Read The Doctor's Damsel (Men of the Capital Book 3) Online
Authors: Cara Nelson
The Doctor's Damsel (Men of the Capital Book 3) (13 page)
“Abe, only do what will make you happy.”
“I thought being a doctor was what I was meant to do, but on this trip I’ve pieced together where I got the idea. I’m all but certain it started out as plain old rebellion against my dad.”
“Then there are a lot of people who should thank your dad for being an ass, because you’ve helped so many patients, Abe. It isn’t like you became a physician on a whim. It took years of dedication and work. It means a lot to you, no matter why you started out.”
“Thanks. I mean, I know that, but like my Opa said, I loved boats, loved shipping until I got mad at my father. There’s still a part of me that’s interested in it.”
“Your Oma was talking to me,” Becca said carefully.
“Doing the hard sell?” His voice was rueful.
“Pretty much. She said if you’d take any role in the company, even a nominal one and show up for a couple board meetings a year, it would make everyone so happy and it would fulfill your Opa’s wish without totally disrupting your life.”
“That’s a possibility. It sounds good, but I don’t think now’s the time to make any big decisions. Opa really liked you, by the way. He said—” He squinted his eyes shut with amusement. “He said you were a hot tamale. That you’d keep me on my toes.”
“His wisdom is incredible.” She grinned cheekily and bent down for Abe’s kiss.
“I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long, Becca. My dad is difficult, but it isn’t fair to punish my whole family for his attitude. I want to be a bigger part of their lives. Of my Oma’s, at least. They say Opa has only a few weeks left. I’m going to ask for a leave of absence so I can stay here until…until the time comes. Will you consider staying with me, please? I’d love to take you out on the chalk cliffs and take you out on a boat and let Opa and Oma get to know you.”
“It’s very sweet of you to ask, but I have a job at home, and Hannah’s wedding. I mean, yeah, she’s getting married on a beach without me, but I need to help her get ready.”
“Will you come for weekends, then? I’ll fly you back and forth. I know it’s—wrong to ask you to give up your job, even if it is working for that bastard Chris. I shouldn’t have suggested it,” he said, running hands through his hair.
“Stop saying
should
. You asked for what you wanted. There’s nothing wrong with that. You didn’t ask what I told your Oma. I said I couldn’t help her. I could only help you because you’re the person I love.”
Abe levered up on his elbows and pulled her down on top of him, kissing her madly, drawing the pins from her hair and starting on her buttons.
“That’s the best thing anyone’s ever said to me, Becca,” he said against her mouth. “I’m wishing so hard right now that I hadn’t just said this wasn’t a good time to make big decisions.”
“Why?” she breathed, wriggling out of her jumpsuit. Abe sat up, pulled away enough to look at her very seriously.
“Because I knew when I stood in my Opa’s sickroom alone that it didn’t feel right being there without you. It doesn’t feel right being anywhere without you, Bec. I’m yours. That’s all I know right now. I’m not sure if I’ll end up back working the ER on rotating shifts or if I’ll cut my hours so I can spend more time in Germany. I don’t know if I’ll ever get right with my dad. I know that when you finally land that Broadway show, I want to be the one clapping in the front row when you sing the wrong words. I’ll be throwing roses, Bec. Because you’ll do it. I’m not sure of myself right now, but I’m sure of you. I’m sure that you’re the only thing I’ll always want.”
Becca wiped tears off her face and launched herself into his arms, laughing and sobbing.
“What I mean is that I want to marry you if you’ll have me, live with you if you won’t. Although I’m pretty sure I can convince you to marry me. I mean, you were going to change your name anyway.”
“To Becca Bennett. I like the alliteration. Like Rosalind Russell. Greta Garbo. It could be good for my career,” she said with affected stubbornness.
“Like Peter Parker? Bruce Banner?”
“Who?”
“Comic book heroes. Spidey? Hulk? My God, I may need to reconsider. You can’t sing Cat Stevens right and now you don’t know any superheroes’ real identities,” he teased, kissing her. “I mean, Becca Bennett is good, but think of how distinctive a hyphenate would be. No one could compete with Becca Abbracciabene-Abrahemson.” Abe grinned.
“That is a memorable name. Very...impactful,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I think I’ll take it.”
END OF BOOK 3
Next Book To Be Released November 2014
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Men of the Capital Series
A Matter of Taste
(Excerpt Below.)
The Doctor’s Damsel
Excerpt from ‘A Matter of Taste’ Book 2 of Men of the Capital Series
The quote they pulled to italicize for the feature article was
The Best There’s Ever Been
. Annelise scrolled through the awards, the worshipful testimonials of prominent clients from the world of politics and show business. The glitterati loved this bastard. She already didn’t like him. His picture told the tale. Far too good looking to be trustworthy. He was, she admitted grudgingly, possessed of a fine pair of shoulders despite his fancy-ass effeminate line of work.
Society Taste
magazine had named Desmond Blair’s catering service the number one in the state for three years running, a record unmatched by any other chef in the publication’s twenty-eight year history. “I’m the best there’s ever been,” Blair stated when asked if he was surprised by the repeat honor.
There was a difference between audacity, Annelise thought, and sheer fuckwitted egotism. This was not going to be a pleasant meeting. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, picking a particle of spinach out of her teeth and nearly sideswiping a Lexus in the process. She made her way to the chic downtown block Desmond Blair’s business had almost singlehandedly revitalized. A tea room, a flower shop, a stationers’, and a jewelry store had gone into the street in the last couple of years, filling in disused storefronts with gracious, colorful displays and the waft of prosperity.
Real estate in the newly renovated brownstone was sky high…Annelise was painfully aware of the fact, considering her own itinerant lifestyle. Even at her most aspirational, she couldn’t fathom earning enough money to have an apartment there, much less a detached brick-fronted brownstone with geraniums spilling over the wrought iron balcony on the second floor. It was a good thing she wasn’t bitter, Annelise reminded herself. Otherwise she would resent the living hell out of these rich people. Even their sidewalks were nicer—brick and even without weeds sprouting up through the cracks. Annelise was starting to feel like a cracked sidewalk herself.
The front of the shop was just beautiful. She grudgingly admired the weathered terracotta hue of the rough hewn brick, the old-world feel to the carved wooden door with an unadorned brass plate reading,
Aux Delices. By appointment only.
“Well, la-di-fucking-dah,” She murmured as she pressed the buzzer.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to Aux Delices. Do you have an appointment?” chirped an even, cultured voice.
“No. I’m Annelise Hollingford from Jasper Cates’s office. I spoke with Kathleen on the phone. I was told that Mr. Blair has had a cancellation, making him available for the weekend of my employer’s engagement party,” she said in her haughtiest official voice.
“So, you have no appointment.” The chirpy voice affected a faux tinge of disappointment, and Annelise knew she was about to be sent away like the goddamned little match girl. “Unfortunately, no one is available to speak to you at this time. Do call and schedule so we will have an opportunity to discuss your event, as it may relate to our booking availabilities. Have a lovely day.” The lady on the intercom clicked it off abruptly.
“Lovely day, my foot.” Annelise muttered harshly.
Annelise took a long breath, which Shannon always told her to do when she was about to rip someone a new one. Shannon mistakenly thought it would calm her down. Instead it reinvigorated her small, angry frame with plenty of oxygen for the fight. Fully oxygenated and ready to rumble, she pressed the buzzer nine times in rapid succession. She felt the grind of the buzzer straight to her teeth and was satisfied by the vindictive rush it gave her.
“Miss, I’ll have to ask you to step away from the buzzer please,” the cultured chirp of the receptionist had grown testy now. “As you have no appointment, there is nothing we can do for you today. Please call ahead next time. Have a lovely day.”
“Listen, I would have a lovely day if you would let me in. I’m betting that you’re the Kathleen I spoke with on the phone. My employer is the CEO of Cates Corporation, which he founded. He is hosting an engagement party for seventeen hundred guests in the gardens of the exclusive Greenwich Estate, which we have already secured. No matter how elite you think your food business is, your boss can’t afford to blow off the most dazzling and sure-to-be most talked-about social event of the year.”
The door swung open, but instead of looking smugly upon the obstructive blonde receptionist, Annelise found herself face-to-face, or rather face-to-broad-muscled-chest, with Desmond Blair himself.
“Did you just call Aux Delices a ‘food business’?” He smirked.
Desmond Blair’s smirk had the most bizarre melting effect on Annelise, who retained enough presence of mind to feel only the barest hint of aggravation that her entire body seemed to liquefy under the heat of his dark-eyed gaze.
“That’s what it is. You peddle appetizers, no matter how French your name is.” Annelise managed to marshal her feistiness enough to retort, even under the duress of his seductive glare.
“Do you suppose that being rude is going to get you an appointment?” His voice was low and buttery, completely devoid of the haughtiness in the receptionist’s cultured chirp that riled her.
“No. I assume that being the appointed agent of a prominent billionaire will get me an appointment. Further, that being rude will stop you from trying to push me around.”
Annelise stood up straighter, trying to get an extra half-inch of height from her five-foot-three and finding herself wishing she’d worn some heels. As it was, her chin was jutting in the air stubbornly and she had, as her granny would say, got her back up over something. Some intangible quality about Desmond Blair unnerved her, put her off balance. It could have been the fact that she was still raw from her breakup and she felt oddly threatened by her instant attraction for him.
Or maybe it was the chip on her shoulder left over from growing up in a rotten part of town, the chip that seemed to enlarge when she was faced with the entitlement complexes of the rich and self-important. Possibly, just possibly, it was the fact that she wanted to bite his shoulder. Well, to be truthful, she’d take his shirt off first, which was an entirely separate problem…and Annelise realized that he was speaking and she had paid absolutely no attention to one single word that came out of his mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“I said that I have no need of your business. My clients provide me with ample free publicity. Consequently, it isn’t actually necessary to my prosperity that I take every high profile, high maintenance event that turns up at my door without an appointment and proceeds to press the buzzer ten times.”
“Nine.” Annelise felt that she was losing ground with him.
“Not counting the first time you buzzed.” Desmond countered. “What was your name again?”
“Annelise Hollingford. I’m the personal assistant to Jasper Cates, chief executive officer of Cates Corporation.” She produced a vellum business card, which he took, stroking the edge of it slightly in a way that made her bite her lip.
“Desmond Blair. Food business,” he said, offering her a glossy black card with his name embossed in matte gray. Annelise fingered the slick finish and decided he was overcompensating.
“My employer’s highly anticipated engagement party is being touted as the social event of the season. No expense has been spared. The event is in three weeks.”
“Three weeks? Not possible,” he said dismissively, still blocking her passage into the hall, his rather magnificent shoulders nearly filling the doorway.
“Nineteen days, if you want precision. According to Kathleen, you had a cancellation that weekend. Now, that was phone-Kathleen who, might I say, is much more accommodating than door-buzzer-Kathleen, who is something of an appointment Nazi.”
“Even so, that timetable is insufficient to prepare a menu and special order any artisanal ingredients—“
“The bride couldn’t boil an egg and the groom lives on kale shakes. I sincerely doubt either party knows much about the
food business
. They want it to look fancy and for all the guests to think it was fabulous. Now, the groom has a thing about some kind of fancy mushrooms he saw on a documentary. I’ll spare you the details, but they’re hot pink.”
“Lobster mushrooms. Only nineteen days to prepare a menu for seventeen hundred guests at an outdoor venue,” he said thoughtfully.
“It would be quite the challenge. If you pull that off, it would be an achievement. Everyone would talk about it, how you did the impossible.” She warmed to the idea. “Having to pull it together on short notice would shake things up for you. Keep it from getting dull at the top.”