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“Hey, wait a minute. You don’t need to be going to your car alone at this time of night.” Rex picked up his jacket.
She had stopped and was looking back at him. “I’ll be fine. I’m in the main parking lot up front.”
“I’m still going to walk you out.”
She shrugged and walked away. He followed. They said nothing to each other as they went down in the elevator and stepped out into the parking lot. The silence wasn’t so much uncomfortable as it was mutual.
“This is it,” she said when they reached a white compact car. With a click, she unlocked it with her fob. “Why don’t you get in? I’ll take you to your car.”
Rex wavered a moment, fearing that if he managed to get his long body in he might not be able to get it out. “My bike is in the back. I don’t mind walking.”
“You ride a motorcycle?” The unusual high note in her voice irritated him.
“Yes. You mean that wasn’t in your notes?”
Her perplexed demeanor was almost comical. Had she really thought that everything there was to know about him was in black and white in her folder? “Actually, it wasn’t, but it should have been.”
He was tired of being under the microscope. First the malpractice suit and now this. He liked his motorcycle. Liked the freedom. The lack of restriction. The fact that he was snubbing people like the ones in his past social circle made it even more fun. “Is me riding a bike a problem?”
“It could be,” she said, as if pondering the issue, climbing in and closing her car door, leaving him with the unfortunate feeling he had just become the dog in her dog-and-pony show.
CHAPTER TWO (#u0c15fc4a-2c59-5aff-956d-cd206ef4f509)
WHERE IS HE? Tiffani asked herself more than once as she paced in front of the men’s store in downtown Memphis. She had texted Rex the address and the time earlier that morning. He’d sent a terse response.
I’ll be there when I can.
She hadn’t heard another word from him since and his scheduled appointment time with her hairdresser was growing ever closer. Moreover, her father was expecting her later this afternoon. He’d worry if she was late. Rex needed to hurry.
It wouldn’t have surprised her, though, if Rex was keeping her waiting on purpose. Wasn’t that what doctors did? Made people wait? It proved what she thought about them must be true—little worry for how they affected others—and so Rex not being courteous enough to tell her he’d be late shouldn’t have astonished her.
Fuming over her assumption that he’d show up at the time she’d told him, her hopes rose at the roar of a motorcycle. Was that him?
He’d made it clear he didn’t like any of her ideas, but she wasn’t sure he understood the big picture. He kept insisting he wanted nothing to do with the effort to improve the hospital’s reputation. Then he’d flat out balked at her insistence he needed a makeover. Something deep was behind his protests and stubbornness. What had he said about his appearance? He’d said it was part of his identity.
She watched the motorcycle rider pull into a parking spot not far from hers. He wore a plain black T-shirt, worn jeans with a hole in one knee and black ankle-high boots. When he pulled his helmet off, dark hair fell around his broad shoulders. Rex was impressive in a wild sort of way. She almost regretted insisting his hair be cut. Somehow it made him more fascinating. Her opinion, though, didn’t matter. What mattered was his image in the eyes of the residents of this city if her plans were to succeed.
Her gaze met his.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Had she been staring? She went on the defensive. “I expected you here thirty minutes ago. Maybe your patients understand you not showing up on time but I don’t.”
Climbing off his bike, tucking his helmet under his arm, he stepped into her personal space, claiming all the air around her. She could hardly breathe, let alone hear him quietly inform her, “Something came up at the last minute but I’m here now.”
Tiffani took two steps back and inhaled. “You could’ve at least texted me.”
“I didn’t have a chance. Sorry. My patient was having difficulty breathing. I didn’t have time to message you before I started operating, repairing her lung. Afterward I was too busy rushing here to text you.”
She’d firmly been put in her place. Somehow sorry didn’t cover it but she said it anyway.
“Now that I’m here, let’s get this over with.” With a grim look on his face he looked at the storefronts.
“The manager is waiting for us.” She led the way to the specialty men’s shop.
“I still don’t understand why all of this is necessary.” He followed close behind her.
Over her shoulder she replied, “That biker gang look might work just fine in your everyday life but in my world a more professional appearance is called for.”
“What if I want nothing to do with your world?” Stepping ahead of her, he opened the door.
His manners couldn’t be faulted. At least that area needed no work. As she passed him she retorted, “Right now, you have no choice.”
He said softly, “We’ll see about that.”
The middle-aged store manager greeted them and directed them to a row of suits.
“I’d rather not.” Rex shook his head. “If I must dress up, I’d prefer jackets and jeans.”
“You need a suit. I have a TV interview set up for next week.” The opportunity to show Rex as qualified and trustworthy was too good to pass up.
“No suit. It’s non-negotiable.” The firmness in his tone stated he meant every word.
“You don’t make the rules here.”
“I do about what I wear,” he shot back. “I won’t be dressed up and paraded around like a preening bird. Complain to Nelson if you like.”
She took a deep but discreet breath, counting to three before she said in her most soothing tone, “We’ll try it your way, but I get the final say. If I don’t like the look you choose then you may have to try on a suit.”
“Won’t happen.” He turned back to the manager and started pointing at jackets. “I’ll try that one, that one and that one.” Moving to a wall with cubby holes filled with stacked shirts, he pulled out several. “Here,” he said, piling them in her arms. Moving to a rack of pants, he sorted through them until he had chosen a handful. The manager took the pants from Rex, who all but growled, “Where’s the dressing room?”
“This way, sir,” the older man said, appearing perplexed.
“Just call me Rex.”
The man nodded and led the way to the back of the store.
Tiffani followed, feeling a little dazed. Rex had taken over. She needed to regain control but was unsure how to do it.
Rex dropped his helmet on top of the last display table before the dressing stall. Immediately he pulled his shirt over his head.
Tiffani was given a spectacular view of his back muscles shifting under bronzed skin. That expanse of pure masculinity tapered down to a trim waist.
Her step faltered.
Surely it was from the shock of him stripping so freely. Not from the delicious view she’d been given. She should want nothing to do with men, doctors in particular, but she wasn’t immune to a good-looking male. Rex Maxwell had a very fine body to go with his handsome face. If he affected her this acutely, surely other women would also be attracted to him. Smiling to herself, she nodded. Tiffani would use his raw virility to her advantage during the campaign.
“Hand me the shirts and pants first. I’ll try the jackets on last,” he said from behind a wooden door that stopped a couple of feet from the floor. She watched with a skip of a heartbeat as his jeans puddled around his feet.
The manager hurried to give him the pants. Rex opened the door far enough to take them. Seconds later he opened it again and stuck out a hand. “Shirts?”
The manager moved out of Tiffani’s way so she could hand him her armload of shirts. She did her best to keep her eyes off the almost naked man before her. When Rex chuckled softly, she instinctively met his gaze. The twinkle in his smoldering eyes made her discomfort intensify. He was playing with her. But she had endured enough cat-and-mouse games for a lifetime.
She quickly turned but not before her downward glance had registered his navy sport briefs barely concealing his manhood. Trying to hide her sexual attraction, she said in as flat a voice as she could muster, “Let me see you when you’re dressed.”
Minutes later he came out wearing a light blue shirt and navy pants. The manager held up a tan jacket. Rex slipped it on with a grace Tiffani couldn’t ignore. He’d been toying with her earlier. Had known he was embarrassing her. Yet here she was, ogling him again. Whatever was going on with her body had to stop. He was a client and one she was determined not to like or trust. All doctors were self-centered and so far Rex Maxwell hadn’t proved himself any different.
He put his arms out and slowly turned around. “What do you think? Will I do?”
She studied him intently, hoping to find a flaw. There wasn’t one. So she promptly ordered, “Let’s see the others.”
“No. You can choose what you like out of my selection. I’m done here.” He shrugged off the jacket.
She stepped in front of him, ignoring the garment he held out. “You need to try them all on. I want to make sure they create the right image.”
He took the stance of a man in a gunfight, letting the jacket sweep the floor when he lowered his arm. His stare was hard. “They’re all the same size, just different colors. Mix and match ’em. I’ve done all the fashion-show stuff I’m going to do. Period.”
Everything about him warned she shouldn’t push any further. So she looked down at his boots. “Okay. Now for shoes.”
Rex lifted a foot, moving it one way then another. “What? You don’t think these go with everything?”
Relieved his mood had mellowed, she retorted, “I think traditional footwear would be more appropriate. The boots work for your motorcycle but I don’t think they’re the best choice for TV interviews or social situations.”
“Social situations? What social situations am I going to be in?”
She could feel the appalled aura envelop him.
“The hospital is planning a small cocktail party and dinner for the accreditation committee. It’ll be a great opportunity for you to talk to influential members of the community, while impressing the committee. Let them get to know you.” She smiled, hoping to encourage him.
His jaw tensed. “I won’t be attending. That isn’t my thing.”
Time to try coaxing. “Sure you will. You’ll be the face of the hospital by then. The surgeon everyone wants.”
“If that happens it’ll be because I’m a great surgeon, which by the way I am, and not because you dressed me up and paraded me around.” He headed toward the dressing room.
She called to his back, “It’ll be good for you and the hospital.”
Rex turned and confronted her. “I have no interest in being linked to the hospital forever. I’ve agreed to help because Dr. Nelson strongly encouraged it, but with this I draw the line. I don’t do social.”
“Your social appearance might mean getting top marks from the accreditation committee. You know they’re overly conscious of the malpractice case. We’re trying to rebuild some public goodwill as well.” She couldn’t back down on this. It was the cornerstone of her plan.
“Do you really believe changing my wardrobe and showing me off to people who value appearance over substance is going to make that much difference?” There was a snide tone to his words.
She fervently hoped so. This project was her ticket out of town and away from Lou. “I make a living seeing that it does.”
He leaned close and looked her directly in the eyes. “Don’t you think honest people see beyond all your publicity? I know I’m more interested when I get to know the real person, not the one putting on shiny shoes and a smile, trying to be someone they’re not.”
Stepping closer and lowering her voice, she hissed, “You need the shiny shoes and smile so people will want to take the time to get to know you. Do you think black T-shirts, holey jeans and biking boots exude medical professionalism? It’s important the community has confidence in you. Believes they’ll get the quality of care they expect.”
Surprise and then something she wasn’t sure she could name flickered in the depths of his eyes. He said, just as quietly, “Their quality of care hasn’t changed. Mine or the hospital’s. Just because a family wouldn’t accept I couldn’t save their father’s life doesn’t mean my skills are any less competent or professional than they were before the malpractice suit.”
Tiffani flinched. This conversation was treading too close to the personal. She had promised herself that she would see this job through without letting what had happened to her father intrude. The only way to do that was to go on the defensive. “Just what is your issue? After all, you’re getting a new wardrobe at the hospital’s expense and you’re an intelligent man, so you know how important what I’m trying to achieve is. Why all the pushback?”
“Like I can’t afford my own shoes and my own clothes,” he spat. “Clothes I have no interest in wearing.”
“I still don’t understand the problem. It looks to me like you’d want to help.” Why couldn’t he just not fight her on this?
“The problem is, I’m not going to pretend to be somebody else.” He dropped the jacket on a stack of causal shirts and gestured toward the clothes she and the manager still held. “I’m a skilled surgeon, regardless of what I wear. I don’t care who is or isn’t impressed by my appearance.”
She believed him. He was his own man and he was brutally honest. Unlike virtually all the people around her. She had to admire that about him.
After Lou’s lies she appreciated the honesty. She was glad that, with Rex, she was certain she wouldn’t misread his feelings. He would make them clear. In an odd way, it was refreshing.
But his stubborn insistence that his appearance ought not matter to people would be the ruin of her campaign if she couldn’t make him see reality. With his biker appearance came negative connotations, no matter what type of person he really was. With secret desperation she coolly asked, “If you won’t present the image the public has of a gifted, confident, trustworthy surgeon, just how do you expect to convince them you really are gifted, confident or trustworthy?”
He gave her a seething glare. “And you think this dog-and-pony show you have planned will do that?”
Tiffani raised her chin and shrugged with all the indifference she could muster, sensing victory. “It’s done all the time.”
Rex seemed at a loss for words. Abruptly she was aware of the manager’s intense interest in their disagreement. What was going on between her and Rex wasn’t good PR. Taking a cleansing breath, she tried to appease Rex into compromising. “It’s just for a little while. I’ll try to make it as easy as possible.”
“I don’t care how long it is. I won’t pretend to be somebody I’m not. Ever again.”
Again? So there was something in his past driving his illogical refusal to admit she was right. “Then I’ll make an effort not to ask you to. Agreed?”
Juggling her armload of clothes, she extended her hand. He looked at it for a moment then took it. Inexplicably, a shiver went up her spine at his touch. She pulled her hand free.
“Agreed.” His voice was calm and sincere.
She smiled. He was going to try to meet her halfway. Tiffani made her tone appeasing. “Now, I know you don’t want to hear this but it’s time we get to your hair appointment.”
His lips puckered and jaw tightened. Was another fight coming?
To her surprise, he finger-combed his hair back from his face and said, “Okay. But only because I’m due for a trim.” He picked up the jacket and returned to the dressing room.
Relief washed through her. The tightness between her shoulder blades eased. A least he was going to go along with her plans regarding his hair. Trim? She needed him to have more than that. She’d let Estell handle making that happen.
While waiting for Rex, she made arrangements with the manager to pick up the purchases later. As they left the store she announced, “The shop isn’t far from here. Should we walk?”
“Do you think biker boots will be okay for that?” he asked with a smug smile, tucking his helmet under his arm.
She glared. “Yes, but I don’t think they’re suitable for every occasion. The hairdresser is this way.”
* * *
Rex, although familiar with this area of Memphis, had spent little time there. As he examined the small businesses with cute storefronts he noted many of the other people on the street were fashionably dressed and clearly wealthy. It all reminded him too much of his childhood where nothing had mattered but where you shopped and what brand you could afford.
The boutiques lining the street looked just like the ones his mother used to frequent. But then the terrible truth had come out.
