“Of course not, at least not by myself. I need help.” She was not letting him ruin this for her. Monica took a deep breath, reluctant to admit what she was about to tell him, but nothing else seemed to get through his thick head.
“Consider my position for a minute,” she said, hating the pleading tone in her voice. “I’m new here. I want to make a good impression.”
Understanding sparkled in his eyes. “And what could be better than the new kid on the block stepping in and saving the center?” he concluded before Monica had the chance to finish. It was all she could do not to grit her teeth.
“Being Super Doc and all, I’m sure you don’t find yourself in need very often, but try putting yourself in the shoes of someone who could use a little help.” Monica could not believe she was admitting this, especially to him. But she was feeling a little desperate. She liked it here, and she wanted to fit in. She hated playing politics, but it was the way of the world. She would not be left on the outside looking in.
“It’s not totally selfish.” Monica rose from the chair and started pacing the floor between his desk and a freshly polished bookshelf. “I believe the Parenting Center is a wonderful, worthwhile asset to the community.”
“And if saving it will help you look good, that’s just icing on the cake.” His words mimicked her own thoughts so closely it was almost scary.
Too late, Monica realized admitting her semi-ulterior motive for wanting to pull off a successful banquet was a mistake of gargantuan proportion. Not only would he see her as unrealistic—as he had already inferred—but he would think all she was looking for was praise and recognition. Yeah, she wanted those things, but her motives were not completely self-serving.
Right, like he would believe that after her proclamation. Monica had a strong urge to hide under the rich mahogany desk until, oh, the year 2045, or so. That should be long enough to get over her embarrassment, or at least for Eli to go senile.
Monica caught the slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He so was not laughing at her.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
“You do?” His grin widened.
“Yes, and I do not appreciate it. I’m a damn good doctor and I can hold my own in any emergency room you put me in. That is not why I’m pushing for this banquet. I have nothing to prove.”
“Did I say you did?”
“I know it’s what you’re thinking.”
“Trust me, Dr. Gardner, you have no idea what’s going through my mind right now.”
Monica caught the laughter in his eyes, but she ignored it. He could go on thinking what he wanted. She was through doubting her ability. Despite what happened in St. Louis. Despite what the nagging little voice that occasionally reared its head whispered to her brain at the most inopportune time. She was a great doctor.
But Methodist Memorial was filled with great doctors. She needed something that would set her apart from the rest. Dr. Slessinger had put a lot of faith in her, and doing a good job in the ER wouldn’t cut it, at least not by Monica’s standards. She wanted to do something that would be remembered throughout the ages, something that would make a lasting impression. She wanted to save their beloved parenting center.
But she couldn’t do it by herself. She needed help. Eli’s help.
His mouth still held that curious lift with just enough lightheartedness to be considered a grin. It was unbelievably sexy.
“Have you finished your workout?” he asked, amusement lighting up his eyes. Monica had never noticed just how deep-set they were.
“I am so relieved you find such joy in this, Dr. Holmes. How powerful it must feel to have someone admit they need your help, and know that you can crush all their aspirations with a single word.”
He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his chest. “Why do you think I would do that?”
“Because you can. And because you’ve already voiced your opinion about the banquet. It’s a pipe dream. You don’t think it will make a difference. So why even bother, right? Why don’t we just close the doors now without even trying?”
“But then how would you impress your colleagues?” he asked, the teasing laughter still in his eyes.
“You know what, forget it.” Monica headed for the door. She didn’t need his condescension or his help.
Eli shot out of his chair. “Wait a minute,” he said, grabbing her by the arm. Monica wrenched free.
Eli covered the hand she had wrapped around the door handle. He couldn’t let her leave. Not yet. Not in anger. And especially not after the idea that had popped in his mind like a twenty-thousand watt light bulb.
Monica Gardner was his salvation; the answer to his fervently prayed prayers.
When his mother called this morning, asking if he could swing by the Culpepper house on Sunday to pick up Tosha, Eli had thought up the only excuse he could muster on such short notice. He told her he would be bringing his new girlfriend to Sunday dinner. Only problem was he didn’t have a girlfriend.
Until now.
Smart and beautiful, Monica was Eli’s ticket to getting his matchmaking Mama off his back. If he showed up to Sunday dinner with Monica on his arm, his mother could not possibly continue to shove Tosha Culpepper, Herbalist Extraordinaire, down his throat.
Dr. Gardner needed his help, but Eli realized he needed hers just as much. Maybe even more. She simply wanted to look good for her boss; Eli was fighting for his freedom.
He waited until she was once again seated before taking a seat behind his desk. He folded his hands and rested his lips on them for a minute, contemplating his approach. Convincing Monica to go along with the scheme fermenting in his brain would take more strategizing than Eli had ever had to exert.
He had no doubt he could do it. He had to. There was too much at stake. He had been witness to his mother’s handiwork on several occasions. The last time Margo Holmes tried to hook up one of her sons, the outcome had been disastrous. Disastrous and tragic—although Alex had gotten Jasmine out of the deal.
Still, Eli was not in the market for a wife or child. If he ever felt the urge to spoil a kid rotten, he had his niece. He did not need his mother pulling out the heavy guns in order to wrestle him into a relationship with a woman.
Eli needed Monica Gardner. Pretty, smart, sane Monica Gardner. Dr. Monica Gardner. If his mother was so gung ho about Tosha being an herbalist, she would probably do cartwheels over Monica being a highly revered physician.
As he glanced at the open calendar on his desk, Eli recognized that time was of the essence. If he had any hope of convincing his family he and Monica were the real deal, he would have to get her on board as quickly as possible. It would take a lot to pull the wool over Margo Holmes’s eyes.
“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Eli started, not willing to waste another second.
Monica eyed him with guarded curiosity. He didn’t blame her. What he was about to propose was as unethical as anything he’d ever thought up.
Blackmail. That’s what it was. But putting the rightful name to his scheme was not going to stop him. This was too important, and wasn’t as if he would be the only one to benefit. If everything worked out he, Monica, and the Parenting Center could come out smelling like roses.
“I’m not sure I want to know,” Monica said.
“It’s nothing to get worried about. I just thought of a way we can be of mutual assistance to each other.”
“How is that?” Monica asked, the leery contemplation in her gaze making Eli want to smile. She was perceptive; he’d give her that.
“Are you seeing someone?” he asked.
She barked out a laugh. “That’s none of your business.”
“Are you or aren’t you,” Eli persisted.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Like I said, I have a proposition for you.”
She crossed her legs and folded her hands over her propped knee. “Just because I haven’t been entertain
ed enough today, I’ll bite. Exactly what is your proposition, Dr. Holmes?”
Eli looked into her eyes, taking a deep, self-assuring breath. This was not going to be easy, but it was his best chance.
“You want to impress Slessinger, right?”
“I want to help save the Parenting Center,” she countered.
Eli waved off her declaration. “Yeah, yeah. That’s a given. I’m talking about the little something extra—to use a Louisiana term, the lagniappe. You want to get in good with Slessigner.”
“I’m not trying to suck up or anything,” she said with that defensive edge he’d heard more than once today.
“Did I say that?” Eli asked, feeling a little defensive. Eli checked himself before continuing. He had to be smart about this. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonize her.
“Look, Monica, there’s nothing wrong with trying to make a good impression. It’s smart. Doing a brilliant job with the banquet is just the type of thing that can set you apart from the rest.”
“You make it sound so calculating. Like a sleazy scheme or something.”
No. What he was about to suggest was a sleazy scheme.
“Forgive me. Apparently I’m not getting my point across as eloquently as I had hoped. All I mean to say is that I don’t blame you for wanting to stand out, and if you believe pulling off this banquet is the thing that will do it, then I want to help.” Her eyes lit up like a candle in a room that had stayed darken for a hundred years. Eli knew his next statement would dim them a little. “Provided, of course, you help me.”
The leeriness returned, along with caution in her voice when she asked, “How so?”
If he didn’t execute the next minute as deftly as possible, he might as well start shopping for a tuxedo and applying for his license as an herbal obstetrician.
“I need a girlfriend.”
Eli waited for a reaction, but there was none. She just sat in her chair, legs still crossed, knee slightly bobbing up and down. He was about to ask if she’d heard him when she said, “I’m waiting for the punch line.”
Eli shook his head. “No punch line. I’m serious.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, Dr. Gardner, I most definitely am.”
“Do I look like a fool? You don’t date doctors,” she remarked. “I’ve heard it more than once. You will not be seen in a romantic light with any doctor.”
Eli shrugged. “Yeah, so?”
“Yeah, so?” She looked at him as if he’d grown an extra set of limbs. “Then why do you all of a sudden need a girlfriend, especially one who happens to be a doctor?”
Eli decided to tell her the truth. His plan didn’t have a chance if Monica was clueless to the motives behind it.
“Because my mother is campaigning for a daughter-in-law,” he stated, “And I don’t like the candidate she’s chosen.”
“And exactly what does this have to do with me?”
“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.” Eli was ready to pull out all the stops.
“You’re not serious.”
“You have to know my mother to realize just how serious I am. My old girlfriend from high school is back in town—”
“And your mother has it in her head that the two of you are meant for each other,” she finished for him.
“I could be with a fortune-teller; my mother could not care less. As long as one of her sons has a beautiful woman on his arm at my cousin’s wedding, she’ll be happy.”
“If the only requirement is someone who’s breathing, why are you asking me? I’m sure you could find someone in your repertoire of women to fit the bill.”
“I don’t want just anyone. I’ve got a standard.”
“I’m flattered,” she said, sounding anything but. She stared at him as if she were really considering his proposition. Then she said, “This is crazy. I doubt your mother would believe you were actually dating a doctor, especially if your rule is as steadfast as I’ve been led to believe.”
The added edge to her voice had Eli thinking she was upset by his rule. Now wasn’t that interesting.
“My mother doesn’t know anything about my rule, which really isn’t a rule at all,” he lied. “It’s a rare occasion that I’ll even bring a woman around my mother, so she has no idea who I date. But she’s getting tired of it. Mama hates to lose.”
“What does your love life have to do with your mother losing?”
Eli sighed. Divulging the ridiculous familial trait might turn her off even more, but he needed to be honest, right? “There is a competitive streak running through my family the size of the Mississippi River,” he explained. “My brothers and I have always been in competition, and we get it directly from my mother. When Mama and Aunt Lydia get together, it’s like two lionesses. They’re constantly bickering over who’s got the best new piece of African art, or the flashiest Sunday church hat.
“And, don’t get me started on whose children are the better successes, at both job and family. Mama’s winning the battle on the job part, but family is another thing. My cousin Kathleen is the last of Aunt Lydia’s children to get married. So, you can imagine how Mama feels with three single sons.”
“Isn’t one of your brothers married? The one with the daughter?” she asked, motioning to Jazzy’s picture on his file cabinet.
“Alex is a widow.”
“So now your mother is on a mission to see you married?”
Eli nodded. “Or, at least with a prospect. The fact that she’s trying to push Tosha down my throat is a testament to just how desperate she is.”
“But I’m not a true prospect.”
“That won’t matter. Mama will just be happy to see me with someone. And if she thinks we’re serious about each other, that’s gravy.”
“You’re willing to lie to your mother?”
“Yes,” Eli answered, without compunction. “If it means I won’t get suckered into going out with Tosha Culpepper, then, yes. I will lie, cheat, and do whatever else is necessary to make sure that does not happen. Including,” he stared into her eyes, “doing all I can to make your banquet a success.”
“Can’t you just tell your mother no?”
“How bad do you want to impress Slessinger?” He could tell by the look in her eye that she wanted it really bad.
“You cannot be serious,” Monica said.
“Like I said before, I am extremely serious.”
“I can’t do this,” she said after a pause, which made Eli think she’d actually contemplated it. That’s all the incentive he needed. He pressed harder.
“Why not? Give me one good reason.”
“I don’t have to give you anything,” she said defensively.
“Think about it, Monica. What would be the harm? We could both get what we want.”
She didn’t trust him; Eli could tell by the uneasiness radiating from her across the span of his desk. He couldn’t blame her. If he were in her shoes, Eli wouldn’t trust himself either.
“How long would we have to pretend?” she asked, softly, shocking the hell out of him. Impressing Slessinger must be more important to her than he had guessed.
“The wedding is the second weekend in November.”
“That’s three months.”
“It is. Would you be willing to put up with me for that long?” he asked, unable to keep the grin from forming at the corners of his mouth.
“You’ll agree to all my plans for the banquet?”
“Absolutely, if you think they’ll work. I am your willing servant, Dr. Gardner.”
She gave him that look again, the one that said she trusted him about as much as she trusted a politician who moonlighted as a used car salesman.
“Fine.” She stuck out her hand, and Eli almost expired from relief. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Dr. Holmes.”
Chapter Ten
“Watch it!” Monica snapped. “Sorry,” she said to the orderly wheeling a very pregnant woman onto the elevator.
&nbs
p; She had been in such a God-awful mood today. It wasn’t her fault. She was suffering from fatigue-fueled crankiness. The amount of sleep she’d gotten this past week could be measured in a teaspoon.
Instead of sleeping, she’d spent most of her nights trying to figure out when, exactly, had she turned insane. Only someone delusional would have accepted Elijah Holmes’s proposal. It was simply unexplainable.
But now that she had agreed to it, how could she back out? Especially since she had spent the hours when she wasn’t contemplating the sudden lost of her good sense thinking about all they could do with the banquet. She’d envisioned the entire night, from the food they would serve, to the playlist for the band.
She’d had vivid dreams about the bachelor auction, or, she should say, a certain bachelor. Monica had no doubt Eli could bring in a thousand dollars just with his smile. Offer up the rest of him for bidding and they could keep the center open for eternity. Too bad he was staunchly against taking part in the auction.
Monica spotted him at the nurse’s station. He jotted something on a form and handed the clipboard across the desk to the board nurse. Monica tried not to notice the way his scrubs stretched across his well-chiseled chest.
God, she was pitiful.
“We need to discuss the banquet,” she said without preamble.
“Hello to you, too, Dr. Gardner.”
“Good morning,” she said with acceptable contriteness. “Is this a good time to discuss a few of my ideas for the banquet?”
“Do you mind if we do it over lunch?”
Monica’s inner alarm automatically went off. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was lunchtime. The man was hungry. That’s all. If she continued to read little innuendoes into every suggestion he made, she would drive herself crazy. The safest thing was to keep her mouth shut about anything not concerning the banquet, at least until she had more time to think over all of this.
Deliver Me Page 9