Nyc Angels: Heiress’s Baby Scandal

Fat chance of that when she was essentially the guest of honor.

Not her, really. Just Senator Cole Aston’s daughter.

Which technically she was, but if someone had told her she’d been accidentally swapped at birth, she’d have no trouble believing them as she was so different from her socialite mother, power-hungry father and mediadarling sister.

She much preferred being Dr. Eleanor Aston, who was someone she was proud to be most of the time.

She didn’t feel proud at the moment.

She felt awkward and uncomfortable and like she might throw up.

She looked at the reporter, wanted to be like Brooke and deliver a smooth, witty line about how proud she was of her father for making such a wonderful contribution to the hospital and community.

But she wasn’t Brooke and under the best of circumstances she wasn’t witty.

Half-naked and surrounded by people who’d once dubbed her “Jelly Ellie” didn’t come close to being the best of circumstances.

Why had the bane of her childhood reared its ugly head now? For years she’d kept that much-used media label out of her head. She wouldn’t let it back in, wouldn’t let the slurs back into her mind, wouldn’t let them degrade the woman she’d become. So she wasn’t a skinny Minny and never would be. She was average, of healthy weight and her curves were fairly toned thanks to the hours she spent in the gym each week. The press could get over their craze for too thin.

Thankfully, the hospital CEO grabbed her by her elbow and whisked her toward the ribbon that partitioned the new wing from the rest of the hospital. A big bright red ribbon that perfectly matched her dress. Had Brooke planned that? Probably. Her sister had an eye for detail.

“We’re already a little behind schedule.” The CEO didn’t actually say that it was her fault but she felt the weight of his implication all the same. He was getting his slam in on Dr. Eleanor Aston being late, but wasn’t going to say anything specific to Eleanor Aston, daughter of Senator Cole Aston. “So we’ll get the show on the road.”

Fine. The sooner they got this started, the sooner they’d finish, the sooner she could go home and try to figure out how she was ever going to face her coworkers again.

Wondering if everyone could see how her legs were shaking, Eleanor stood next to the CEO while he droned on and on about the hospital and what a blessing it was in the community.

Then he did something horrible. He turned to Eleanor to give a welcome-and-thank-you speech.

Immediately, the full-blown panic attack she’d been fighting most of the day took over. Her heart picked up pace, doubling in tempo. A hot sweat broke out on her skin, making her palms immediately feel sticky wet. Her tongue attached itself to the roof of her mouth and refused to budge.

She took a deep breath, reminded herself that the rapid pounding of her heart was just anxiety and not that her heart was really going to explode from fear of being in the spotlight.

Although the blonde at his side felt it necessary to continue to chat softly to him, Ty’s attention was focused solely on the woman standing next to her bosses. His bosses.

In direct opposition to the low-cut-cleavage and long-leg-revealing dress, her ethereal face looked fragile, pale, out of place.

Ty didn’t have to see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat or the tremor of her knees to know she was nervous.

Nervous? More like petrified.

She appeared as delicate as a butterfly’s wing and just as beautiful with those big brown eyes of hers and that full mouth.

A mouth made for kissing.

She’d always kept to herself so much that he’d taken it as a sign that she wasn’t interested.

Was it possible he’d mistaken shyness for disinterest?

She stirred something within him, but he’d just labeled it as curiosity, considering she was the only female he knew who didn’t fall into flirt mode whenever he was near.

He was definitely curious. Beyond curious.

More like intrigued by the plethora of contradictions that defined his colleague.

The CEO waited for Eleanor to speak.

The rest of the crowd waited for her to give her speech.

A too-long pause settled over the crowd.

“H-hello. It—it is …” A few stuttered words began escaping her quivering lips. “An honor …an honor to be here. Today. This evening, I mean.”

“She sure isn’t her sister,” a man next to Ty with a camera in his hands grumbled under his breath.

Surprisingly, Ty’s fingers curled, the man’s comment rubbing him up the wrong way. Why he felt so protective of a woman he wasn’t certain he even liked, he had no clue. But he found himself wanting to speak up, to defend her. How could you defend someone you didn’t really know?

Still, he shot the man a silencing look. “Not everyone is a polished speaker, but Eleanor is a fantastic doctor and woman.”

The man’s bushy brows drew together then he shrugged. “Whatever, pal.” Then he went back to snapping photos.

Not looking anyone in particular in the eye, Eleanor began speaking again, and Ty found himself letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Th-thanks to everyone for coming to this wonderful occasion where we’re celebrating the opening of a new neonatal wing at the Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital.” She paused, swallowed hard, then smiled what he knew was a forced smile before she continued. “M-many of you know pediatrician Federico Mendez started this hospital during the depression after the death of his much-loved son, Angel, who suffered from polio. My father, Senator Cole Aston, wishes to continue the tradition started by Federico Mendez.”

Her expression tightened and she cleared her throat, pausing too long yet again.

Come on, Eleanor, he mentally willed her on. Just thank everyone for coming again and be done.

“It is with that same generous and caring spirit that my father donated the funds for this new neonatal wing in the hope that—that …” Between stutters, she thanked everyone for coming to the ribbon-cutting. Then, not seeming to know what else to say, she turned imploring eyes on the CEO.

Imploring eyes because she was begging to be rescued.

How was it possible that a woman who’d had to grow up in the public eye could be so socially backward? Surely Cole Aston would have enrolled her in some prep courses to prepare her for public speaking?

And the stuttering? Was that lifelong or something she just did when she was nervous?

Tyler wished he knew. Wished he knew lots of things about the enigma showcased in a flashy red dress.

Rather than rescuing her, the CEO looked as if he had no clue at how on edge she was. Instead, he made another big hoo-ha, then handed Eleanor a large pair of showy scissors.

Immediately, she almost dropped them but managed to recover in the nick of time. One of the men beside her rolled his eyes. Ty saw red and not just the red of Eleanor’s hot dress and cheeks.

His gaze shot back to hers, saw the fear, saw the shaking of her hands, the sheen of perspiration that glistened on her skin. Something moved inside him.

Literally, something in his chest shifted.

Dear heavens, she was going to pass out.

Ty might be known as a womanizing son of a gun, but he was a chivalrous son of a gun. His momma, God bless her big Southern heart, would have beaten his hind end otherwise, and rightly so.

He might have left his horse in Texas but, hell, no one else was stepping in to save the good doctor.

Despite the fact that he was feeling a little off-kilter himself at just what a knockout body she’d been hiding under her scrubs, at whatever that odd sensation in his chest had been when he’d looked at her just a moment ago, at admitting to himself that he’d been interested in her all along, playing the role of white knight to Eleanor’s damsel in distress came as natural as counting one, two, three.

Eleanor couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

Wasn’t even sure how she was hanging on to the scissors that she’d somehow managed to position over the ribbon.

All she had to do was close her hands and the ribbon would slice.

So why weren’t her fingers cooperating? Why weren’t they closing around the handle?

She needed cooperation, needed to get out of there before she toppled over on her face or sagged to a humiliating puddle at the feet of her bosses. Not to mention that her dress would burst wide open if she made any sudden movements. Wouldn’t the press have a field day with that?

Jelly Ellie’s belly exposed yet again.

She winced, fought back the horrible thought of the photo of her happy, pudgy, eight-year-old self hanging out of her bathing suit while hugging her cute and cuddly little sister forever captured by the paparazzi. She reminded herself she wasn’t that little girl anymore who’d been crushed by their cruel jokes and taglines that she carried too much weight. She was an accomplished woman, a doctor. She could do this.

Make the cut. Just squeeze your fingers together and cut the ribbon.

Nothing happened. Except that her palms grew more and more clammy. Any second the scissors were going to slip out of her sweaty hands and fall to the floor.

Headlines around the city would read Senator Cole Aston’s daughter doesn’t make the cut. Folks would nod their heads in agreement, make comments that they’d known she wasn’t good enough to get the job done, that had the lovely Brooke Aston been there all would have been well.

“Dr. Aston?” the CEO prompted from beside her, his low tone warning for her to get on with the program.

She wanted to. Really, she did. But panic had seized her and, except for the trembling within her, she stood frozen in place.

The room began to spin, to darken. She was going down. She’d be mortified. Her father would blame her. Brooke would blame her. The hospital would blame her.

She prayed that when she went down she would bump her head and lose her memory, that she’d lose all recall of the day’s events. Amnesia would be a blessing.

But rather than fall to the floor, a strong pair of hands closed over hers, applying pressure and closing her fingers over the scissors handles. The ribbon split in two and each end drifted toward the floor in a dainty float that Eleanor watched as if in a surreal dream.

The sound of the applause and cheers—and was that a sigh of relief?—came from some faraway surreal place, too.

When she turned her head and looked up into the twinkling brown eyes of her savior, she was definitely somewhere other than reality.

Because Tyler Donaldson winked at her and drawled a breathy, “Hi, there, darlin’.”

As if it was the most natural thing in the world for his hands to be over hers, he motioned his head slightly toward the crowd. “Better paste a smile on that pretty face of yours ‘cause there are a lot of folks capturing the moment for posterity.”

Who was this man and what had he done with the real Dr. Donaldson, who never spoke except in regard to patients?

She gawked at him a second longer, then turned and forced a smile to her face the same way she’d done a hundred times before. She thought of happy times. Thought of medical school and how hard she’d worked, at how proud she’d been to accomplish something her daddy’s money and power couldn’t buy, something she’d had to do on her own. Something that didn’t require glamour, glitz or a hot little body.

Although her smile stayed on her face, her mind didn’t go to her happy place. Oh, no. Her happy place was all tangled up in Tyler’s hand still covering hers, holding hers, of the electricity and warmth burning into her at his touch.

He gave a squeeze as if he wanted to reassure her that she was going to be okay, that he was there and wouldn’t let her fall on her face.

Oddly enough, she believed he wouldn’t.

Which was crazy. He flustered her, barely knew she existed, so how could he possibly be rescuing her from total mortification?

Her knees weakened, and she swayed.

Tyler’s hand immediately went to her waist, steadying her, resting low on her back. “Just smile, babe. You’re doing just fine. It’s almost over.”

Easy for him to say. She had to face the reception afterward, mingle with the bigwigs while representing her father, her family.

But Tyler didn’t leave her side.

He stayed and smiled right there with her. He kept his hand at her back and his strength gave her the fortitude to keep her smile in place even though she really just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

When the photographers finally had their shots and moved on to their next victim, Eleanor let out a long breath and looked at her rescuer.

“Th-thank you.”

One side of his mouth lifted crookedly in a half grin. “No problem, sugar. You looked like you needed a helping hand.”

Speaking of hand, his still rested against the curve of her back, burning through the thin red material and branding her skin.

“I don’t like crowds.” Were those the first words she’d ever actually formed around him without stuttering, grunting or mumbling? Finally, coherency.

“I noticed.”

She smiled despite the nervousness still chipping away at her resolve. “Now, if only this party were over.”

“Over?” He glanced around at the smiling, laughing people and shook his head. “Why would we want the party over when the night is so young?”

“I don’t like crowds, remember?” She crinkled her nose and frowned up at him. Goodness, the man was tall. Probably about six-four. Maybe everything that came from Texas was big.

He grinned down at her, then tweaked her nose with the tip of his finger. “I tell ya what, darlin’, you just relax. Have some fun. I’ll handle the crowd.”

She glanced around at the people making their way into the room that had been decked out for the celebration. “But surely you have someone with you? You always have someone with you.”

“You’re right. I do.” He winked then leaned close to her ear. “Tonight that someone is you, Eleanor. My friends call me Ty, by the way, and you and I are definitely going to be friendly.”

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