Читать книгу Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad: Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 10

Back in his office, Paul read through Ramona’s pages.

Even if he wanted to, Paul could find no fault with the rough draft that she had given him to review. Obviously the new public relations manager definitely had a way with words.

Maybe, Paul thought, putting the four sheets of paper down on his desk, Derek was actually onto something.

There was a quick rap on his office door and before he could say, “Come in,” the person on the other side of the knock did.

Speak of the devil.

Derek stuck his head in, holding on to the doorknob as if he was prepared to make a quick getaway. Paul couldn’t help wondering if something was wrong. Derek seemed edgier to him these days. Was that just because of the tense climate at the institute, or was there more to it than that?

“You can stop holding your breath,” Derek informed him cheerfully.

“I wasn’t aware that I was.” Paul waited for his brother to follow up with an explanation.

“Sure you were. About Little Miss PR’s fate,” Derek prompted when Paul continued to look at him quizzically. “I got Lisa to come on board with our decision.”

“‘Our’ decision?” Paul asked, emphasizing the plural possessive. Was Derek trying to share the blame, or the glory?

“Sure.” Derek looked surprised that he was even questioning that it was a joint effort. “You wanted to hire her, too, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, now,” Paul admitted, because he had been won over, but he certainly hadn’t started out that way. “However—”

Derek breezed right past his brother’s “however” as he continued his narrative. “I convinced Lisa that we need a professional to help take the tarnish off the institute’s reputation. Ramona stays.”

Paul thought how angry Lisa had looked when she’d stormed into his office earlier. He shook his head in wonder. “Derek, you could probably sweet-talk the devil into giving you back your soul, couldn’t you?”

Derek inclined his head. He saw no reason to argue. “If I had to.” And then he grinned. The harried look he’d sported earlier faded as he asked, “By the way, you wouldn’t be referring to our youngest sister as the devil, would you?”

Paul blanched. That was all he needed, to have Lisa think he was calling her names behind her back. “No, I would never—”

Derek laughed, waving away the rest of whatever his twin was about to protest. “Take it easy, Paul, I was only kidding. You’re so nonconfrontational you wouldn’t even call the devil a devil.”

Paul read between the lines. “Are you telling me I’m spineless?”

Derek sobered for a second. His voice was devoid of any cynicism or sarcasm. For a fleeting moment, it almost seemed to be a tad wistful. “No, I’m telling you that everyone thinks of you as the ‘good’ brother. The nice guy.”

There was something in his brother’s voice, an unfathomable undercurrent that caught Paul’s attention. This was the second time today that he felt as if a member of his family was hiding something, keeping something back. Prodding, he had a feeling, was going to be as futile with Derek as it had been with Olivia, but he wouldn’t have been Paul if he didn’t try.

“Is something on your mind, Derek?”

And just like that, the serious look in Derek’s eyes completely vanished. The cocky, confident air was back. In spades.

“Something’s always on my mind, Paul.” He winked broadly. “It’s called responsibilities. Gotta fly. I’m heading out.”

Paul tried to pin Derek down to something specific. “For the day?”

“For the rest of the week.” That, Paul knew, was what he was afraid of. Of late, Derek behaved more like a hurricane, striking swiftly and then moving on just as quickly. “Maybe longer,” Derek was saying. “Listen, I was going to help familiarize Ramona with the institute, give her a tour of the place, answer any questions she might have, that kind of thing. But now that I’m not going to be here, I’d really appreciate if you did the honors for me.”

“Why aren’t you going to be here?” Paul wanted to know. For his part, he was always here. Or at least it felt that way. He was not only chief of staff at the institute, but he saw his patients here, as well. Derek, on the other hand, hardly seemed to be present at all.

“Something came up” was all that Derek would say. “I need you to fill in for me. Will you do it?” To the untrained ear, it sounded as if Derek was giving him a choice.

But Paul knew better.

He frowned. He wasn’t good with people in any prolonged capacity. And he was exceedingly bad when it came to making small talk. Despite their age difference—he was thirty-six to her twenty-five—he had a feeling that Ramona Tate was far more of a sophisticated creature than he was. This was out of his ballpark.

“Can’t Lisa do it?”

Derek laughed shortly, dismissing the suggestion, or, in this case, request. “Lisa’s got a lot on her plate right now, too. Besides, she’d be too busy sizing Ramona up to be of any help. You know how competitive our baby sister can get.”

This was true, but she’d always been fiercely competitive with her three siblings—not, to his knowledge, with strangers.

“Why would she be competitive?”

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “She’s female. In case you haven’t noticed, brother dear, so is Ramona.”

That was just the trouble. He had noticed. Really noticed. Ramona Tate was a stunning young woman. Just the type he could envision Derek—or their father, in his day—pursuing.

Without saying he would do it, he pressed Derek for some kind of specifics. “Where did you say you were going again?”

“I didn’t.”

And with that noncommunicative response, Derek closed the door and, for all intents and purposes, the institute’s CFO vanished.

Paul sighed. That was so typical. There were times when Derek treated the institute as his own personal playground, someplace to pop in, stay just long enough to stir things up, then hop a plane and go back to New York, where he actually lived.

If that was even where he was going this time. Derek was a fine one to bandy the word responsibilities about. For the past few months, he’d certainly been shirking his while stepping on everyone else’s toes, egging them on to pick up the slack he’d created.

Paul glanced down at the paper he’d just finished reading, his mind shifting to the problem Derek had left in his wake. He didn’t have time for the so-called orientation tour that Derek had palmed off on him—at least not today. But he could tell the woman that she had her job and that, by the way, she’d done a rather nice one on the press release she’d just worked up.

Paul had never cared for empty flattery, but he did believe in telling someone if they’d done good work. It was something he’d learned not to take for granted. Praise was something that he’d never heard himself when he was growing up. His father hadn’t been reticent when it came to acknowledgment, he just wasn’t around all that much to begin with. It was hard to honestly comment on any accomplishments if you didn’t know about them; if you hadn’t been around to see or hear anything about them. Dr. Gerald Armstrong always seemed either to be at the institute he’d founded, or on his way to the institute.

Paul swore to himself that if he ever had any children of his own—something he was doubtful at this point would ever come about—he would never miss an opportunity to praise them if they did something well.

Hell, he’d even praise them for an attempt to do something well. People needed to be encouraged, especially children. That was why he’d initially become a doctor. To get the great Gerald Armstrong’s approval. To get Gerald Armstrong’s attention, at least for five minutes.

Neither really happened, but somewhere along the line, he grew to love his work. He supposed that made him one of the lucky ones after all.

Paul was just about to go see Ramona and discuss her release when there was another knock on his door. Had Derek changed his mind and decided to stay? He figured it was probably too much to hope for.

“Come in.”

And he was right. It was too much to hope for. It wasn’t Derek who walked into his office. It was Olivia.

“I saw your wunderkind doctor,” she told him. There was no sarcasm in her voice. The title was bestowed in earnest.

Paul noticed that her face was flushed. Was that a good sign? Or a bad one?

“And?” Paul asked when she didn’t continue. He gestured for her to take a chair.

She did, perching her weight on the edge of the cushion as if she anticipated the need to fly away at any moment.

“And he said there was a chance I could become pregnant. Slim, but a chance,” she added breathlessly, clinging to the word chance as if it were a lifeline.

Paul nodded. He more than anyone knew how iffy that statement was. But he was not about to rain on Olivia’s parade.

“Well, he would be the one to know. There’s none better,” he assured her. For a moment, he sat there just looking at Olivia, debating whether or not to back away. He decided to try one more time to get her to open up. “Livy, is it Jamison?” he asked, referring to his brother-in-law, the up-and-coming junior senator from Massachusetts and media darling.

Olivia looked up sharply, a porcelain doll about to shatter. Her eyes were wary. “Is what Jamison?”

Paul had no idea how to phrase this, he just knew he had to get it out into the open somehow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his sister’s un-happiness than just the failure to become pregnant.

“Is Jamison pressing you to become pregnant?” He knew how important lineage and legacy were to the Mallorys. They were practically their own dynasty, the young lions of the world, determined to leave their mark. Part of that involved offspring. “I mean, there are other ways to go, you know. You could adopt, or have a surrogate mother who—”

Olivia began shaking her head the moment he’d said that there were other ways to go. She didn’t want to hear it.

“No. I want to feel this, to do this myself.” Olivia pressed her hand against her flat belly, splaying her fingers out beneath her chest.

Paul looked into her eyes for a long moment. “Having a baby doesn’t solve anything, you know,” he told her quietly. “It usually creates its own set of unique problems.”

“I know that.” There was tension wrapped around each word and he noticed that Olivia was clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap.

Paul pressed again, more succinctly now. “Are you sure everything is all right between you and Jamison?”

“Yes,” she finally snapped. “Which is more than I can say about between you and me if you keep asking these ridiculous questions.”

This wasn’t getting him anywhere. Paul retreated. “Sorry. I’m just concerned about you, Olivia, that’s all.”

She pressed her lips together and took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. “I appreciate that and I’m sorry, too. I really didn’t mean to snap at you like that, it’s just that it seems like everywhere I look these days, I see women either pushing a baby carriage or being pregnant and looking as if they’re about to pop at any second. Everybody is pregnant but me.” Her voice quavered and she looked down at her knotted fingers. “We’ve been trying for five years now. Five long years.”

“Yes, I know. You told me,” he replied gently.

Olivia abruptly rose to her feet, a deer about to flee. Paul rounded his desk, coming to her side. Though he wasn’t a demonstrative person by nature, seeing his sister like this tugged on his heartstrings. He hugged her, albeit awkwardly.

“Everything’s going to be all right, Livy,” he promised.

“I hope so,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I sincerely hope so.”

There was yet another knock on his door. Undoubtedly that was his nurse, here to remind him that he had patients to see this afternoon. Anxious patients who felt exactly like his sister.

“Come in,” he called out.

Ramona came in just as he gave his sister another bracing hug before releasing her.

Olivia stepped back.

Surprised, certain that she’d inadvertently walked in on something, Ramona instantly looked down at the rug as if it had suddenly become fascinating. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t,” Paul told her crisply. “This is my sister Olivia Armstrong Mallory.”

Ramona looked at the other woman, a wariness automatically entering her eyes. Another Armstrong. Another hurdle?

“Someone else who has to approve my being hired?” she asked politely.

Turning from the woman in the doorway, Olivia looked at him quizzically.

“Long story,” Paul told her, forestalling any questions on her part. “And I have to be somewhere.”

Olivia slipped the strap of her designer purse onto her shoulder. “So do I,” she told him. “Thanks for getting me in to see Dr. Demetrios,” she said, then nodded at Ramona before slipping out. “Nice meeting you.”

But you didn’t, Ramona thought. The fourth branch on the Armstrong family tree—this had to be Senator Mallory’s wife, she realized—hadn’t learned her name, making the introduction incomplete.

“She didn’t,” Ramona said out loud to Paul once the door was closed again.

That had come out of nowhere. Much like the woman herself, he observed now. “She didn’t what?”

“Meet me,” Ramona told him. Because Paul looked at her as if she’d just lapsed into a foreign dialect, she elaborated, “You gave me her name, but you didn’t give her mine.”

She was right. Paul lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug.

“She was in a hurry,” he explained, then glanced at his watch. “And so am I.”

“Then I won’t keep you,” Ramona promised, getting down to business. She subtly stepped into his path so that he couldn’t leave his office without answering her. “I just wanted to know if you have any changes you want me to incorporate into the article.”

His mind still on his sister’s troubled demeanor, he looked at Ramona blankly. “Article?”

“The press release,” she prompted. Seeing the pages on his desk, she pointed to them for emphasis. “That.”

“Oh.” What was it about this woman that seemed to drive any coherent thoughts out of his head? Paul glanced back at his desk, as if seeing the pages there would crystallize his thoughts. “No, no changes. It’s very good just the way it is.”

She knew she should let it go at that. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t vanity that prodded her, just a desire to make sure that everything was clear and aboveboard.

“Then you really did read it?” Her eyes held his. She liked to think that she could tell if a person was lying.

“Every last word,” Paul assured her. And then he added, “You have a very fortuitous way with words, Ramona.” There was genuine admiration in his voice. “I know learned colleagues who sweat bullets just to get out a paragraph. You whipped that whole thing out in what, twenty minutes?”

“Ten,” Ramona corrected. “I spent the other ten praying.”

Whatever he might have expected her to say, that didn’t even come close. Maybe he’d misheard her. “Praying?”

Ramona nodded. He watched her hoop earrings swing in time to the rhythm she’d created. “That you’d come back and tell me that you’ve all agreed to let me stay on.” She put on the most earnest face she could. “I really want this job.”

It seemed odd to him that anyone would get so caught up or passionate about a public-relations position. “Why?”

Mentally, Ramona crossed her fingers. She really did hate lying, even though it did come with the territory. Right now, she needed to be convincing. Ultimately, in order to do what she had to, she wanted Paul Armstrong to think of her as an ally. The sooner she gained the man’s trust, the easier it would be to gain access to other records.

“Because as far as I’m concerned, the work that’s being done here at the institute is of paramount importance.”

Even though he was still in a hurry, her words made him pause. Crossing his arms before him, he took a moment to study his newest staff member. “So this is a crusade for you?”

Ramona’s already dazzling smile grew brighter. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

He wanted to believe her. Things would be a great deal simpler if he just could and let it go at that. Maybe the betrayal of their former employee had put him on his guard, making him more suspicious than he ordinarily was. Or maybe he was just being supersensitive, but for the third time today, he felt he was in the presence of someone who wasn’t being completely up-front with him. Someone who, for whatever reason, was holding something back.

Although, he had to admit that when it came to Ramona Tate, he hadn’t a clue what that “something” might be. He didn’t know the woman well enough for that. It was just a hunch. A feeling.

He was being far too paranoid, he upbraided himself. There was no real reason not to believe that the young woman was being honest with him. After all, he was the one who’d posed the question, who’d prodded her. It was possible that Ramona was every bit as altruistic as she presented herself to be.

Possible, he reasoned, but was it actually probable? He really wasn’t all that sure that the answer to that was yes. However, only time would tell.