she began, her tone serious and ultraprofes-sional. Even so, she didn’t miss the appreciative once-over James gave her, or the way he bypassed other reporters to step to her mike. “Jacqueline Tate with Science Today. Can you tell me how your contribution to this week’s workshop will differ from Dr. Atwater’s?”

  “Ms. Tate, our involvement in this project is like two halves of the same coin. My background as a medical doctor provides a hands-on analysis of the problem. Dr. Atwater’s expertise in the scientific field provides a hands-on approach to the solution. That he too has a medical background puts him in a position to accurately assess the problem and understand both my concerns and my confidence in what we are trying to do to treat illness in general and brain diseases in particular . . . find a cure.”

  Just as she finished with James, Randall passed by her. “Excuse me, Dr. Atwater.”

  “Sorry, Jacqueline,” he said forcibly but not unkindly. “Not now.”

  “Of course,” she mumbled, her eyes holding admiration and more as she watched a host of hangers-on and wannabes scramble behind Randall as he left the room. She calmly looked around for some lesser known yet equally interesting attendees to interview. She didn’t have to run behind Randall Atwater to get what she wanted. She’d held a one-on-one, in-depth interview with him in the comfort of his suite. With that, the notes from his talk, and research on the Internet, she already had enough for a great cover story. Keeping a distance the rest of the week was probably best.

  The better choice, perhaps. But not meant to be.

  As soon as the workshop was over, he approached her. “Jacqueline?”

  “Yes?”

  “Forgive me for having to rush off earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “It’s okay, Randall. I know you’re busy.”

  “I was preoccupied, but that’s not an excuse. I insist you let me make it up to you.”

  “No way, Randall. You’ve already done so much. I won’t let you buy me dinner ag
ain.”

  “Fair enough, but would you care to join me for tonight’s concert?”

  In all of her studying last night, she’d merely glanced at the attendee packet and its contents. She’d seen something about a concert, and she loved opera. But since tickets were only discounted, not free, and she didn’t have an escort, she hadn’t given the outing a second thought.

  “I don’t have anything to wear,” was the lame excuse that came to mind.

  “Don’t worry about that.” He gave her the once-over. “The concert starts at eight. Meet me in the lobby at seven thirty. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “All right, beautiful. See you then.”

  CHAPTER 6

  For the rest of the afternoon, Jacqueline walked on air. At five o’clock she returned to her room, ordered room service, and transcribed some of the tapes she’d recorded. At six o’clock someone knocked on her door.

  Randall?

  She peered through the peephole to see a hotel employee standing next to a bellman’s cart. On it were a couple garment bags and several boxes. She opened the door.

  “I didn’t send anything to be cleaned. You have the wrong room.”

  “Ms. Tate?”

  “Yes?” Jacqueline replied with a scowl.

  “These are for you, compliments of Dr. Atwater.” Jacqueline was speechless. She stepped back so that the employee could pull the cart into the room. “Here, let me get you a tip.”

  “Already taken care of, ma’am,” the employee said with a slight bow. “Enjoy your evening.”

  Jacqueline watched the employee leave, then turned toward the cart before her. She gingerly touched the plastic covering, almost afraid to lift it and see what was inside. Below were shoe boxes. She reached for one, opened it up, and saw one of the prettiest pairs of shoes she’d ever seen. The sandals were covered in iridescent crystals, with straps that came up around the ankle. Always a sucker for a great high heel, she walked to a chair, kicked off her house shoes and slid on the sandal.