Paging Dr. Hot (20 page)

I find Cal waiting for me outside Lisa Lulu Boutique. When he sees me, he raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Everything cool?”

“Yeah, everything’s cool,” I lie, struggling to get my professional persona in check.

Cal holds the door open so I can go in before him.

“No, you first. I’ll hold it while you bring your stuff in,” I say.

Seconds later, we’re standing inside the cream-and-gold-decorated boutique, surrounded by the most exquisite, wispy confections of lingerie I’ve ever seen. Fizzy would love this place, so would Chloe.

Good-looking male waiters in black tuxes are serving champagne and butlered hors d’oeuvres. Cal and I are surrounded by tall and toned gorgeous models who strut like Amazonian peacocks decked out in jewel-toned, short silk kimonos with matching high-heeled satin slides.

“This place is owned by Lisa and Lourdes Escobar. Do you know them?” Cal asks me.

“No, should I?”

“They’re Dr. Escobar’s twin sisters. Lulu is Lourdes’s nickname.”

Whaaat?
My stomach feels like a lump of lead. I’m stunned, paralyzed by the news. I want to get out of here now! “How come Antoinette didn’t say a word about this to me?” I ask, when my wits return.

Cal shrugs. “Beats me. Dr. Escobar invited her to the event, but she couldn’t make it. She wanted to do something special for him, so she decided to give his sisters’ boutique some TV coverage.”

“Don’t look now,” I say, bracing myself. “I think that’s Dr. Escobar’s mom and his twin sisters at the back of the store. He is standing right behind them.”

Ugh, La Dragona heads our way, flanked by her stunning daughters, Lisa and Lulu, two long-legged, dark-haired beauties in their late twenties. Looming a foot taller behind them is Alex, decked out in a black Hugo Boss suit with an open-collared, pale lavender shirt. He approaches us, movie star smile flashing and black eyes glittering. Tall, dark and deceptive, he looks like he could be one of the
telenovela
movie stars here tonight.

I school my features to appear calm, even though I feel like decking him. I’m here on assignment, I remind myself. No sense in risking my job over this, especially when Elise is counting on me to help her.

When she sees me
,
La Dragona’s
face puckers up like she sucked a lemon. Her identical twin daughters have equally sour-looking expressions as they size up my outfit in a way that screams, “You’re not wearing designer couture!” But honestly, how could they know? I paid two hundred bucks for this dress from Loehmann’s back room.

I wish I could squeeze my eyes shut and pretend this is a nightmare and I’m going to wake up soon—very soon. But it’s not a sleeping nightmare, it’s a living one. Alex just reached my side.

He leans forward and I get a whiff of Chanel Bleu cologne as he kisses me lingeringly on the cheek. “
Hola, linda,
” he says, squeezing my waist with his big hand.

I hate you, jerk!

Romeo: Rowrrrr…now this is more like it! Francesca took the day off and pampered me with more toys and treats. I usually don’t like the doggy carrier, but today it was liberating (and easier on my short legs) to swing beside her, with my head and limbs as free as a bird. I sure got a lot of attention. It’s a damn shame Coquette wasn’t there to admire me. I looked like a rock star.

Now I’m plopped in front of the TV waiting for Francesca to return. Hurry up, lady, I want to watch Lassie with you and Coquette. My eyes are getting heavy. I think I’ll snooze until she returns.

Chapter Eighteen

“Alex,” I say in an icy tone. I can barely restrain myself from telling him off, so I grab a champagne flute from one of the waiters and toss down the contents. Unfortunately, I end up sputtering and coughing from the bubbles trapped in my esophagus. With a smug smile, Alex firmly pats between my shoulder blades. When his hand lingers too long on my back, I jerk away from his touch as if it singes me. I refuse to meet his gaze—I can’t stomach him or his family.

Once I recover from coughing, I turn to Alex’s mother and greet her.
“Señora Escobar, it looks like you’ve miraculously recuperated from your back pain,” I say in a dry tone.

Wearing a tailored ivory silk pantsuit, La Dragona looks every bit as stylish and snobbish as her daughters. Her glossy black hair is styled in a stacked bob and her makeup looks like she had it done professionally. I can see where Lisa and Lulu get their looks.

With a lift of her imperious chin, La Dragona stiffens and barely gives me a nod. “There’s nothing miraculous about it. Alex is an excellent doctor. He knew what to do,” she says in a patronizing manner. Without blinking once, she fixes me with the evil eye and I wish I had
Santería
skills. “What are you doing here?”

La Dragona isn’t one for pleasantries.

“I’m the social reporter for WBCG. Cal and I are here to cover this event,” I say, nodding toward the cameraman.

Alex’s sisters sidle up to me. “We’re glad you’re here. I’m Lisa and this is my sister, Lourdes. She’s the Lulu half of our boutique,” Lisa says.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking each one’s limp hand. I wonder if Alex has had them tested for anemia—or rudeness.

“When will this be aired?” Lulu looks me up and down as if she doubts that I’ll do a good job.

“Tonight at eleven and briefly tomorrow morning,” I say, treating her to the same insolent once over glance.

“Let’s get started then. No sense in wasting time.” The other twin sister, Lisa, sounds as demanding as La Dragona.

During the interview, the sisters fill me in on what makes their lingerie boutique special (other than Alex’s lavish bankrolling). Alex has managed to appear in most of the frames shot by Cal. Once we’re certain that Cal has shot enough footage of the boutique and that I’ve interviewed the
telenovela
stars and celebrity models, we call it a wrap.

From the other side of the room, Alex gives me an exasperated look. Twice, he has tried to pull me aside to talk, but I’ve told him he has to wait until I’m finished working. Ignoring Alex, I turn to Cal and engage him in technical conversation.

Black eyes blazing and sharp jaw clenched, Alex signals to me from across the room for the third time. I grab a flute of champagne from a nearby table and down the contents. This time I don’t choke.

I know it’s unprofessional and Antoinette will give me hell if she finds out I’ve been drinking on the job, but I need it to fortify myself. I’d rather be far away from the beast, but before I do, I plan to give him a piece of my mind!

I grab another glass and hand it to Cal. “Here, enjoy. You can leave without me when you’re finished. I have a ride home tonight.” I plan on taking a taxi once I’ve had it out with Alex.

“Okay, thanks.” Cal drinks the champagne as if it’s beer, in nice, long swigs. Then he picks up his equipment and is out the door.

Alex is beside me in a heartbeat. He takes my arm and yanks me toward him. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he demands, his black eyes slicing through me like ruthless daggers.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, trying to dislodge my arm from his tight grip.

Aware that people are watching us, Alex reluctantly lets go. “You’ve been rude to me all evening. Explain yourself.”

I massage my offended arm and glare at him. “I was busy working. What I have to say to you has to be said in private,” I hiss in a low tone, making his thick brows shoot up.

“Let’s take this outside.” He tries to take my arm again, but I stalk away and he follows closely behind.

As soon as we are outside, I unleash my fury on Alex. “What kind of man gets a wonderful woman like Elise pregnant and then turns his back on her and his newborn twins? Explain yourself,” I demand, using his same arrogant tone. “You deadbeat dad!”

An elderly couple walking by stares at Alex, aghast. With a shake of their heads and a tsking sound, they walk away muttering, “What has this world come to?”

Alex ignores them and eyes me with deadly calm. “You don’t know the full story.”

“Why don’t you fill me in then? I’m sure you’ll tell the truth and you’re totally in the right,” I say in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

His shrug says,
I don’t give a damn what you think
. “Elise and I were in a no-strings relationship and she conveniently got pregnant.”

He is insufferable. “She didn’t do it on purpose.”

Alex snorts. “Of course she did. Tick tock,” he says, moving his head from shoulder to shoulder, hatefully emulating the hands of a grandfather clock. “She was pushing forty and scared her eggs were running out—or past the expiration date.” He smirks at his odious joke.

I stare at him, wondering how I could have ever thought of him as my Dr. Heart. “How can you say such a callous thing? Jake and Josh are your sons, for God’s sake!”

“They’re not my problem. They are Elise’s responsibility now. She knew I never wanted anything more than a casual relationship with her.”

My eyes tear up at the cruel way he’s talking about Elise.

He gives a condescending snort. “Why are you crying? What’s it to you? Elise is a big girl.”

I furiously blink back the tears. “You are a coldhearted monster. You’re a cardiologist, but you don’t even have a heart!” I cry, astounded that Alex could act so lethally calm while saying horrible things. “Elise doesn’t deserve this, neither do the boys.”

Before he answers, I hear La Dragona say, “Alex, don’t waste your breath on her.” I whirl around to find her standing behind us with her hands planted on her hips.

“Eavesdropping, Señora Escobar?” I face her with an aggressive stance.

“I heard enough.” She turns on me with a venomous sneer. “Don’t think you can trap my son like that
gringa
tried to do.”

I take a step forward and sneer back. “I wouldn’t marry your son for a million dollars.”

“He doesn’t want you. The day Alex marries, it will be to a nice Cuban girl,” she spits out. “He is too good for you. He would never marry a money-grabbing
puta
.”

I know enough Spanish to realize the stupid cow had the nerve to call me a whore
just now! Alex looks unfazed by his mother’s trash talk.

“You are delusional if you think calling me a
puta
will make me back down from telling your son exactly what I think of him. He is a selfish bastard, a narcissistic mama’s boy who is cheap and cowardly. But what else should I expect if someone as classless as you raised him?”

“Go to the devil!” she screeches as her face reddens with fury.

I am about to tell
her
to go to the devil too, when I see another devil—this one cheerful and confident—strolling toward us. None other than Dr. Devon Hamme heads our way, carrying a poster.

Looking wickedly dapper in black pants with an open collared black silk shirt, Devon’s silver eyes pierce mine from a short distance. Call me crazy, but I’m glad to see him. I’ve had enough of La Dragona and her evil spawn.

I lift my gaze to connect eyes with Alex, who looks spitting mad. “I pity the poor Cuban girl who marries you!” I toss at him for good measure.

“Find another host for Bowled Over,” he shouts, his face thunderous. “I quit!” He turns on his heel and stalks away.

La Dragona opens her mouth to spew something ugly, when Devon reaches our side with long-legged strides.

“What is all the bloody commotion, darling?” Devon inquires, dark brows knitted. “Did you just lose your host for your event?”

“Devon, what are you doing here?” Honestly, he turns up at the oddest places. Not that I’m complaining. He’s a welcome distraction tonight.

“I had a book signing earlier.” He lifts the life-sized poster for me to see it and then gestures toward La Dragona. “You haven’t introduced me to this striking woman,” he says, oozing charm. Isn’t it obvious that we’ve been arguing? Why is he acting so nonchalant?

“I am Regina Maria Pilar Montoya de Escobar. And who are
you
?” La Dragona points her chin toward me with nasty innuendo. “Another of her lovers, no doubt.”

Devon gives her a look meant to singe her eyelash extensions.

From the corner of my eye, I see the same elderly couple that passed by earlier hanging around nearby, eavesdropping. Devon nods politely at them before addressing La Dragona in a booming voice.

“Madame, I only dream of being one of Francesca’s lovers. Unfortunately, she doesn’t fancy me. As for you, it’s evident from your bitter countenance that you haven’t had a proper orgasm in a
very
long time,” he says with gleeful certainty. “Allow me to help you with your problem.”

La Dragona gasps out loud. She lifts a haughty hand to slap Devon’s face, but he is too quick as he envelops her bony hand in his.

Shaking it briefly, he gives a little bow. “Dr. Devon Hamme, sex therapist at your service.”

“Let go of my hand,
degenerado!
” she snaps, calling him a degenerate in Spanish.

“Your grip is rather weak,” he observes. “You might want to double up on fish oil.”

Intrigued, the couple exchanges a look. The elderly man scratches his bald head and gestures like he wants to enter Lisa Lulu’s Intimates. His tiny wife nods, but they linger.