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MARTI
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IT WAS WEDNESDAY—TWO days since agreeing to her date on Friday night, and she had a deadline fast approaching.
Marti stared at her blank computer screen. It was like she wanted to get fired. The only thing worse than having her fan base fizzle and die was having no column at all, and unless she got typing, she’d have no article to meet her next deadline.
She groaned, knowing she needed to write about her chance run-in with Logan and how he asked her out. It was the perfect lead-in to their date and establishing a relationship. It was exactly what Blue wanted. Yet she hesitated. Why?
She thought of his smug smile, so sure of himself. He was attractive, yet so awful, and he kept turning up. First the pub, and then Mel’s OBGYN, and now she had to face him at a formal event on his arm. He’d probably flaunt her around like arm candy. In fact, it was probably his reasoning for asking her in the first place. Heaven forbid the hotshot doctor go alone. Worse yet, if she were even to entertain using him for her column, she’d have to act like she enjoyed every second of it.
Her stomach rolled at the scene she painted in her head.
Shoot me now.
The man was like a rash she couldn’t shake, and though she should take advantage of him for her column, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Caroline popped her head over Marti’s cubicle and wiggled her blond brows at her. “Writing about the hot doctor.”
Marti groaned. “Mel told you?”
“Pretty big coincidence. If you ask me, I’d say it’s kismet.”
Caroline and her romantic notions of love. Marti’d better watch or next she’d start throwing around words like fate and soulmates—both completely fictional concepts. “I’m starting to regret telling you guys about that.”
“Hey,” Caroline said, rounding the corner fully, “I, for one, think this is a great thing. I mean, you’ve been single for far too long. It’s about time you really put yourself out there.”
“Eeh,” Mel chimed like the buzzer on a game show. “Wrong.”
“What she said.” Marti pointed a finger at the cubicle next to hers where Mel clearly sat eavesdropping.
Caroline rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Whatever. All I know is that after Googling him, you’re crazy if you don’t use him as your subject because he is ridiculously good looking. And—”
“A doctor,” Marti finished for her. “I know. He’s every woman’s cliché dream.”
“And the problem is? You need a man for your column, don’t you?”
Maybe.
Marti puffed a lock of hair out of her face. She knew Caroline was right. Logan was perfect and obviously available, but she’d made it very clear to him how she felt about relationships and dating. There was no way he’d ever think she was actually interested in him, but that didn’t seem to stop him from asking her out.
Could she do it? Pretending to want any guy would be a challenge, but with him...
She imagined flirting with Logan, holding his hand, kissing him, and staring into those dark green orbs. It was enough to make her dry heave. Someone might as well set her on fire. Torture was kinder. The attention would go straight to his head. He’d poke fun at her relentlessly.
“I’ll think about it,” Marti said, mostly to get rid of Caroline because she had zero intentions of actually considering Logan.
“My job is done here,” Caroline said with a triumphant smile.
Mel’s laughter trickled from the cubicle next to hers. With a groan, Marti rested her forehead on the cool surface of her desk, contemplating her life and how it had gone downhill so fast.
Karen popped her head above Marti’s cubicle. “Hey—oh!”
Marti peeked up at her, and Karen’s big brown eyes rounded with worry. “Everything okay, honey?”
“Just peachy.” Marti formed a circle with her thumb and pointer finger, flashing her an okay sign.
At fifty-five, Karen was married with kids and even grandkids of her own. She was the mother hen of the editorial team at PopNewz. Everyone adored her, and Marti was no exception. If Marti lost her job because her column suddenly plunged into the depths of despair, she’d desperately miss Karen’s banana nut muffins, her kind smile, and soothing tone.
Hey, maybe Karen would date her. Then Blue would get off her back, and she’d never have to go hungry again. Problem solved.
“I have something for you. Someone dropped it off,” Karen said. “Maybe it will cheer you up?”
Marti’s ears perked up at her optimism and she straightened, accepting the envelope from her outstretched hand. But when she noted the sloppy scrawl on the front, it was a pinprick to her bubble. It was a man’s handwriting, and suddenly, she was certain she knew who it was from.
She held it out from her like it was filled with anthrax. “Why didn’t he just email me?”
“He said he was in the area.” Karen winked. “I think it’s kind of sweet. Takes more effort to write and hand deliver a letter.”
Marti grunted as she tapped it against her desk. “Karen, how would you feel about marrying me? Would your husband mind sharing?” Now that would make for some interesting headlines. PopNewz’s Queen of Single elopes with older, female coworker.
“Are you kidding? He’d probably be excited at the chance of a two-for-one. But what would people think if Miss Single In the City got hitched? Your column would be dead, and they’d hate me for it.”
“I don’t know about that,” Marti muttered. Little did she know it might already be on death’s door.
“Oh, don’t go acting all modest. You know every guy in the city would be clamoring for your hand if they thought they had a chance.”
Marti leaned back in her chair and picked up the cup of coffee from her desk. They would, wouldn’t they?
Who needed Logan when she could have any man she wanted? Except she wanted no one.
Then a though hit her.
Maybe Logan’s your-not-my-type routine was all a front to save face because he knew he didn’t have a chance with her.
Interesting.
Marti took a sip of her coffee, mulling over the things he said about her last Friday at the pub. He hadn’t exactly held back, had he? So, if she was wrong and he really did abhor women like her, then he had another agenda.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Marti said, shutting the thought down. “But if I don’t get this article in, I’m going to be Miss Unemployed in the City.”
Karen chuckled. “Stop by my desk in a bit, and I’ll have a muffin for you.”
“Will do.”
Karen turned and trotted off, and Marti hollered after her. “Think about that proposal and let me know.”
“I asked her first,” Mel called back.
Marti snorted and picked up the envelope then ripped it open to reveal Dr. Logan Love’s letterhead.
Miss Marti McBride,
I assume this note finds you well. I read an old column of yours yesterday.
Marti smirked. So he was checking up on her? Another thing of interest to note.
It was titled Loving Yourself So No One Else Has To. Riveting read. I could use a little more self-love in my life. Maybe on Friday you can share some more personal pointers with me, since you’re the expert, after all.
Marti rolled her eyes.
Anyway, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re working on your next masterpiece, Men Are the Devil, Who Needs Them. Feel free to use that title. It’s on me.
You’re welcome.
Because I know how much you value your independence, I assumed you would not want me to pick you up for our date. In the effort of compromise, I thought we could meet there. Be at the Grand Ballroom at Gotham Hall at 7:30 p.m. sharp.
I know you’re secretly anticipating our next encounter. (Don’t deny it.)
Sincerely,
Your blackmailer,
Logan Love
Marti pursed her lips. She didn’t know whether to laugh or light the letter on fire.
She thought about penning him a letter back, then pictured his satisfaction at receiving a reply and decided against it. No, her silence was better.
With a huff, she set the envelope aside and turned to her computer, then started to type. After she finished, she bolded the title for her next article, a smile splitting her face in two—Why Arrogant Men Are Really Just Hiding an Inferiority Complex.
#
SHE WORE THE EMERALD green dress. Not because it perfectly matched the green of Dr. Love’s eyes. Instead, she wore it because it offset her auburn hair, turned it to flames down her back, and transformed her skin to peaches and cream. All of which had absolutely nothing to do with wanting him to think she looked good. If anything, she wanted his heart to stop. To show him what he was missing. Maybe he’d have an aneurism and she could go home early. Ah, the possibilities.
Eat your heart out, Love.
And who knew? Maybe she’d meet some debonair man in her midst, one worthy of fulfilling her boyfriend ruse. How sweet would it be to find a man for her new little project right under the cocky doctor’s watchful eye?
The thought made her quake with excitement.
She stepped into the gala on golden stilts. They peeked under the hemline of her dress like diamonds as she walked. The cool air nipped her back, left bare in the backless gown. The ethereal blueish-purple lighting of Gotham Hall illuminated the space, mimicking a brightly lit night sky among the 3,000 square foot stained-glass ceiling.
She caught Logan’s eye, off in the distance, chatting with two men, and so she passed the time with small talk of her own. Making her rounds, she clicked over the marble floor, taking in the limestone Corinthian columns, and decadent tables spilling over with flowers and candles. It would have been romantic if she were the type to be taken in by such things.
Men approached her and she smiled, politely giving them a couple minutes of her time. But her heart wasn’t in it. Instead, her sole focus seemed to be on him.
Logan stood below the massive chandelier hanging from the glittering stained glass. It was stunning, yet he was the focal point, simultaneously acknowledging her, yet ignoring her.
The cocktail hour passed at a sluggish pace, with him flicking his dark gaze to her, making it hard to maintain her focus. From her periphery, she studied him. She watched the way the soft light slanted against his face, casting him half in shadow, somehow illuminating his golden skin, while making others appear sallow. His tux fit him like a glove, and he smiled easily as he spoke. Even from a distance, she could hear the deep rumble of his laugh, vibrating through her like a starting pistol at the beginning of a race.
At the moment, a nameless man stood beside her, trying to get her attention and failing. Why did it she seem like she’d captured the attention of every man in this room except his?
Anger boiled her blood. Being ignored was not something she was used to.
The man shifted in front of her and cleared his throat, once more trying to pull her into a conversation. “I can’t believe you’re not here with someone,” he said.
Sighing, she turned to him. “I am, actually,” she said with a wry smile.
“Really?” The guy’s brow crinkled in disbelief. His golden hair was slicked back, and he had bright blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw. Any other night, she’d think him handsome.
He motioned with his flute of champagne, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. “Well, if you were my date, I wouldn’t leave you out of my sight.” He took a sip of his drink as his gaze lingered on her chest.
Subtle.
Marti shot him a bored look.
“What did you say you did for a living? Do you work for the hospital?” he asked.
“No. I’m a writer.”
“A writer, huh?” He rocked back on his heels. “Cool. What do you write?”
“I’m Marti McBride,” she said and offered him her hand.
He clasped it in his own as recognition lit his eyes, his whole face brightening with the revelation. “Single In the City.”
Marti nodded.
“Well, I’m happy to be the subject of your next article,” he said, in a way Marti guessed was supposed to be suggestive but only made him sound constipated. Then he flashed her a lecherous smile.
“Oh, I think I have plenty of material.” She tugged at her hand, but he held it tight and pulled it closer to his chest, forcing her to step forward.
“Well, then maybe we can fix this single situation.” He winked, and she caught the sour scent of booze on his breath, something stronger than the champagne in his other hand.
Her stomach lurched, but he continued, oblivious of her disgust, “Something tells me you just haven’t gone out with a real man—”
“Ah, there you are.” Logan wrapped his arm around Marti’s waist, pulling her into his side and away from the grabby stranger.
The man’s expression turned annoyed before he glanced at Logan and his scowl melted into nerves. “Dr. Love.”
Logan’s gaze remained cool on the man’s face, his eyes shimmering emeralds under the blue light. Quiet tension flickered in the muscle of his jaw as he acknowledged the man in front of him. “Ben.”
“I, uh . . . I didn’t realize she was your date.”
“Easy mistake.” Logan forced a smile and turned to Marti. “If you’re done socializing, I’d like to have a word.”
It was an admonishment. Anger spiked her blood. “You have some nerve,” she hissed as he pulled her away, hand clasped securely above her elbow.
If she hadn’t wanted to get away from the loser so bad, she would have ignored Logan.
“You could have come over when you arrived.”
“I’m here as your guest. Remember?”
He moved them deeper into the ballroom, his quick stride eating up the room. Only when she planted her feet, did he pause. “If you were intent on ignoring me, may I ask what purpose my presence here serves? It certainly doesn’t seem like you need, nor want a date.”
“You’re upset.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth like this surprised him.
Maybe it surprised her too.
Once the evening was over, she was done with him. Who cared if he ignored her?
“You seemed to be handling yourself quite well, but I apologize,” he said, amusement dancing in his tone. “It was rude of me. I got caught up in talking to benefactors.” He waved a hand and the corners of his eyes creased while one side of his mouth quirked.
Marti sniffed as she lifted her chin. “I accept your apology, even though you don’t look sorry.”
“I may not have come to get you immediately, but don’t think I didn’t notice you walk in.”
“Is that so?”
Logan sneered. “Fishing for compliments?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits.
The scent of his cologne drifted toward her as he stepped closer. Blood pounded in her veins. He leaned down, speaking softly into the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “Every head in the room turned. Every man’s jaw dropped, and every woman stared at you with envy when you walked in. I notice everything. Don’t forget it.”
Marti shivered as he retreated like he hadn’t said anything. “Dance with me?” He reached a hand out to her, palm up. There wasn’t a single soul on the dance floor, and Marti glanced nervously around them.
“Isn’t it a little early for dancing? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”
He shrugged and clasped her hand in his, leaving her little choice but to follow. “Since when do you care what people think?”
“I don’t.”
“Then come on.” He tugged her farther onto the floor. “No one ever dances at these things. They’ll let the champagne circulate a while longer, fill their stomachs with fat-laden appetizers, then some boring guy in a penguin suit will make a speech, and everyone will clamor for his attention before and after dinner, then the evening ends, all in an effort to scratch each other’s backs. They’ll make a donation, all with an angle or hidden agenda.”
“Do you know a lot about hidden agendas?” Marti asked, her tone light.
She caught sight of several people blatantly staring.
“Maybe. It’s hard to attend these things and not. Tax write-offs, political endorsements, partnerships, you name it. Most people here have a reason to show their support, and usually, it has little to do with the cause.”
Logan came to a stop and spun her around to face him, then placed his hand on the small of her back. The heat of his touch seared through her skin like flames.
“And we both know your agenda this evening,” he said.
“And that is?”
“To prevent me from spilling your dirty little secret to the Times that half your material is either made up or embellished.”
Marti grunted a noncommittal sound. “Maybe I just wanted free champagne and canapés.”
“You don’t strike me as a freebie-chaser.”
“No?”
He locked eyes with her. “No,” he said softly.
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Maybe I just wanted the pleasure of your company.”
Logan barked a laugh. “Now that is even more far-fetched.”
“True.” Marti grinned. “I can’t stand you.”
He slid his hand lower on her back. Cue the butterflies.
Clearing her throat, she said, “So we’ve established my reasons for being here. What about you? What’s your agenda?”
He shrugged. “This charity is personal for me. My mother lost her life giving birth to my baby sister because she never received the medical care she needed earlier in her pregnancy.”
“I’m sorry.” Sympathy swelled in her chest. She hadn’t expected such noble intentions.
A soft smile ghosted across Logan’s lips before it was gone again. “It was a long time ago.”
Marti nodded, letting the subject drop, allowing him to lead as the band segued into another slow ballad. The silence stretched between them. Glancing up at him through her lashes, she discovered his eyes laser-focused on her, and she found herself once again, wondering why he asked her to be his date when she was certain he could have had his choice of women on his arm. Ones without commitment issues. Ones who wanted a relationship. Ones he didn’t have to blackmail.
Maybe he was one of those guys that loved the chase? Although it certainly didn’t seem so. But his talk of agendas left her curious. “So why did you ask me here tonight?”
“I needed a date. You were convenient.”
“Wow. You really know how to make a girl swoon.”
“I didn’t think you were the swooning type.”
“I’m not.”
He glanced down at her, his gaze flickering to her lips. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not trying yet, but once I do, you’ll know it.”
The song ended and the band stopped to a round of applause as they began to clear the stage. “Looks like they’re ready to get started,” Logan said, guiding her off the dance floor.
They didn’t get far. They barely got two steps before a woman approached them. She was older than them by at least twenty years, with a sleek silvery bob, and a capped smile.
She approached at lightning speed, a hungry look in her eye. “I thought I’d never get the chance to chat with you, Logan.”
“Sorry. I was a bit preoccupied,” Logan said with a polite smile.
“I saw. And who is this lovely specimen?” The woman eyed Marti with undisguised interest.
“Mrs. Shcwartz, this is Marti McBride.” He turned to Marti. “Mrs. Schwartz is one of Hidden Heartbeat’s biggest donors.”
Marti smiled and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Are you and Logan dating?” Mrs. Schwartz asked.
Marti’s eyes rounded. Next to her, Logan brought his hand up to his mouth, where he stifled a laugh at what Marti imagined was a horrified expression.
“Um, no. We’re just friends,” Marti said.
“Friends?” Mrs. Schwartz quipped like the word had no meaning. She proceeded to stare at her with narrowed eyes. “Wait. I know you.”
Logan shoved his hands in his pockets and answered for her. “You might recognize Marti from her digital column and articles for PopNewz. It’s quite popular. Even the Times has featured profiles on her.”
Mrs. Schwartz blinked. “Of course, Single In the City! Yes, I’ve read it.” She beamed and turned to Logan and nudged him with an elbow. “Smart of you to bring her.”
Marti frowned. The speakers crackled behind them, followed by a voice vibrating throughout the room, calling Logan up to the stage. Marti missed whatever the announcer said, still focused on Mrs. Schwartz’s comment.
“That’s my cue.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Stay put. I’ll be back, McBride.” Then he headed for the podium.
Marti’s brow creased. She watched him stride confidently up the stage, and as he took his place behind the microphone, it was amidst the applause of everyone around them. Marti was the only one in the room who didn’t understand why he’d been asked to speak. This purposeful ignorance annoyed her. Obviously, he hadn’t wanted to explain.
When the hall quieted, Logan leaned into the microphone and introduced himself. “Thank you for the introduction, Pam.” He nodded toward the woman who had announced him, then turned back to the crowd. “You may know me as Dr. Logan Love, but many of you probably don’t know how Hidden Heartbeat got started.”
He flicked his gaze over to Marti, then back to the crowd. “I was eight years old when my mother, Pamela Love, went into labor. At the time, my father was a contract construction worker, leaving us with the barest minimum of medical coverage. It was mostly emergency care, yet my father made too much to qualify for additional assistance. We had huge gaps in our insurance coverage, which meant my mother didn’t receive consistent medical care. The fact is, women on Medicaid have more options than women with deficient insurance. Because of her lack of proper medical care, the doctors missed something they should have caught. She died during childbirth, leaving behind a newborn child, an eight-year-old and a grieving husband. Eight years ago, when I chose to specialize in Obstetrics, it was with her in mind—the selfless woman I called Mom for the short time I knew her.
“Several years ago, when I started my own practice, I knew I needed to do more. Being a good doctor, striving to keep both Mom and Baby healthy wasn’t enough.
“So, I started this foundation. I was a fresh grad, and Hidden Heartbeat was merely a dream, but each of you here has brought that dream to fruition with your generous nature and commitment to the cause. To many, Hidden Heartbeat is an answered prayer. It’s the difference between life and death, a thriving pregnancy, or a troublesome one. Our work is personal to me. It’s important. It’s needed, and though we are small and only touch the borders of New York State, we have helped thousands of moms-to-be bring their children safely into the world. Whether you have donated or campaigned on our behalf, there are no small parts. You have helped bring a life into the world, and for that, I thank you.
“But our work isn’t over. It’s time we went national, which is why I’ve brought you here tonight.” He shifted, pinning her with his gaze.
Marti’s stomach dropped as dawning sank in. It wasn’t hard to read between the lines.
Hidden Heartbeat was his foundation. He organized this gala because he was seeking national funding.
Finally, she had the answer to the question she’d been asking herself since he’d asked her on this date—and she felt like an idiot for not recognizing it sooner.
He asked her—one of New York City’s biggest celebrities and journalists. No coincidence there. No agenda on his part.
Marti scoffed. Yeah, right.
Fire burned in her veins. Her hands fisted by her side. She had zero right to feel any bit of the anger rising up inside of her like the morning sun, lighting her ablaze from the inside out. It’s not like she wanted to be on his arm. Everything about him grated on her nerves. She should feel relieved that his interest wasn’t personal. It was business. Still, she felt duped.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. He was using her the same way she needed to use him. Both of them were racing to a finish line. Only it wasn’t a solo event or a sprint. It was a relay, and they needed each other.