Doctor’s Duties by K.C. Crowne

Chapter 4

LOGAN

Everything had to be perfect. I wouldn’t settle for anything less.

“Is another table possible?” I asked the maître d’ of the Copper Room, the ritzy restaurant downtown that I’d chosen for the date.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man, tall and slim and dressed in a well-fitting navy suit, said with a grave tone. “In fact, you were lucky to manage a table at all this evening.”

The Copper Room lived up to its name. The style of the place was industrial, in a trendy sort of way, with copper surfaces for the bar and the pipes along the wall. But other than that, the Copper Room was all class, with white linen tables and silverware so elegant you could make out its quality from across the room.

And it was exclusive. Only a couple dozen or so tables were there, all of them taken up by well-dressed men and women who were clearly among Denver’s elite. Normally, I didn’t go for such ostentatious spending or going to trendy restaurants to “be seen” at them. But I could sense that Abigail was like me, one who hadn’t grown up eating burgers and fries at local pubs and diners.

More than that, I wanted to treat her to a nice night out. Her morning had sounded like a hell of a headache. So, I’d resolved to make her evening relaxing and enjoyable.

But the table I’d managed, crammed in the corner and under some harsh lighting, wouldn’t do.

“How about that table?” I said, nodding toward the patio. The Copper Room was on the twentieth floor of the Bradley Building downtown, which meant we had a wonderful view of the city.

“Reserved, I’m afraid.”

I slipped my wallet out of my back pocket and surreptitiously withdrew a hundred-dollar bill. Without drawing attention to what I was doing, I palmed the bill and placed it in the hand of the maître d’.

“If you could switch the table reservations, maybe by accident, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

A whisper of a smile formed on his lips. “Well, they didn’t request the patio. I suppose something could be done. Come with me.”

“Appreciated.”

I followed him out onto the patio, the spring evening just warm enough to be comfortable. And the view was just as amazing as I’d hoped. The city stretched out into the horizon, the foothills of the Rockies pulling up into the towering peaks in the distance.

Perfect.

“Will this do, Dr. Frost?”

“Definitely. Thanks for your help.”

He nodded, placing the wine list on the table as I slid into my seat. There were a handful of other tables on the balcony but placed far enough apart that their conversations were nothing but low murmurs that blended with the upbeat jazz that wafted from the speakers.

I settled in and gave a look at the wine list. First call was white or red – I had no idea which Abigail would favor. The decision frustrated me. I always preferred having all the information I could when making choices. Knowing it would be a blind stab in the dark when it came to ordering something she’d like didn’t sit well with me one bit.

So, I decided to make a game of it. My gut steered me toward red, and I made a little bet with myself that red is what she’d like. The waiter arrived and I asked him to bring me a bottle of whatever the bartender recommended.

Abigail arrived, and the sight of her looking like she did was more than enough to take my mind off the wine.

She emerged from the door leading out onto the patio dressed in a forest-green dress with thin straps over her slender, lovely shoulders, the dress revealing just a hint of cleavage that appeared to be braless. The dress was tight at her waist and flared out, drawing attention to her lovely curves. Her hair had been styled in a loose updo, wispy tendrils hanging around her impossibly beautiful face. Her makeup was light, only a bit of red on her lips, her mouth curled into a confident, knowing smile.

And speaking of confidence, she exuded it as she sauntered toward me. I was already impressed by the way she carried herself, how she moved through the world like a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go for it.

I was entranced by her beauty. But I collected myself, rising from my seat and stepping over to her, offering my hand.

She glanced down at it, that same knowing smile playing on her lips.

“A handshake?” she asked, amused. “I thought we were a little past that.”

“Good point,” I said. I leaned in and placed a kiss on her lips, the soft, floral scent of her perfume wrapping around me like inviting arms. “Good to see you again, Abigail.”

“And good to see you too, Dr. Frost.”

I chuckled as I pulled the chair out for her.

“I hope by this point you know you don’t need to call me ‘doctor.’”

I pushed the chair in as she sat. “I know. But Dr. Frost – that’s got such a good ring to it. In fact, part of me thinks that’s what you should’ve named the protagonist of your book series.”

“Naming the dashing, ballsy hero after myself? Now, that would certainly be self-indulgent.”

“Hey, if the shoe fits. I did a little research and found out quite a bit about you, actually.”

“Is that right? Don’t tell me that there was a private investigator following me this afternoon while I was making dinner reservations.”

She laughed. “Not quite that extreme. More like, I looked up your book on Amazon and read your bio.” Her eyes flashed, as if she’d remembered something important. “You’re a doctor? And not only that, but you’re also a professor at the med school?”

“That’s right.”

“And is there a reason you didn’t tell me this?”

“Didn’t have time. And besides, that’s what dates are for.”

She placed her hand on her chest, inadvertently drawing attention to her gorgeous breasts. “That’s where I go to school.” The smile on her face made it clear that she was quite excited to share all this. “I’m a med student there.”

It was surprising to hear, and more than a little interesting.

“Is that right?” I asked.

“That’s right.” She followed this up with a confident nod. “But it’s strange that I’ve never seen you around campus.”

“That’s probably because I only teach a few classes. Really, the teaching is more for fun than anything else. Believe it or not, the Jake Roland books bring in more than enough to live off.”

“Well,” she said, sitting back. “That explains that. Would you be bothered if I told you that I did a little more investigating?”

“Not bothered. More intrigued than anything else. I’m not exactly a secretive person.”

“I downloaded the audiobooks. I have to say, you’re a pretty damn good narrator. But seems like most people would go with a professional for something like that.”

That got a bark of a laugh out of me. “Well, it wasn’t a vanity thing, if that’s what you’re getting at. The publisher had me read a few samples and they ended up liking them so much they decided to have me do the whole thing. And I’ve even got a couple of other books down the road I’ll be doing the readings for.”

She shook her head, as if trying to process everything she was hearing.

“A doctor, a writer, a voice-over actor...a pretty impressive resume, have to admit.”

“Got to fill the hours somehow.”

“And modest, too. I haven’t even asked about your volunteer work.”

She didn’t get a chance to. At that moment, the waiter arrived with the bottle of wine. He showed the front of the bottle to both of us, and I nodded, giving him the go-ahead to pour.

“A sample for both of us,” I said.

“Of course.”

He poured a bit for me and a bit for Abigail. We sipped, and I was more than happy with the taste.

“That work for you?” I asked.

“It more than works – it’s delicious.”

The waiter poured us both full glasses and I raised mine once he was gone.

“Well, Abigail, I think this unique situation we find ourselves in deserves a toast.”

“Then I’ve got just the thing to drink to – call me Abby. No one calls me Abigail. Well, except my parents when they’re pissed at me. Which happens more often than you might think.”

I chuckled. “Well then, you call me Logan instead of Dr. Frost, and I’ll call you Abby. I’ll drink to that.”

“To new friends,” she said. But the playful expression on her face suggested she had more than friendship on her mind. And, so did I.

We tapped the rims of our glasses and took our sips.

“So, I had no idea what you liked to drink,” I said. “It was between red and white for the wines, and I made a little bet with myself that you’d be more into the red than the white. Did I make the right call?”

“Well, I’m definitely down for white,” she said. “Name one thing better than a nice glass of pinot grigio when it’s a Saturday afternoon and the weather’s perfect. But for a night like tonight…red is exactly what the evening calls for.”

Her eyes narrowed as she sat forward, the glass of ruby-red wine cradled in her delicate fingers.

“But I have to ask – what were the stakes for this bet of yours?”

“Well, I haven’t won anything yet. But I’m hoping to by the end of the night.” A wave of embarrassment blasted through me as soon as I said the words.

But Abby only laughed.

“Sorry,” I said. “That was maybe ten times cheesier than I like to go for with my flirting.”

“No, it’s OK. It was cute.”

“And just to be clear, I was talking about a kiss. Don’t mistake me for the presumptive sort.”

The smile stayed on her face, letting me know she wasn’t bothered by my cornball line.

Then she boldly leaned forward across the table.

“I’m thinking you’ll definitely get a kiss. But as for more…we’ll have to see about that.”

The mere suggestion of getting into bed with a woman as beautiful as Abby was more than enough to push away my embarrassment and replace it with eager arousal. The wonderful sexual tension lingered in the air until the waiter arrived to take our orders. Abby didn’t wait for me. She confidently told the waiter what she wanted. I did the same, and soon we were back to being alone.

“I have to admit,” I said once the waiter was gone. “I’m a big fan of your boldness.”

She grinned. “You mean you’re not put off by how I’m not some demure little waif who waits for the man to lead the way? I’ve never been like that, even when I was little.”

I was eager to hear about Abby’s younger years, what sort of background she came from. But she didn’t give me a chance to ask.

“So,” she said, commanding the conversation once more. “I listened to the first few chapters of A Myriad of Reasons. It’s good. Kind of a dad, airport-thriller sort of vibe, but I got lost in it right away.”

“Glad you like it. And yeah, that was the sort of audience I had in mind. When I was a kid, my dad loved reading Tom Clancy and James Patterson books. So, I figured I’d write something he might appreciate.”

“Oh, and I saw in the bio you worked with Doctors Without Borders. These wouldn’t happen to be autobiographical books, would they?”

That got a laugh out of me. “Not quite. With A Myriad of Reasons, for example, that story is based on when I spent a few months down in Rio de Janeiro back in my late twenties. I volunteered in a children’s clinic helping kids who came from the favelas, kids who had nothing. And some of them escaped terrible conditions, working for pennies on the dollar, watching as their older brothers fell into lives of petty crime just to make ends meet. I imagined someone coming in and making things right. And that’s how Jake Roland was born. But no, I haven’t run through the jungle machine-gunning human traffickers, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

She covered her ears. “Hey, spoiler alert!”

“Sorry, sorry,” I said with a grin.

“But seriously, that’s pretty amazing. And…” she trailed off, and I could sense she wanted me to pick up the thread she’d left behind.

“And?”

“I have to ask about one Dr. Amy Sharpe.”

I arched my eyebrows in curiosity. “What about her?”

“Is she based on any one woman?”

“Hmm, yes and no. When I was with Doctors Without Borders, I had the pleasure of working with loads of amazing women. And so many of them were brilliant and passionate and driven, totally focused on doing the right thing. So, when it came time to come up with a sidekick for Dr. Roland, I took a little bit from each of the women I knew and created Dr. Amy Sharpe.”

“Knew a lot of women, huh?” she asked. “Dr. Frost – you weren’t a man-whore back in those days, were you?”

The word nearly made me spit out my wine. I quickly swallowed it as not to spray it all over Abby’s lovely dress.

“A man-whore?”

“You know, traveling around the world, working with beautiful and brilliant doctors…one can’t help but wonder if you broke a few hearts here and there. Or maybe even had yours broken?”

“There’s that boldness again,” I said, playfully wagging my finger at her.

She smirked. “Hope it’s not a problem.”

“Not at all. It’s refreshing. And as far as your question goes, I might’ve been a little bit of a playboy back in those days.”

“Now that’s a good euphemism for it. Mind if I ask what the difference is between a playboy and a man-whore?”

“I have a good answer for that,” I said, finding myself already enjoying the conversation. “I’m going to guess that a man-whore is some guy who’s interested in nothing but adding notches to his bedpost. A playboy, on the other hand…I don’t know. Any woman I’ve been with I’ve done so because there was something special about her, something I couldn’t ignore. Come to think of it, I’ve never been with a woman who I didn’t feel some kind of unique connection with.”

“Good answer,” she said.

I laughed. “Glad you approve.”

And speaking of special connections, there was most definitely something about Abby that made me feel like there was one forming between us.

Where the night would lead, I could only guess.

But I most definitely had hope that it would end up in a certain place.