Chapter 2

           There was something really rewarding in being a fill-in office plant girl, Dr. Amber Smithson thought as she watered a tastefully trimmed fern. Mandolin Hospital hadn’t had greenery, or at least none that she remembered. Back then, Amber had thought her work environment was clean and simple. Now she realized it had just been sterile and dead. Which is why she got a special thrill now out of helping corporate America find some green life in a very non-green world.

            This wasn’t her real job. It was just a way to make ends meet and help out the real plant lady–Mary–who was in bed right now suffering from an extremely painful spell caused by rheumatoid arthritis. Mary was a good friend who couldn’t afford to lose her plant job. So Amber filled it, got to play with plants, and best of all, got to remind herself of why she left the high pressure life of high end medicine.

            Right now she was in the lobby of RFE, a robotics firm with high dollar products and mega dollar research. Pressure was in the very air up here, just like it had been at Mandolin. They might not be working on human bodies, but they were gambling with big dollars and big research. No one could afford to fail and Amber could taste the edge of panic that infected the air. Just like it had been at Mandolin.

            But she was well free of that, right? she asked herself. For the last two years, she’d been exploring alternative medicine just like she’d always wanted. No one talked to her about liability, no insurance company told her how to treat a patient, and–sadly–no one paid her bills.

            Yes, she’d survived all on her own, but her patients were more likely to pay her in an apple pie than in dollars. Her bank account was getting tight, and her family would only help out if she gave up all her “nonsense” and came back to traditional medicine–preferably at Mandolin. Up until now, she’d refused. But all too soon, an empty bank account was going to force her to make a difficult compromise.

            But that wasn’t a problem to be faced now. No, right now was for plants, RFE and...yes!...Mr. Roger Martell. The Executive VP of RFE had just walked in the building, and Amber was perfectly perched behind a planter to spy on the gorgeous man.

            He’d caught her eye months ago, when Amber had first subbed in as plant girl. Hell, the man caught every woman’s eye. Tall, dark, stylish, and a power executive in every way, Amber’d been secretly spying on him whenever she worked as plant girl. Just being in the same room with him made the air feel electric, as if every second of his day was filled with important decisions. God, he was everything she missed about her old life–the urgency, the power, and the feeling that she was doing something vitally important. That was Roger’s aura in a nutshell, and naturally, he’d barely stepped into the front lobby when the receptionist started buzzing people.

            “Roger’s back,” the woman said into the phone. “Yes, I’ll let him know.” She didn’t hang up as she handed the man a stack of pink message notes. “Ginny wants to meet with you in a half hour–”

            “Hour and a half, at the earliest.”

            The receptionist didn’t miss a beat as she spoke into the phone. “It’ll be an hour and a half, Ginny. He knows it’s urgent.” She hung up the phone and passed him two large manilla envelopes.

            “Jesus,” he moaned. “I was only gone an hour.”

            “It was a busy hour,” the receptionist returned.

            Amber had to choke back her laugh as she stretched up to reach a planter hanging from the ceiling. Boy did she remember those days! There was a time she couldn’t take a lunch break without returning to messages, mail, and three anxious people pacing in the waiting room. She would have guessed that Mr. Martell thrived on the stress until he set down his pile of mail and took a deep calming breath. A big inhale that expanded his chest and filled out his expensive suit, before a slow exhale. And then, damn, killer smile as he focused on the receptionist.

            “So, Claire, how’s it going with the new boyfriend? Did he like that wine I recommended?”

            The receptionist blinked as if she were stunned by the question, but she recovered fast enough. Then she flashed her own dimples. “Wine, no. Restaurant, yes. He’s taking me there tomorrow night.”

            “Make sure he pays. You’re too beautiful to tolerate anything less than royal treatment.” Then he paused, abruptly frowning. “Wait a minute. I promised you a dinner there, didn’t I? For coming in on Saturday last month to help me with that grant application.”

            The receptionist bit her lip. “I didn’t mind, you know.”

            “Yeah, but Tommy did, didn’t he?”

            The girl shrugged. “Tommy has to learn to make sacrifices for my career.”

            Roger flashed her another quick but devastatingly handsome smile. “That he does. You’re an up and comer, to be sure. But since I promised you a dinner, I mean to pay up.” He pulled out his blackberry and hit a quick number. Twenty seconds later, he was speaking to the maitre de. A minute after that, he snapped the phone shut with a grin. “You’re all set. Best table in the house, complimentary champagne, and dinner is on me. They already have my credit card. I’ve promised a 20% tip.”

            Amber was stunned enough to peer around the fern, her estimation of the man upping by a thousand percent. Corporate promises like “I’ll buy you dinner sometime,” happened all the time. But no one ever paid up. Except for this guy. Not surprisingly, the receptionist was equally surprised.

            “Really, Roger, that’s not necessary.”

            He shrugged, the motion tightening as he caught sight of an engineer barreling down the hallway at him. “Of course it is, Claire. I promised, and you earned it. Just make sure to toast me at least once tonight.”

            “You’re the best, Roger,” the woman breathed. And then they were out of time as the engineer made it to the front desk.

            “Roger!” the man barked as he waved a stack of print outs in the air. “Have you seen these specs? Do you know what this is going to cost?”

            “Calm down,” Roger returned as they began to move together down the hallway. Amber watched him go, appreciating the way his tailored suit accented his lean body.

            “God, I love a man in a good suit,” she breathed, her voice low enough that only the receptionist would hear.

            “Yeah, me too,” responded Claire in an equally quiet tone. “Too bad he’s gay.”

            Amber snapped her head around. “What?” No way was that guy gay. He exuded too much testosterone.

            “Yup, queer as folk.”

            “I don’t believe it.”

            “It’s true.”

            “Why? Just because he dresses nice?”

            “It’s more than that!” Claire returned. She glanced down the hallway where Mr. Martell and the engineer were still talking, still in view, but thankfully out of earshot. “Every woman in this company has made a run at him, me included. We got all types here: brainy, busty, blonde, and brunette. We even got classy and the not-so-classy.”

            “He never took a bite?”

            “Not even a nibble.”

            Amber shook her head. “That just means he knows better than to play where he works.”

            “Yeah, but he’s goes to all these high-end parties, always with gorgeous women.”

            “So?”

            “So one of us always makes a point to find out afterwards. You know, are they dating, what’s going on, and–”

            “And they always say they’re friends.” Amber released a low laugh. “Honey, that doesn’t mean he’s gay. Just selective.” And probably very discreet.

            “Trust me,” returned Claire, her voice confident. “No man is that virtuous. Unless he’s gay.”

            Amber shook her head. “Let me give you a hint,” she said. “That man right there is a player, high-end executive type. Quiet. Discreet. But hot as they come.”

            They both turned together to ogle him some more. He was still in a deep discussion just down the hallway. The engineer was getting emotional, waving his printouts, gesturing wildly, and pointing a figure at a room marked Lab. In contrast, Roger listened seriously, his body taut, but his expression calm. And when the engineer finished speaking, Roger simply shook his head. Not surprisingly, the engineer got more frantic while Roger became more still. In the end, the engineer stormed off in a huff which left Roger time to look up and flash both Amber and Claire a rueful smile before moving down the hall.

            Claire huffed. “Definitely gay.”

            “Discreet, type A, and hetero through and through.” Amber leaned back against the counter and sighed as a wave of memories hit. “Trust me on this. I know his type.”

            Claire gave her an arch look, making sure to scan her shapeless sundress and cheap sandals. “I’m sure you think–”

            “You think I grew up wearing flip-flops and a tank? I spent my youth dating guys just like him. My father was an EVP just like him. And my mother runs the cardiology ward at Mandolin, a high end hospital. I grew up surrounded by the type.”

            “And then?” Claire asked, obviously wondering how she’d gone from the silver spoon life to filling in as the plant girl.

            Amber shrugged. “I burned out on the politics. I couldn’t get anything done except for what they wanted, so I went rogue. Doesn’t mean I don’t remember though. And let me tell you, sex with the alpha dog?” She sighed. “That’s one hot ride!”

            Claire frowned, but then her eyes abruptly widened. “Wait a moment. I know you! Mary told me all about you.”

            Amber winced. “Don’t believe everything Mary says.”

            “No! She told me you’d be filling in. You’re that doctor! You run a free clinic out in that artsy area of Chicago. What’s it called?”

            “Cherry Hills, not that there are any cherries or hills anywhere near. And it’s really not that artsy.” More like converted warehouses. The neighborhood gloried in their studio loft artistes, but the population included more reformed drug addicts and single mothers than wanna be Picassos. Like her, everyone in Cherry Hills was just at the edge of poverty, struggling to keep it together.

            “And you’re Doc Crystal!”

            “My name’s Amber. They just thought it was a crystal and the name stuck...” she began, trying divert the discussion. But it was too late. Claire was off and running.

            “Yeah! Doc Crystal. You’re like this doctor Robin Hood and Mother Theresa all rolled into one. Mary says you’re amazing!”

            “Mary’s on massive pain killers. And I, um, gotta get back to these plants.” Amber turned away. She hated the hero worship that appeared in people’s eyes the minute they heard “free clinic” and “doctor” in the same sentence. That’s why she let people think she’d been corporate rather than high end medicine. In her mind, they were one and the same, but for other people? There was a world of difference.

            As for running a free clinic, her neighbor couldn’t afford a doctor, so had come visiting one night. And then another neighbor and another. Before she knew it, she had regular patients. They didn’t care that she wasn’t affiliated with any hospital or clinic. They needed help she could give, and her services were free.

            Meanwhile, Claire was following her around, her lips pursed in thought and a mercenary look in her eye. “How sure are you that Roger’s straight?”

            Amber blinked. That wasn’t what she expected the woman to ask. But she answered anyway. “One hundred percent straight.”

            “Prove it.”

            “What? How?”

            “Think you could get him to kiss you?”

            Amber frowned. Well, she’d been fantasizing about just that possibility for weeks now. She’d already figured out a way to approach him, but she’d never thought she’d actually implement the plan. Meanwhile, Claire wasn’t to be deterred.

            “I’ll bet you a double thick mochaccino that you can’t.”

            Amber laughed. “I don’t drink coffee.”

            Claire rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Okay, how about this? I’ll get you a half dozen of those big vegan muffins that Mary loves.”

            Oooh, now there was a temptation. Amber had heard about those muffins. And truthfully, she had been thinking about arranging a meeting with Roger Martell for a while now. She thought RFE’s product line was very interesting and knew Jack could be intrigued as well. Yes, Jack, her once best friend and–a very, very long time ago–her lover. They’d kept in touch over the last two years. He’d call and try and tempt her back to Mandolin. She’d never been interested before, but now thanks to near poverty, she was beginning to consider it.

            She could meet with Roger, arrange for the introduction with Jack, and use the conversation to discretely find out how things stood at Mandolin. She didn’t really want to admit it, but two years as a rogue researcher was wearing on her. Maybe if things had changed a lot at the hospital, she’d consider going back.

            And if she managed to wangle a kiss from Roger at the same time, well, a girl could dream. She’d been two years out in the cold in the romantic aspects of life too. She knew just how to attract his attention, although she’d have to dig to the very back of her closet to find the clothes. And God only knew what had happened to her make up. But still, it would be fun to play. Just a little kiss. What would be the harm?

            “Well?” pressed Claire.

            “Deal.”