"So you approve?" I said, goading her.
"In your dreams, buster. I've never taken a client up on that offer." She paused and nervously laughed a little herself.
I sensed she was sympathetic to my cause. She'd been accused of secretly dating Lazer while publically sending him out on matches for Pair Us. Dangling a billionaire in front of single women eager to find a mate was good for business, or so the accusers claimed. The truth of how they fell in love was more complicated, as life often is. That was a story in itself.
"All I've done," I said, "is buy myself more time for us to get to know each other. That's it. I'm just upping my at-bats."
"Uh-huh," Ashley said.
She and I were good friends as well as business colleagues, and matchmaker and client.
"I'm sure some of the guys might call this brilliant," she said, "but this could come back to bite you."
"So you're going to help me?" I said. "You're not firing me as a client?"
"Not firing you as a client," she said, laughing. "Against my better judgment, believe me. You're lucky that one of your best friends is my boyfriend. Firing you would make social situations awkward. Can you picture our next party at Lazer Lodge?"
Yeah, I had her over a barrel.
"And as long as Lazer is still willing to pay me a big fee to help you find a wife, there's the financial inducement on your side, too," she said.
"Cold, hard cash," I said. "I can picture the gleam in your eyes."
"Don't push it. I'll coach you in dating situations. Fair warning—you might not like my advice." She sighed for dramatic effect. "And now I'm going to have to make some calls and disappoint some truly remarkable women on your behalf."
"Now you're just trying to give me a guilt trip and tempt me," I said.
"Am I succeeding?"
"No."
"Oh, Austin," she said. "You have it bad."
Blair
If I had expected the hospital to be in the weekend bubble and a respite from questions and curiosity about Austin and me, I was mistaken. Every single colleague of mine, from the orderlies, nurses, and most especially my fellow physicians, ribbed me about it. Or asked about meeting Connor Reid and Sam Roberts. There was more than idle curiosity about it.
That kiss, that kiss that was not on my lips, was the talk everywhere. Even among my patients.
I was happy to let my patients believe the lie of the camera angle that turned a false eyelash in my eye into a fairytale. They needed the distraction, the hope, the feeling that life went on and things could be normal again. Or even that something magical could happen. They liked the celebrity and moment of fame their new doctor was enjoying. It was something exciting to talk about, something besides treatments, side effects, and odds of outcome.
Many of them were weak and tired, beaten down by years of battling a disease that didn't give up. Unable to get out and live life fully. If they could live vicariously through me for a time, I was happy to let them have the fantasy, happy to carry the torch.
I posed for dozens of selfies. Told the story of Comicon and meeting Connor, Sam, and Austin until my throat was raw and my voice was hoarse. One of my patients was even so excited, she started a social media campaign to get Comicon attendees to vote for Austin and me for best amateur costume. She really wanted us to win. Said it would make her day.
I promised, reluctantly, that I'd wear the dress to the hospital someday. There was a great deal of curiosity about that dress.
"But how could any man resist you in it?" that particular patient had said with a wistful look in her eyes.
She was young, only twenty-five, and battling for her life. Her once beautiful long hair was gone. She was a shadow of her former fit and toned self. I made a note to let her try the dress on and wondered if there was any way for Beth to make her a costume of her own.
Connor Reid was heavily involved in supporting cancer research in the United Kingdom. I made a note to see if I could get him to donate some autographed pictures, something from the set, anything that would cheer my patients and brighten their day.
By my afternoon break, I was exhausted with maintaining the pretense of a relationship that was, if anything, only on the verge of budding, tired of talking and ready to be alone in the company of my own thoughts.
I collapsed in a corner booth of the cafeteria with a cup of coffee, hoping to hide in the shadows and keep my head down. Which wasn't easy to do with the TVs around the place playing clips from Comicon at regular intervals, including the money shot of Austin and me. How did Connor and Sam deal with being celebrities and always on and in the limelight?
Being a physician would make me an extrovert, one would think. But actually, I was an ambivert. Introversion and extroversion run on a continuum and, as much as we'd like to believe are driven by some nebulous part of our psyche and personality, are largely biological. Dopamine, the brain's feel-good hormone that stimulates the neocortex, is the culprit. Introverts have naturally high dopamine levels. Low levels make extroverts. In the middle of the spectrum are ambiverts like me.
Unfortunately, my fellow doctor, Erica Price, found me. "Hiding out, are you?" She slid into the booth opposite me without waiting for an invitation.
Erica was only a year or two older than I was. Slender. Slightly built. Pretty. Auburn hair. Well connected. Married to a wealthy older man, a major donor to the clinic who was also on the board and known as Benefactor Bob around the hospital.
Erica was cunning in a way I couldn't explain. I both liked and disliked her, trusted and distrusted her. She had a mixed reputation around the hospital as being brilliant, but ruthlessly ambitious. Also as having married up and into success. Because of her husband, she was untouchable.
Her patients, however, loved her. She fought for them, took risks that paid off more often than not, tried everything in search of remission or a cure. She never gave up. Her colleagues feared where that ambition would drive her.
I'd only been on staff a few weeks and was already painfully aware of all this. Part of it amused me. Part of me knew I should have been more cautious. But where had caution gotten me with Nigel?
Erica knew the lay of the political landscape better than almost anyone on staff. It intrigued her in the way many people are fascinated by national politics. When something is a passion, it can easily become an obsession. Erica teetered on that edge. But she was one of the few people willing to share her insider insights, observations, and knowledge with me candidly.
For some reason, she didn't see me as a threat. I wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted by her attitude. She'd been friendly to me since my first day, so I took her at face value. Against the warning of some of the senior staff, who cautioned me to watch my back, I liked to hang out with her.
"Hiding out." I rolled my eyes at her. "Why else would I be skulking in corners?"
She laughed and cupped her hands around her paper cup of coffee. She was a caffeine junkie who thrived on lack of sleep. "And here I thought you were heartbroken over some English chap," she said in a bad English accent.
"Hearts heal." I pulled the stir stick out of my cup and took a sip of coffee, trying not to burn myself. Or had I done that already?
"Too casual." Her eyes were full of mischief and interest. This was a fact-finding mission. "You give yourself away. Austin is hot. Certainly since deciding to care about his looks and working with that matchmaker.
"And he's smart and witty, which are characteristics that can't be overlooked in a man." She sighed. "A word of caution—never marry a dull man, no matter how much money he has. You can't put a price on a delicious sense of humor."
Erica was startlingly candid with me about the disdain she felt for her husband.
"And Austin is on his way to becoming truly wealthy with his app and all," she said, letting her pragmatism show. "It's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one. There's no reason you shouldn't pursue him. Is there?"
"Not from your descripti
on of him, no." I frowned, uncertain whether I should be creeped out about her apparent knowledge of him. "You've either researched him or you know him?"
She flashed me a devilish look. "Oh, I do. Know him. Have for a few years." She picked at a muffin she'd brought with her. "His boss, Dan, is one of the technical guys on my research project, on the outcome and treatment app we're developing. Dan and Austin are technical geeks and geniuses. You know the kind—hard to understand at times."
The sparkle in her eyes became almost malicious. She was clearly delighted with herself. "Dan says Austin is one of the brightest coders he's ever worked with. Or known." She raised her muffin to me and peeled the wrapper from it. "That's high praise coming from Dan. He knows everybody in the tech community."
She paused. "A word of friendly warning—Austin should be careful with his ambition. Genius can be threatening to others. Others with more power and greater insecurities. It can look too much like personal motivation. You know how corporate politics are!" She laughed, readying her bombshell. "Dan has always been Austin's ally. He never believed those nasty rumors about Austin screwing up on his first job and being responsible for a major database breach that cost the company he was working for millions."
She meant for me to ask what had happened. So she could remain mysterious and keep me curious. Erica could be like that. As for her warning, I trusted that Austin was aware of the politics in the company he worked for. And anyway, Austin had already alluded to the incident. And told me he wanted to quit his job soon. I let it slide. That was the only way to deal with Erica.
When she saw I wasn't curious, she let it drop. "Bob and I are having a party next weekend. For the hospital. He likes to entertain the hospital staff bigwigs from time to time and toss out his ideas for fundraising. You're invited, of course. At Bob's insistence as much as because you're my friend. His mind is already at work on how the hospital fundraising efforts can capitalize on your fifteen minutes of fame." There was that mischievous look again, much like a cat playing with a mouse. "Bring Austin. It'll be fun."
"I'll check with Austin," I said, trying to be noncommittal.
"I think you don't understand, my dear. This is not an invitation. It's a command performance couched as invitation to be polite. My husband wants you at the party so you'll be there." She gave me an almost pitying look that quickly passed and soon hardened.
"I'll put you down as a yes." She winked. "If Austin's as interested in you as he appears, you'll have no trouble convincing him to come with. His attendance is mandatory too."
She broke off a bite of muffin. "Oh, and a word of caution—not everybody on the hospital staff is happy with the attention you've been drawing. It could be construed as a power play."
Chapter 11
Austin
You know when you can't get a woman out of your mind? When all you can think about is the way her lips will taste? The set of her smile. The twinkle of her eyes. The way she'll look naked beneath you? Or on top, riding you for all you're worth? The way she laughs and it lights up your heart?
I couldn't get Blair out of my mind.
All Saturday I was looking forward to having an excuse to call and ask her out for a celebratory drink. And then we lost the costume competition. By a single vote.
I was stunned. We had the backing of the majority of the Jamie fans at the con, Connor and Sam and Connor's social media platform, and Blair's patients at the cancer center throwing their weight behind us. That was more push and support than I'd ever had before, even when I lost by three votes last year. And we still lost. Both of us. To a supervillain who was greeted with the natural boos and hisses when his win was announced.
Under normal circumstances, I'm not a conspiracy theory type of guy. But something was off about this. There were rumors that there were inconsistencies in the voting. Someone claimed the Comicon app had been hacked. And Randy Dixon, when I caught a glimpse of him in the crowd, looked way too damn smug.
All right. It was a small thing to lose a costume competition. I could well afford next year's conference fee. I didn't need to win it. But damn, I wanted an excuse to celebrate with Blair. I wanted that shared experience of a win. Any way to bond with her.
I texted her with the bad news. Neither of us won.
Is that your kinder, gentler way of saying we're both losers?
I wouldn't go that far, I replied. I lost by a single vote. And you were neck and beautiful neck. I think it was the lack of elven ears that did you in.
I call discrimination! Elinor is 100% human. She can't have pointy ears, no matter how sexy they are. The Jamie fans would have our heads. And as for you—a single vote? Harsh. Next year we need a bigger contingency of Jamie fans. And by bigger, I mean at least by three!
I laughed. I didn't tell her that I suspected voting tampering. See you Monday.
Can't wait.
Neither could I.
Blair
I had thought that by Monday, after Comicon was over, the fervor over Austin and me as Jamie and Elinor would die down. But it had grown and taken on a life all its own. Gone viral, not only nationwide, but internationally.
The Comicon forums were full of stories about the costume contest voting app being hacked. The fact that a supervillain costume had won played well into any conspiracy theory. After all, supervillains never played fair.
Jamie fans were furious and stunned. The president of the largest Northwest fan club called for an investigation into the security of the app. The Comicon board had even gotten involved and said they were looking into the allegations of tampering.
Connor tweeted his condolences over the loss, and, in true Jamie fashion, said the battle wasn't over. We'd win next year if he had to start the campaign himself.
I was sure he was well meaning, but it just kept the firestorm going. And the attention on Austin and me.
The attention was so great that it even reached Nigel in London. I received a furious, hurt text from him.
Who the bloody hell is this Austin? I thought you said you needed a break. Needed time to figure things out. You're my life for a decade. You break my heart and leave without saying goodbye. Then fall in love with another bloke within weeks?
Fuck this.
I swallowed hard and blinked back a surge of furious tears. Nigel was deliberately twisting things to hurt me. Yes, I'd run off. But I had not begged for time to think. I'd been clear—I couldn't go on like this, long distance and unsettled. Single, but committed. It wasn't me. It wasn't how I wanted to live. Now that I was out of med school, I was ready to move forward. I wanted, at some point, a husband and a family. I couldn't picture a way forward to either of those with Nigel. We were, perhaps, star-crossed. Unable to find a way to be together.
If he had misunderstood my clear—but gentle—words, or my tears at letting him go, that was on him.
Nigel still had the things I'd left in his flat when I'd hurried home to Beth. He had promised to ship them to me, at my expense. But so far, he'd made no move to act on his promise. I suspected he was holding them hostage. Now maybe he was making a bonfire out of them.
I brushed a tear away with the back of my hand. Nigel, what have we lost? What have we become?
I hadn't left anything crucial behind. Except for a ring that had belonged to my grandma. Which was a little loose on me on cold days. Which was why I wasn't wearing it that day in Avebury. I'd worried I'd lose it. And now maybe I had. Damn him.
I should have deleted Nigel's text. Instead, I texted back, It's not what you think.
I had thought Austin and I would go on Sheri's morning show, play our role, and be done. But I was beginning to think it wouldn't be as simple as that. Certainly not for me.
I turned my thoughts to more immediate matters. There was the matter of wardrobe—what did I wear to the show? I agonized with Beth over it.
I wasn't going to go as Elinor. I was adamant about that. I was going as Blair, pure and simple. People had to see me for myself. People includi
ng Austin. Which might kill the fantasy completely. And kill any ardor that was beating in his breast for a fictional English lass.
If what he appeared to feel was there just for Elinor, or that low-cut French gown and my cleavage, I didn't want it anyway. I was Blair, and damn proud of who I was.
With her theater experience, Beth knew what played well on stage. We searched the Internet for ideas about what looked good on camera.
I finally decided on navy slacks, heels, and a feminine, gauzy button front blouse in sky blue—evidently blue is the best color for TV. The blouse tied in a bow at the neck. Not a hint of plunging necklines. No patterns. No jangly jewelry. Nothing to distract from my face and my message. What the hell was my message?
I pinned on my Comicon button that Trent had given me, my only nod to where this had begun.
I arrived at the studio early, well before Austin, heart pounding. I was as nervous at the thought of seeing Austin again and shattering the illusion as I was at him seeing me. Maybe more so.
Never meet a guy under fairytale conditions if you can possibly avoid it. It's damn stressful and inconvenient later. No wonder Cinderella was so nervous about the prince seeing her in her street clothes as she ran from the ball. It wasn't vanity, as is so commonly assumed. It was the glimpse of who she really was. Would the prince love that woman?
I arrived wearing makeup. This was a local show. I didn't expect them to have a makeup artist on staff to do mine. However, I was wrong. I was sent directly to makeup. Where they simply made sure I wouldn't have a shiny nose on camera.
After being given instructions on how to act and what to expect by a junior staffer, I was shown to the green room to wait for my turn on camera.
Sheri popped in just for a second to welcome me. Her gaze ran over me. "Perfect. You know how to dress for TV. So lovely. This is going to be fantastic."
Almost Jamie (The Jet City Kilt Series) (Volume 1) Page 13