Читать книгу Man of Fortune - Rochelle Alers, Rochelle Alers - Страница 8

Tamara couldn’t believe she’d just told Duncan something she’d never told another living soul—and that included the man whom she’d believed was the love of her life before he’d become the bane of her existence. It didn’t matter what she said to Duncan Gilmore because after they were rescued from the elevator the odds were she would never see him again.

“Spite her how?” Duncan asked.

How, she mused, had she not noticed the low, sensual timbre of the voice of the man pressed against her side? Physically he was perfect, and she felt an unexpected jolt of envy for the woman who claimed him for herself.

“I spent all of my childhood and the beginning of my adult life trying to get the approval of my overly critical mother. I’m the youngest of three girls and my sisters Renata and Tiffany are black Barbie dolls, and there wasn’t a day when my mother didn’t remind me that not only was I taller but I also weighed much more than they did.”

“How much do they weigh?”

“Tiffany claims she’s one-ten, while Renata admits to being one-thirteen.”

“How tall are they?”

“Both are five-eight.”

“Aren’t they anorexic?”

Tamara forced a smile. “I’d say they are. At thirty-six and thirty-eight they wear a size zero and a size two after having several children. But Mother says they’re perfect. They had debutante cotillions, but I was denied one because my mother claimed she didn’t want me looking like I was wearing a white tent.”

Duncan stared at Tamara’s hands, which were balled up in fists. He didn’t know whether she’d been an overweight teen, but she definitely wasn’t now. Her figure was full, rounded and undeniably womanly. Everything about Tamara Wolcott was feminine and as close to perfection as a woman could get.

“Were you overweight?”

“No. I was five-ten and weighed one forty-five. My pediatrician constantly told Mother I wasn’t overweight. But she has her own set of standards that were and are totally unrealistic. The Wolcotts have been educators for more than a century, so when I graduated from college it was expected that I go into teaching. I never told anyone that I wanted to be a doctor, so I took a lot of math and science courses pretending that I planned to teach science or math.

“My oldest sister was getting married and Mother was so focused on making certain Renata would have the wedding of the season that she didn’t have time to monitor my life. I took the GMAT and the MCAT, and got nearly perfect scores. Meanwhile I’d applied to medical schools.”

“Where did you go?”

“New York University. I’d been accepted at SUNY Stony Brook, but decided against it because that’s where my father is head of the sociology department.”

“Did you live on campus?”

Tilting her chin, Tamara stared at Duncan. “Not the first year. Getting up before dawn and commuting from Long Island into Manhattan five days a week left me with little or no time for studying. Once I was approved for campus housing my life changed and I swore never to live at home again.”

Resting his hand over her clasped ones, Duncan gave it a gentle squeeze. “Were you screaming, ‘Free at last?’”

“How did you know?”

“I knew a few people who had parents who refused to cut the umbilical cord.”

Tamara laid her head against his shoulder again as if it was something she’d done countless times. “Did it happen with you, Duncan?”

“No. I think it’s different with guys, because we’re expected to grow up and be men, while daddies think of their daughters as little girls even when they’re grown women.”

He recalled the in-depth conversation he’d had with Kalinda’s father who’d said he expected his daughter to be still a virgin when she married. What the older man hadn’t known was that Duncan wasn’t the first man who’d slept with her, but there was no way he was going to reveal that to his future father-in-law.

“Unfortunately the double standard is still alive and kicking,” Tamara drawled, adding an unladylike snort. “I hope you don’t make distinctions between your children whether they’re girls or boys.”

“If I had children, I doubt that I would consciously treat them differently. What I can say for certain is that if some guy decides he’s going to take advantage of my daughter, he’d better make funeral arrangements, because I’d definitely take him out.”

“But you are making a distinction, Duncan,” she argued softly.

“Do you have any children, Tamara?”

“No.”

“Since we’re both childless, then the topic is moot.”

“Because you say so,” she retorted.

Duncan groaned. “Tamara, Tamara, Tamara. Why are you so argumentative?”

Tamara pulled her hands away. “You think I am?”

“Yes.”

She sobered. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I came off sounding that way.”

It was Duncan’s turn to be repentant. “Perhaps I used the wrong word. I should’ve said you appear defensive.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a therapist.”

“Nope.”

The seconds ticked off. “What are you?” Tamara asked when he seemed reluctant to answer her question.

“I’m a financial planner.”

“Are you a financial planner or an accountant?”

“I’m both.”

“Do you practice accounting?”

Duncan shook his head. “Not in the traditional sense.”

“Why did you get an accounting degree if not to practice or teach?”

“It’s a long story.”

Tamara gave him a winning smile. “Didn’t you say we have nothing but time? And besides, you have a captive audience.”

Duncan returned her smile with a dazzling one of his own, unaware of the effect it had on the woman beside him. “I’ll tell you on one condition.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “What’s that?”

“If you snap at me again, then you’ll have to take me out to dinner. Then I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll take you out.”

“What are you going to say to your wife or girlfriend about taking a strange woman to dinner?”

Duncan angled his head as he met Tamara’s eyes. There was amusement shimmering in the black orbs. “I don’t have a wife or girlfriend, so the issue is also moot.”

Tamara gave him a long, penetrating stare. “I should’ve met you years ago before I was going through what became a very contentious divorce.”

“Are you married now?”

“No. And I’ve never been happier.”

“You didn’t like being married?”

“I loved being married,” she admitted. “It was just how it ended. My ex cleaned out our joint bank accounts, and because I wanted to be rid of the bastard I gave him our Upper Eastside co-op. And if that wasn’t enough he also wanted my dog.”

“Did you give up the pooch?”

Tamara’s eyes filled with tears when she remembered the fluffy white bichon frise that had been her constant companion. Edward Bennett had refused to sign off on the divorce papers until she gave up the apartment and the dog, then he promptly sold the co-op and gave her pet to an ex-wife she knew nothing about.

“Yes. It was either give up Snowflake or go to prison for murder.” Her delicate jaw hardened. “I lost many sleepless nights thinking of the different ways I could take him out.”

Duncan winced. “It was that bad?”

“I was at the lowest point in my life and he knew it. I’d just completed my PGY-3. Third-year residency,” Tamara explained when Duncan gave her a confused stare. “I was just recovering from taking the fourth part of the medical boards and my nerves were shot from working thirty-six hours with little or no sleep. I suspected something was wrong because Edward started complaining that we never got to see one another, and when we did, I paid more attention to Snowflake than I did to him.”

“Didn’t he know that when he married a doctor?”

“He knew exactly what it took for me to become a doctor. He’d been through the same course of study. But it was apparent he’d forgotten.”

Duncan went completely still. “He’s also a doctor?”

Tamara nodded. “We met during my first year in medical school. He was my anatomy professor,” she said after a comfortable silence. “I was twenty, impressionable and very, very gullible. Edward was fifty-six, elegant, erudite, and I didn’t know at the time that I was to become his third wife, or that his daughter was also a medical student at Harvard.”

“How did your parents react to your marrying a man more than twice your age?”

“My father was upset because he and Edward were about the same age, but Mother, being the social climber that she is, was thrilled that her daughter had chosen to marry a doctor.”

“How long were you married?”

“Six years, and in the end I walked away with what I’d brought into the marriage—the clothes on my back. The apartment was his and he’d given me Snowflake as a gift.”

“What about alimony, Tamara? You were at least entitled to that.”

“I thought I was until my lawyer told me that Edward was paying alimony to two ex-wives and college tuition for three children.”

Duncan was momentarily speechless in his surprise. It was no wonder she was angry, abrasive. Tamara had married a stranger, a man who’d managed to conceal his past until it had caught up with him. Was her ex that wily, or was Tamara that naive? It was probably the latter. If she was engrossed in med school, studying for the boards and working around the clock as a resident, then delving into her husband’s past was not a priority for her.

“Do you still see your ex?” he asked.

“Thankfully no. He transferred to a small medical school in Rhode Island.”

“Has he remarried?” Duncan teased.

“I hope not,” Tamara countered. “Being married to Edward taught me one thing—never to put all of my eggs in one basket. When he emptied the bank accounts he took the money my grandparents had given me as a gift for my education. I had to take out a loan to get an apartment because I knew I couldn’t continue to live with Edward, and also to have enough to pay a lawyer to handle the divorce. After I got my license, I worked double and triple shifts to pay off the loans.”

“Your lawyer should’ve forced him to return your money.”

Tamara heard the censure in Duncan’s normally melodic tone. He probably believed she’d given up too easily, that she’d permitted a man to take advantage of her. “There was no money for him to return, Duncan. He’d lost every penny in Atlantic City.”

“If he was that broke, then your attorney should’ve insisted he sell the co-op and return your money.”

“Easy, Duncan,” she teased, “you’re snapping at me again.”

His face was a mask of icy anger. “You were screwed twice. Once by your ex and again by your lawyer.”

“Don’t worry. It’s never going to happen again.”

“Because you say so, Tamara?”

“Yes, because I’ll never trust another man as long as I live.”

“Do you think that’s fair?” Duncan asked.

“What?”

“That you lump all men into the same category.”

“It’s not about what’s fair and not fair,” Tamara countered. “It’s about how men have treated me.”

“It’s how you have let men treat you,” Duncan said in a quiet voice.

“Oh, so you’re blaming me for not knowing that my ex hid the fact that he’d been married before? Or that he’d had children from his previous marriages? It didn’t dawn on me to do a background check on him.”

Tamara inhaled and held her breath before letting it out slowly. The heat inside the elevator car was stifling and she was beginning to perspire—something she detested. She’d gone to a colleague’s apartment in the highrise to shower and change her clothes instead of going to her aprtment in the East Village. If she’d known she was going to be stuck in an elevator, then taking the downtown subway several stops would’ve been preferable, even though she avoided riding the subway whenever possible. Her usual mode of transportation was either a bus or a taxi, the latter only in an emergency.

Despite the build-up of heat in the elevator, Duncan draped an arm over Tamara’s shoulders, pulling her closer. “I’m not beating up on you, Tamara. I just want you to realize that all men aren’t like your ex or the lawyer who swindled you out of your money while not bothering to represent you.”

Tilting her chin, Tamara stared into the large, clear brown eyes with the dark centers. “If I’d known you, would you have advocated for me?”

“If I’d been your financial planner, I would’ve told you to keep your money separate from your husband’s, especially if it was money that you’d accumulated before the marriage.”

She closed her eyes for several seconds. “It was only after I’d completed my undergraduate studies when I told my parents that I’d applied to and been accepted into medical school that they changed their minds about me becoming a doctor. Mother and Daddy put up the money for my first two years of medical school and both sets of grandparents covered the last two. My only consolation was that I wasn’t saddled with having to pay back six-figure student loans.”

“You were luckier than most students. I have clients who make more than adequate salaries but they’re still paying off student loans.”

“Who do you work for?”

“I work for myself,” Duncan said smoothly, with no expression on his face.

Tamara was slightly taken aback. She didn’t know why, but she’d expected him to mention one of the major investment companies. “Do you work from a home office?”

He pointed to her left side. “Scoot over a little and reach into the breast pocket of my jacket. There’s a case with my business cards. Take one.”

Seeing the label stitched on the inside of Duncan’s suit jacket and the monogrammed silver card case told Tamara all she needed to know about the man sitting beside her. Duncan Gilmore treated himself very well. She took out a card, smiling. It was made of vellum with raised black lettering.

“DGG Financial Services, LLP,” she read aloud. “Is your office uptown?”

Duncan smiled. “It’s smack dab in good old Harlem, U.S.A.”

Tamara heard the pride in his voice. “I take it you’re a Harlem native?”

“Born and raised. At least until I was fourteen. Then I moved to Brooklyn.”

“If you work in Harlem, then why don’t you live there?” she asked.

“That’s another story for another time.”

A slight frown creased Tamara’s smooth forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“I snapped at you, Tamara, therefore I owe you dinner.”

She waved a hand. “You don’t have—”

“But I’d like to,” he interrupted.

A warning shiver snaked its way up Tamara’s spine. She shuddered visibly despite the heat. There was something in the way Duncan Gilmore was looking at her that made her feel uncomfortable. “I can’t, Duncan.” she whispered.

“Why can’t you, Tamara?”

“I have to work.”

“Do you work twenty-four/seven?”

“No but—”

Duncan held up a hand, cutting her off. “All I’m asking for is one dinner date.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, finding it hard to understand why a man who looked like Duncan Gilmore would insist she go out with him. She didn’t know what his motive was, but he’d find out soon enough that Tamara Wolcott was nothing like the wide-eyed young woman who’d succumbed to her med school teacher’s influence. Duncan claimed he didn’t have a wife or girlfriend, but he hadn’t said he was into women. Perhaps he was gay, and if that were true then she was in luck. The last thing she needed was a physical relationship with a man, because each time she slept with one it ended badly.

Some women could have an affair and when it ended they were able to move on. But Tamara always found herself getting too emotionally attached and wanting more. And the more was total commitment. In that way she and Edward were alike. He had confessed that he didn’t like sleeping around, and when he did sleep with a woman he usually wanted to marry her. However, what Tamara hadn’t known was that she was the third Mrs. Edward Bennett and probably wouldn’t be the last.

She forced a smile. “All right, Duncan. I’ll go out with you.”

A frown distorted his beautiful male face. “Why do you make it sound as if you’re doing me a favor?”

“Aren’t I?” Tamara drawled.

The seconds ticked off as they stared at each other. A smile replaced Duncan’s scowl. “Yes, you are. And I thank you for accepting.”

“You’re most welcome.” She glanced at the card again. “Which number should I use to call you?”

Duncan held out his hand. “Please give me the card.” Reaching into the pocket of his shirt, he took out a pen and wrote down a number on the back of the card, then returned it to Tamara. “That’s my home number. If I don’t pick up, then leave a number where I can call you back.”

“I…” Her words trailed off with the sudden movement of the elevator. The overhead lights came on as the car descended slowly. Tamara and Duncan shared a smile. “Free at last,” she whispered.

Duncan wasn’t ready to lose Tamara’s company. She looked nothing like the women he was normally attracted to, but something about her was intrinsically feminine despite her overtly tough, in-your-face attitude. She’d been deceived, hurt, was in pain, and it was apparent she had no desire to let go of that pain.

It was also apparent she had no use for men, either, believing all they were out for was to take advantage of her. But Duncan wanted to prove her wrong. There were good men, those who loved their wives and their children, men who’d chosen not to marry, yet who remained faithful and supportive boyfriends.

All she had to do was meet his boyhood friends Ivan Campbell and Kyle Chatham. The three of them had taken an oath when they were young to remain connected always, to stay away from the drugs that plagued Harlem and to one day own one of the stately brownstones along the many tree-lined streets in the historic neighborhood. And to their amazement, their dreams had come true.

Pushing to his feet, he extended his hand and pulled Tamara up with minimal effort. “How long will it take you to get to the hospital?”

She checked her watch. It was six-ten. “Probably about twenty minutes.”

He slipped into his jacket, then leaned over to pick up his case. “May I interest you in sharing a cab?”

“No thank you. I’ll walk.”

Duncan wanted to tell her that she was already late for her shift, but held his tongue. He’d gotten her to agree to have dinner with him, and given her track record with men, he considered himself quite fortunate.

The snail-like movement of the elevator came to a complete stop at the first floor and the doors opened. Several workmen in coveralls were milling in the area, along with the doorman.

“Are you all right, Dr. Wolcott?” the doorman asked, as lines of concern creased his forehead.

Tamara hoisted her tote over her shoulder. “Yes. Thank you for asking.”

Duncan, resting his hand at the small of her back, escorted her across the lobby and out onto the street. Barricades blocked off the street, barring vehicular traffic as emergency personnel from the FDNY, NYPD and Con Ed filled the street and sidewalk.

He walked with Tamara to Twenty-Third Street. Smiling, he stared at her natural beauty in the light of the sun that was sinking lower in the summer sky, casting shadows over the towering buildings that made up the Manhattan skyline.

“This is where I leave you.”

Tamara looked at Duncan—really looked at him for the first time in broad daylight and felt as if something had sucked the air from her lungs. His chiseled face was breathtaking and his eyes mesmerizing. If he was gay, then she felt a profound sadness that he wouldn’t pass on his incredible genes. And although he’d spent more than half an hour in a stuffy elevator he looked as if he were ready to start the day, not end it. He hadn’t bothered to loosen his tie, or undo the French cuffs of his shirt. The only concession he’d made was to take off his custom-tailored jacket to place it on the floor of the elevator, reminding her of a modern-day Sir Walter Raleigh removing his cloak so the queen wouldn’t have to navigate a puddle.

“Thank you for the company, even if it was un-solicited.” A slight lifting of his silky eyebrows was the only reaction to her slight reproach. “And I will call you,” she added, hoping to counter her flippant comment.

Duncan’s impassive expression masked his annoyance. She just wouldn’t let up, and at that moment he chided himself for asking Tamara to go out with him. “Good night, Tamara.” Turning on his heel, he headed west, leaving her staring at his back.

“Good night, Duncan.” She groaned inwardly. Even his walk was unique. There was just a light dip in his stroll to make it sexy. Gay or straight, Duncan Gilmore was fine as hell!

What’s wrong with you girl!

Tamara silently chided herself for her insensitivity. Duncan had been nothing but cordial to her and she’d attacked him as if he’d insulted her. When, she thought, would she ever rid herself of the lingering anger of her failed marriage? She’d been divorced for four years, and now, at the age of thirty-two, she should be more than ready to turn the page and get on with her life.

She walked uptown to Thirty-Fourth and headed east to First Avenue. Tamara found working in the emergency trauma unit of the city’s oldest municipal hospital frenetic yet rewarding. On any given day or night there was a consistent influx of patients. Some were treated and released, while others were taken to a tertiary unit for a higher level of care.

The Bellevue Hospital Center’s efficient state-of-the-art E.R. and level-one trauma center were designed to deliver complete twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week medical care. With close to one hundred thousand emergency-room visits a year, Tamara and her colleagues were prepared for psychiatric emergencies as well as neurological, toxicological, cardiac and neonatal emergencies.

She loved everything about medicine from studying to healing. During her interview before being admitted to med school, she’d been asked why she wanted to become a doctor. Her answer was that she had a passion for learning, an intellectual curiosity about medicine and a strong willingness to help others. It must have been the right response because the interview process ended minutes after it’d begun. She knew her MCAT score and undergraduate grades were high enough to get her into most leading medical schools, but Tamara realized it was her unabashed passion for healing that showed through during the interview.

When she received her acceptance letter it swept away all of the insecurities she’d had growing up. It no longer mattered that she wasn’t as cute and petite as her sisters, or that her mother had referred to her as “my ugly duckling.” None of that mattered because she was going to become a doctor.

Reaching into her tote bag, she turned off her cell phone and took out her stethoscope and ID badge, clipping it to the pocket of the shirt she’d borrowed from another doctor. She’d been too exhausted to ride the bus to her apartment. She’d stopped at a CVS to pick up toothpaste, a toothbrush and deodorant, and then went to a clothing store to buy undergarments and a pair of jeans.

She’d managed to get four hours of sleep before she had to get up and start again. Sleep had become a precious commodity for Tamara, as important as breathing. Whenever she put her head on a pillow her intention was to get at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep. And she’d become quite adept at taking power naps. Ten to twenty minutes was all she needed to reenergize herself.

She walked into the E.R. and down a corridor where hospital personnel stored their personal effects. Tamara placed her tote bag in a locker with a combination lock. She went to a storage closet, selected a pair of scrubs and a white lab coat and then clocked in. Ten minutes later she stood over a gunshot victim handcuffed to the gurney while two uniformed police officers waited for her to remove the bullet lodged in the fleshy part of his thigh. Luckily for her patient, the bullet had missed the femoral artery or he would’ve bled out and died.

She lost track of time as she treated a patient in cardiac arrest, one with a knife wound, a woman who’d jumped from a third-story window to escape an abusive boyfriend, a college student with a suspected case of meningitis and an adolescent boy bitten by a venomous snake he’d hidden in a fish tank in his bedroom closet.

She worked nonstop until midnight, then went into the doctor’s lounge to take a break. She flopped down on a saggy sofa and closed her eyes with the intention of taking a quick nap.

“Tamara, are you asleep?”

She opened her eyes to find Rodney Fox hovering over her. “I was,” Tamara drawled sarcastically. “What’s up, Dr. Fox?”

Rodney was perched on the side of the sofa. “I need a place to crash for a while.”

Tamara rose into a sitting position. She stared at the tall, slender pediatric orthopedist with curly red hair. Most of the staff referred to Dr. Rodney Fox as the brother with the red Afro. His soulful-looking brown eyes reminded her of a bloodhound.

“What’s the matter?”

“Isis and I broke up and I need someplace to live until I find an apartment. Someone told me you have an extra bedroom. I’ll pay whatever you want—just please don’t say no, Tamara.”

She closed her eyes again. Rodney and his operating-room-nurse girlfriend had broken up and gotten back together so many times that their relationship mirrored the antics of a TV sitcom. Tamara couldn’t believe the brilliant young doctor just couldn’t seem to get his love life together.

“Okay,” she said, not opening her eyes. “You can stay as long as you want.” Tamara held up a hand when Rodney leaned forward. “Don’t you dare kiss me.” He pulled back. “What time are you getting off?”

“Six.”

She exhaled. “I’m hoping to get out of here at six. We’ll leave together.”

“Thank you, Tamara. You’re an angel.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Tamara wanted to ask Rodney where her angel had been when she’d needed someplace to live after she’d left her husband. She’d checked into a less-than-desirable hotel until a rental agent had found her the two-bedroom apartment on East Seventh Street between Second and Third avenues. Although she only needed one bedroom, Tamara had decided to take it because living at the hotel was not an option.

The second and smaller of the two bedrooms remained empty for more than two years. It took her that long to save enough money to furnish and decorate the entire apartment. Tamara realized her monthly rent was twice what someone would pay for a mortgage for a house in the suburbs, but she had the luxury of not having to commute into the city.

She ran a hand over her hair. Rodney had disturbed her nap. “I’ll see you later.”

“Love you, Wolcott.”

Tamara rolled her eyes at him. “Forget it, Fox. You’re not my type.”

He smiled. “Who is your type?”

“Not you,” she countered.

She walked out of the lounge, replaying Rodney’s query. Who was her type? The only name that came to mind was a man she’d met six hours ago.

Duncan Gilmore was her type. But was she his?