“No, I—”

Charlie cuts me off with an exasperated groan. “He won’t bite, Mac.”

Dr. Drake winks. “Not unless she asks nicely.”

Chapter 14

Are you my girl?

Hi Max

Hi baby. I’m back. I’ll pick you up after work

Have 2 cancel. Work function tonight **sniffs**

Work on Thursday night?

Charity event for the hospital

I’ll come

Invitation only

I’ll get one

You’ll distract me. No Max allowed

**frowns**

U need 2 learn some new text expressions like **smiles with understanding**

**frowns**

See you 2morrow?

No. Tonight

After the charity event?

Now

***

Inspiration hits me. I run over to the doorman and ask him to take my picture with my new phone. He poses me by a potted palm and I fan out the floor-length silver dress Amanda loaned me. I should have worn higher heels but three and a half inches is my limit. I turn sideways so Max can see the dress has no back—daring, even for Amanda.

“You look good enough to eat,” the doorman says when he returns my phone. I wish I could keep him when we move back to our house.

I check the picture and smile. I don’t look too bad. The dress hugs my curves, and with the help of Amanda’s magic curling tongs, I have created a hint of a wave in my hair. I am a movie star version of myself. Maybe once Max has seen me all dressed up, he’ll forgive me and meet me afterward. Or maybe I’m just playing with fire.

I email the picture to Max and wait.

I wait and wait. Maybe he isn’t checking his emails. Maybe it didn’t go through. What if he doesn’t like it? Maybe I’m deluding myself about how I look.

A black BMW pulls up in front of the building. Dr. Drake honks twice and then exits the vehicle. He is drop-dead gorgeous in his tux, and from the way he is walking, all swagger and rolling hips, he knows it. I step out the door and he stops in his tracks. He throws a theatrical hand over his heart and falls to his knees.

My lips quiver with a repressed smile. Okay. He’s mildly amusing, good-looking, apparently hot in bed, and for some strange reason hot on me. And yet all I can think about is Max and why he didn’t email me back.

***

Two hours of schmoozing at the Regency and I’m ready to call it a night. I have solicited donations from politicians, businessmen, philanthropists, and the cream of San Francisco society and all with Dr. Drake’s hand plastered to my bare back in a gesture that is at once solicitous and overly familiar.

Dr. Drake is called up to the stage, and I gratefully drop into one of the circular, red benches scattered throughout the Lodge Room. The Heart 2 Heart fund-raiser is in full swing. I lean back and admire the open-beam ceilings, dark-paneled walls, and stained-glass windows. The room has the feel of a gothic church. I almost expect someone to sit at the huge pipe organ and play a hymn.

I ease my aching feet out of my shoes and rub them through the plush carpet while Dr. Drake arranges the charity hearts on tables at the side of the stage. The creativity of the heart donors is astounding: big hearts, little hearts, six-foot tin can hearts, and tiny sequined hearts; hearts made of concrete, glass, wood, metal, and paper; painted hearts, video hearts, even a photo of a real heart mounted in a silver frame. My favorite is a picture of a heart, painted with three red brush strokes, and the words “My Heart” penciled in the corner. Likely it was made by one of the children in chronic care, but it could also be one of the multimillion-dollar hearts donated by famous artists.

Dr. Drake waves me over. I slip on my shoes and join him at the tables along with Charlie, Big Doris, and the assorted other staff members he roped into helping tonight.

When everyone is assembled on the stage, Dr. Drake clears his throat. “One by one you will select a heart and walk it down the runway, doing everything you can do to heat up the bidding. It’s easier if you choose a heart that speaks to you. Make sure everyone can see it. Show it at every angle. We will have a screen projection behind you. If you like being in the spotlight, this is your chance to shine. Pose, blow kisses, dance, sing—do whatever it takes, and remember, sex sells. This is for a great cause, so give it all you’ve got.”

“What about you?” I ask. “Will you be parading around the stage with a heart in your hand?”

Dr. Drake’s eyes gleam. “Full of fire tonight, aren’t we?”

“Heh, heh, heh.” I try to dampen my laugh in case anyone thinks we’re together, although after playing sex toy for him this evening, I doubt my efforts will have any effect.

“Don’t fear, beautiful,” he chuckles. “I’ll be on that stage and the female patrons will be beating each other back to get what I have to offer.” Arms raised, Dr. Drake rolls his hips in a circle and then thrusts them forward and yells, “Boom! One hundred thousand dollars for Doctor Drake’s heart.”

I inelegantly snort a laugh. The crowd disperses and Dr. Drake holds out an arm to help me down the stairs.

“You liked that, did you?” he murmurs.

“It was mildly amusing. I dare you to do it on stage.”

A grin splits his face. “Don’t you know I can’t resist a challenge?” His eyes soften. “You are a challenge. We would be good together, and you just can’t see it. We share a passion for healing, a sense of humor, and a conservative world view—”

Conservative? Him? With clothespins and hot sauce and medical instruments being used as sex toys?