Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad

Technically, there was no official verdict yet. He told her what was happening. “I managed to send Derek to Lisa to apologize.”

Well, that didn’t sound very heartening. “For hiring me?” she asked. This would be the part where she would have gotten up and told him what he could do with his apology. But she wasn’t being herself, she was being a subservient employee. She assumed that was what Paul Armstrong wanted and she was willing to go along with it, as long as it eventually got her access to the archives.

“For hiring you without consulting with the rest of us,” Paul corrected.

That still didn’t give her the answer she was hoping for. “So you’re letting me go?” she guessed. She had trouble envisioning the woman who belonged to that cold voice over the phone giving her a thumbs-up. Even so, there was absolutely no way she was going to go without a fight. “Because if you are, Dr. Armstrong, you’re going to regret it.”

“Are you threatening me, Miss Tate?” he asked quietly.

“No, I’m telling you that you need me,” she responded with feeling. “I’m very good at my job.” Ramona straightened and squared her shoulders.

She made him think of a warrior princess. He had no idea where that had come from, only that it seemed like a very appropriate description.

“I’d like you to read what I’ve been writing before you have security eject me.”

Paul held up his hand to stop her before her mouth launched into double time. The woman was already talking faster than he could listen. He had a feeling that, like Derek, Ramona Tate could talk with the best of them, easily winning battles simply by wearing her opposition down.

“No one’s ejecting you, Miss Tate,” he assured her. “You have a temporary stay of execution.”

The surprise came and went from her face in an instant. Had he blinked, Paul suspected he wouldn’t have seen it at all.

“How temporary?” she wanted to know, banking down her eagerness.

“That remains to be seen,” he told her. It depended on whether she actually got results that would do them any good. For now, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Why don’t we just take this one step at a time, shall we?”

“That’s all I ever wanted, an opportunity to prove myself to you—whichever ‘you’ I happen to be talking to,” she added with an amused smile. Rising, she cocked her head just a tad as she peered at him closely, her eyes swiftly taking inventory and reviewing everything she noted. And then she made her decision. “You’re Dr. Paul,” she declared with just a hint of triumph.

He hid his amusement. “What makes you so certain?” he asked.

Even though he felt that there was a world of difference between his brother and him, Paul knew that as far as looks went, he and Derek were close to interchangeable unless they were standing beside one another. It was only then that someone might notice that Derek was thinner, while he looked as if he availed himself of the gym’s facilities whenever he could, which he did.

When they were younger, both of their parents managed to confuse one with the other, in part, Paul suspected, because neither parent ever really took the time to get to know either of them. Although, if he thought about it, Paul had a feeling that if his parents had taken the time, it would only have been Derek who would have garnered their focused attention.

It wasn’t only the squeaky wheel that got greased, it was the noisy, silver-tongued brother who ultimately got all the attention.

Ramona smiled up at him. The smile penetrated clear down to his bones. “Your eyes.”

He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “What about my eyes?” he pressed. He fully expected her to say something to the effect that they were dull, that Derek was the one whose eyes looked as if they held a host of secrets and the promise of excitement.

But she surprised him. “You’re the one with the kind eyes,” Ramona said. “Your brother’s eyes are … unfathomable.”

Maybe she didn’t have such a happy way with words after all. Paul interpreted her meaning. “So Derek is the man of mystery while I’m the flat, two-dimensional one.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together into a V. She looked surprised at his interpretation of her assessment.

“Not at all,” she protested. “On an absolute level, you’d be the one who people would trust, Dr. Armstrong, not your brother. They’d go to him looking for a good time, not honesty.”

Ramona firmly believed that it was never too early to begin laying groundwork in order to build a viable relationship. That was her goal at the moment to build a connection with Paul. She could accomplish more at a quicker pace if she had one of the Armstrongs in her corner, and Paul, although reserved, struck her as the one who was more real, more open. She had the feeling that Derek had his own, private agenda, one he meant to pursue no matter what. A man like that couldn’t be manipulated.

Besides, Derek Armstrong was far too into himself to be of any use to her.

Paul shook his head ever so slightly. “I already said you had a temporary stay of execution, Miss Tate. There’s no need to try to flatter me.”

Annoyed with herself that she’d come across so transparent, nonetheless Ramona managed to rally quickly. “I wasn’t flattering, I was telling it the way I saw it,” she informed him simply.

She might have given him a simple answer, Paul mused, but he had the impression that this woman was anything but that. As a matter of fact, he would have been willing to say that, despite declarations of honesty and truth, there was something Ramona Tate was keeping back.

The fleeting thought intrigued him.

In case she believed he was fishing for more validation, he changed the subject. “By the way, about your references—”

Ramona was one jump ahead of him. She’d learned that a good defense was to have a good offense. “I have them right here.” Reaching for her oversize purse, she pulled it toward her, then flipped the locks open. “Your brother said he’d be getting around to reviewing them eventually, but I think they should be a matter of record, don’t you?” Taking out a light blue file that contained more than a few letters of praise, she offered the folder to him. “There’s also a copy of my academic transcript and employment history,” she told him.

Taking the folder, Paul opened it and scanned a few of the pages. There were letters from college professors and from news editors, some of whom had the logos of local TV stations stamped on them. One was from the Washington Post. He’d expected one letter, perhaps two. If asked, he would have said that she was too young for more than that.

“And you said that you were just twenty-five?” he asked incredulously.

Maybe Monty had laid it on a little thick, Ramona thought. Monty Durham was the computer geek/wizard she’d befriended in her first year in college. He’d been so grateful to have someone to talk to, he became Sancho Panza to her female Don Quixote. There wasn’t anything that Monty couldn’t make a computer do, including spew out lies and make them look like gospel. There also wasn’t anything that Monty wouldn’t do for her.

“I graduated two years early,” she told Paul by way of an explanation.

Which was true. Eager to start leaving her mark in the world, Ramona had opted for an accelerated course of study. It had allowed her to crunch four years of high school into three and then do the same with college. To make it work, she’d attended school year-round, picking up courses part-time in the summer. In her spare time, she had also worked any job in her field she could get her hands on. That in turn gave her a much-needed solid core for her résumé. Monty had done the rest, embellishing where he could. He was also responsible for half the letters of recommendation in the folder.

She was unusual, Paul decided, he’d give her that. “In my experience, most people like to extend their college experience if they can.”

“Maybe so,” she allowed. “But I wanted to get started with my life,” she countered. “College was great,” she added quickly, not wanting him to think she was bucking for some kind of sainthood, “but college isn’t life. It’s more like the TV version.” Angling the monitor so that it turned in his direction, Ramona realized that she’d come full circle and made the offer again. “Would you like to read what I’ve written so far?”

That would probably be the best way to determine whether or not she could actually do them some good, he thought. Or if having her around was just Derek’s way of having eye candy on hand.

“Actually, I would.”

Smiling, she hit the key combination that caused the wireless printer in the corner to come to life. Within moments, it produced the four pages she’d composed. Ramona crossed to the machine and removed the sheets, then returned and handed them to Paul.

And that was when he realized that he’d gotten caught up in watching her move, and Paul found that for once he couldn’t fault his brother for admiring Ramona’s looks. He had to admit, the sway of her hips was something to behold. It was enough to even make a man believe in Santa Claus.

Chapter Four

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?”