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By an act of will so fierce it sent a tremor through her, Kendal dragged her mind back to the conversation, focusing on the good fortune that had suddenly dropped in her lap.
“When do you want me to come?”
“Tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”
Tomorrow. So much for the pity party. She’d be busy getting her act together for a presentation instead. “Great. I’ll see you then.”
They hung up, and Kendal slid back down in the water, feeling far, far worse than she had before the nurse called, if that was possible.
So Stephanie Robinson, no, Stephanie Dudley in her nonprofessional life, was pregnant.
She, Kendal, should be the one who was pregnant by now. That had been the plan. At least that had been her plan. To pay down the town house for about a year, then, as soon as they were married, get pregnant. Then combine their home offices, convert the third bedroom into a nursery and live happily ever after. Her longing for a child overcame her suddenly, an ache in her middle, a physical hunger.
Did she really miss Phillip so much, or was it this fantasy she missed? The idea of a family. They weren’t getting any younger, she’d told Phillip more than once, hoping to inch him toward the altar. They’d have to start on a family as soon as they were married. She’d never dreamed the malleable Phillip wouldn’t go along with her program.
Only in hindsight had she recognized that Phillip had been mostly silent during these one-sided conversations. Ominously silent.
She got out of the tub and pulled the plug. She stared at the draining water for a moment while she thought, Goodbye tears. Kendal Collins is all done crying. Kendal Collins was, by Jove, going to have Dr. Bridges eating out of the palm of her hand within the month. She would make so much money that she could pay for this stupid town house outright if she wanted to.
Almost angrily, she started toweling off. She stopped when she caught her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that covered one wall. She gave herself a determined glare, straightening her shoulders. Yes, indeed, Kendal Collins was going to take her life back, make buckets of money and forget all about marriage and babies…and pain.
But when she started toweling again she thought, Who am I kidding? She couldn’t forget about marriage and babies. Because that was what she really wanted. Underneath the manicures and cars and clothes, that was all she really wanted.
But now, instead of marriage and babies, she found herself on her thirty-first birthday, all alone and struggling to survive in a very competitive business.
She closed her eyes, wondering again why Phillip had left her. Oh, sure, their love life hadn’t been the hottest in history. But she had thought that was the way Phillip preferred it. He’d always been reserved…almost to the point of being passive. She had always feared that unleashing her own fierce passions might scare the pusillanimous Phillip off.
So ironic. He had left anyway, despite her efforts to mold herself to suit him. Was there something wrong with her? She opened her eyes and gave her reflection a critical once-over. She was cute. Everybody said so. She was healthy and…shapely. Was she perhaps a little too shapely? Phillip had hinted as much so many times that Kendal had struggled to lose weight, trying to keep him happy. But Phillip had dumped her for the anorectic bimbo anyway.
She turned sideways and lifted her chin. Okay, so she was endowed with some pretty serious curves, but she also had a healthy mane of coal-black hair, riveting green eyes and skin like a China doll. She unhooked the clip that held her hair high and let the heavy waves tumble down. They felt cool against her bath-warmed back. She looked, she decided, like a Madonna, like a woman born to be a lover…a mother.
To hell with Phillip. She liked herself the way she was, and even if she never found a man, never had babies…
She clutched the towel to her front and closed her eyes. Never? She had turned thirty-one on this very night. Never was looking like a real possibility.
“Please, God,” she whispered to a deity she seldom thought about, much less prayed to. A deity so remote, so powerful and elusive, that she refused to even assign “it” a gender.
“Please,” she prayed, “send me a husband.” And as long as she was asking she decided to add, “And a child, too. That’s all I really want. A family. I don’t even care how you do it.”
CHAPTER THREE
KENDAL EXITED the elevator at the tenth floor, pulling her rolling travel cart behind her, reflecting that sometimes a pharmaceutical sales rep resembled nothing more than a glorified bag lady. Hauling your business around in the back seat of your car, up and down elevators in a silly rolling cart. So much paraphernalia—the cell phone, the pager, the laptop, the PalmPilot, the boxes of samples, the promo items, the paperwork. Kendal’s constant challenge, and one of her chief strengths, was keeping it all organized. From her home office to her company car to the wheelie nipping at her heels, Kendal’s life was a study in constant and careful order. Control, unrelenting control, was the key.
She opened the door of Dr. Jason Bridges’s office and hoped Daylight Deli hadn’t delivered the quiche, pastries and fruit trays yet. The waiting room was empty—a good sign. She wondered what kind of pull Stephanie Robinson had that she could conveniently get a breakfast scheduled on the one morning in a million when Dr. Bridges wasn’t in surgery. A youngish receptionist sat in her chair behind a glassed-in cubicle. Kendal didn’t see Kathy Martinez.
The lobby window rolled open and the young receptionist said, “May I help you?”
“I’m Kendal Collins, I’ve brought breakfast for your office, courtesy of Merrill Jackson.” Kendal gave her an engaging smile and handed the woman one of her business cards.
“Oh. Of course. Kathy!”
A familiar brown face appeared around the window of the reception area. “Kendal?”
“Hi, Kathy! Thanks for calling me last night.”
“No problem. Thanks for coming on short notice.” Kathy Martinez’s black eyes fixed on Kendal. “Now, didn’t you tell me that you’re—” she paused one millisecond before saying the next words as if they had some special significance “—fluent in Spanish?”
“Sí. Cómo le va?”
“Muy bien, gracias.” Kathy chuckled. “Ha estado alguna vez en Chiapas?”
Had she ever been to Chiapas? Kendal’s conversational Spanish was excellent, so she hadn’t misunderstood, but she didn’t get the point of the woman’s question. Still, she kept her cordial smile in place. “No, but I’ve been near there—to the Yucatan Peninsula.”
In her business, any connection she forged might help with future sales. It was all about building the relationship. If she was lucky, she and Kathy might move on to the subject of Paroveen sometime before noon.
“Listen. I need to talk to you about that.” Kathy Martinez clutched Kendal’s arm.
“Okay.” Kendal couldn’t imagine why this nurse, who barely knew her, was acting so excited. Did they need an interpreter for a patient? “But I’m expecting the food trays any moment, and I’d like to get my brochures and samples set out first.”
“Of course. Let me show you to the break room.” Kathy’s smile seemed unnaturally bright.
Kathy led Kendal through a warren of offices and exam rooms, then opened a door to a sparsely decorated room with green Formica counters on three walls and a large round faux-wood table in the center.
Kendal parked her rolling case against a wall plastered with unappetizing anatomical charts and went to work with her usual efficiency.
First, she pulled all the chairs away from the table and lined them up against the wall. She didn’t want people to sit down without looking at her materials. It was better if they moved around.
Then she unzipped the suitcase and whipped out a portable easel. Faster than a magician, she assembled it and set it next to the table. She then pulled out a giant tri-fold poster featuring Paroveen and propped it open on the easel. Lastly, she covered the ugly table with a paper tablecloth—royal purple, Merrill Jackson’s signature color. She’d found a stack of the cloths on sale at a paper goods store and bought the lot. Just the kind of subliminal touch that helped people remember the occasion and your product—and you.
She applied this kind of forethought to her personal appearance as well, lacing her business wardrobe with subtle touches of purple.
She felt a teeny bit puffy today after indulging in the wine and cookies last night, so she’d chosen a crisp black suit with a pencil-slim calf-length skirt and a crisp lavender microfiber blouse. Her only jewelry, save her perennial one-carat diamond earrings and a Merrill Jackson name tag, was a sterling silver lapel pin shaped in the Merrill Jackson logo. She’d been awarded that one for high sales.
The skirt felt a tad snug as she squatted to unzip a low pocket where her brochures and business cards were stashed.
The door to the small room opened and a really good-looking guy in a white T-shirt, leather jacket and snug jeans balanced a trio of long rectangular boxes as he entered the room, tilting his broad shoulders sideways.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” Kendal barely gave him a glance and turned back to her task. “Would you mind taking the food out of the cartons and putting the trays out on that purple tablecloth? I’m running a little late here.”
Kendal was very good at making the most of her time by delegating tasks and soliciting help from others.
“Bossy workaholic,” her sister Kara had called her one time when Kendal had pressed her into stuffing envelopes while they visited.
“Ah. So you want me to quit working so much?” Kendal, already hard at the task, had asked her sister sweetly.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to slow down, you know.”
This, Kendal thought, from the woman whose leisurely days included naps with her toddler while her hardworking husband pulled down six figures.
“Then I guess old Matt wouldn’t mind paying my bills, too.” Kendal knew that was unkind, implying that her sister was some sort of deadbeat, a burden on her poor husband.
But Kara had merely rolled her eyes indulgently at her older sister. “For your information, Matt and I are a team. Matt enjoys taking care of his family. Unlike that weakling you’re hooked up with. The way Phillip insists on divvying up every last cent the two of you spend…that’s not commitment, Kendal honey. And it’s not true love. Don’t kid yourself.”
Kara’s honesty had seemed harsh at the time. But as it turned out, Kendal’s younger sister had been absolutely right about dear old Phillip.
Sensing no movement from the direction of the door, Kendal glanced over her shoulder again. The man with the boxes was still standing there, giving her rearview a once-over.
“You are definitely not Stephanie Robinson,” he said and smiled.
Kendal frowned at him. What an odd thing to say. And because Stephanie was ultra slim, and Kendal was not, and because he was looking at her backside, his implication pricked her pride a teensy bit. All of a sudden she really didn’t care for the way he was looking her up and down. Sort of brash for a delivery boy. She stood and straightened her skirt.
“Stephanie’s not coming,” she explained in a tone that was intentionally frosty. “I’m Kendal Collins, from Merrill Jackson. The McMayer presentation has been canceled.”
“I know.”
“Oh.” She had placed a last-minute call this morning to the same caterer that Stephanie used, figuring they’d be glad to switch the order. Daylight Deli was reasonably priced and located right here in the vast Integris medical complex. They were good, even if their delivery boy was a little rough-looking.
“Then would you mind?” She flipped a hand toward the table. “I’d like to hurry and get set up.” Kendal walked over and quickly fanned her promotional materials on the countertop next to the coffeepot. “The staff will be coming in here at seven.”
“Only if I say so.”
An electric rush zapped through Kendal’s middle. Oh, no. Her eyes fixed on the counter for one split second, then squeezed shut the next as realization turned to horror. People said the elusive Dr. Bridges dressed like a motorcycle punk.
Kendal whirled around, struggling to recover her poise. “Pardon me?” She smiled as if totally confused.
“I’m Doctor Bridges.” He sauntered up to the counter where she stood, and slid the cartons onto the remaining space next to the coffeepot. Then he stuck out his hand.
She took it, hoping hers wasn’t too sweaty with shock. She’d been trying for months to meet the man, and here he was, big as life. Truly big. Even his hands were large. And very warm. She shook his hand while her mind did an instant replay. Had she said anything rude while she’d been assuming he was just an ogling delivery boy? “I-I’m Kendal Collins,” she stammered while he held onto her hand and her heart started to pound. “I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.”
“No, I don’t think we have. But I’ve heard of you.” He hadn’t released her hand. A fact that screamed through Kendal like a fire alarm. Besides being warm, his hand felt smooth. A by-product of being a surgeon, she supposed. And talk about strong. His clasp was electric with purpose, intelligence, life.
The twinkle in his eye acknowledged that the charge passing between them as he pressed her fingers in his strong, warm ones, was very real. She’d never met a man whose very touch sent an electric current all the way to her toes.
“You have?” He’s heard of me? she wondered. How? She hoped it was in connection to Paroveen.
He nodded, smiling, but didn’t elaborate, which was unnerving, considering that his eyes were raking over her frame like a tiger sizing up lunch.
He stepped closer. He was much taller than Kendal, and she had to tilt her head back as she looked up into his face. “Well…huh—”
His flashing blue eyes, so sparkling and intelligent that they actually made her breath catch in her throat, were scrutinizing her face now with the same avid attention he’d given her figure seconds before. He finally let go of her hand, grinning while he studied her from hairline to chest. He definitely reminded her of a tiger circling a shivering fawn, and he seemed all too aware of his effect on her.
Kendal waved her emancipated hand in the air nervously. “I hope you don’t mind, but when I found out that Stephanie had canceled her breakfast, I offered to bring some food in for the staff instead. So they wouldn’t be disappointed,” she trailed off, “and all.”
“How very considerate!” he spoke with the barest hint of sarcasm.
They both knew why she was here. Kendal imagined his thriving practice was overrun with eager drug reps like herself.
“So. What did you bring us?” He raised the lid off one of the boxes. Kendal could see the tray of expensive pastries, covered with cling wrap. “Not too shabby,” he said as he reached to lift the wrap. “Got enough here for a hungry doc?”
“Afraid not.” Kendal gave his hand a light slap.
He laughed. Then he quirked a smug grin at her, digging around under the cling wrap anyway, and she gave him a wry little smile in return.
“I’d be all too delighted if you’d eat with us,” she said, “since you’re the real reason I’m here.”
“You’re interested in little old me?” He took a bite of a roll.
She smiled at his flirting. “No. Only in your business. Allow me to introduce my latest miracle drug.” She swept an arm toward the easel.
He chewed as he squinted at the giant poster promoting Paroveen. “Always the latest miracle drug,” he muttered.
“But mine really is miraculous. I’m only asking you to give it a try.” She handed him a brochure, then reached around him and slid the box of pastries off the counter. “I’d better get these set out before the staff gets in here.” She often found it prudent to give the docs a moment to read her materials uninterrupted.
But to her disappointment, he didn’t even look at the brochure. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and watched her. “I’d rather hear what you have to say about it.”
She was aware of his eyes following her as she quickly arranged the food on the table. “Okay. I’d love to.”
She spouted a few startling scientific statistics about Paroveen while she pulled out paper plates, forks and napkins stamped with the Merrill Jackson logo from her rolling cart.
When she was finished her spiel, he stuffed the brochure in the pocket of his leather jacket, sauntered over and proceeded to pile food onto a plate. “I’m afraid I’ve got to get back down to surgery, so—” he popped in a grape, then reached for cubed ham “—maybe we can get together some other time to finish discussing your wonder drug.”
Kendal wasn’t sure, but her instincts warned that The Wolf was interested in more than the drug. Maybe it was the way his teeth flashed in that cocky smile right before he bit into a cube of ham.
But she couldn’t pass up the chance to push her product. “Anytime.” She’d worry about his motives after she got his business. For now, she knew she’d only have his ear for as long as it took for him to gobble down that last piece of ham. She had to talk and talk fast.
“You understand that I don’t like switching drugs,” he said.
“I understand, but our studies indicate that every doctor that upgrades to Paroveen gets an eighty percent reduction in edema in half the time. Plus our physician education and support services are outstanding,” she finished in a rush.
“Samples?”
“All you want,” Kendal bargained.
“You’ll personally provide technical support?” He wiped his hands on his napkin and gave her that eager smile again, as if she might make a nice little dessert right now.
“Absolutely. I’ll be available to you twenty-four, seven.” Shoot! Why’d she say it like that?
He smirked. “Day and night? My, my. You are the dedicated one.”
Kendal was about to say something to show that she was totally professional, something that might put this handsome dog in his place, when the door swung open.
“Hello!” As if the smell of food had summoned them, Kathy Martinez and two other nurses, a tall one wearing surgical scrubs and a paper cap and a smaller girl, came waltzing up to the table.
“Hi, doc!” The nurse in scrubs winked at Jason Bridges. “Didn’t expect to see you up here, what with no patients out front.”
“I’m headed down to surgery in a sec.”
