Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

Rhonda

Rhonda dropped her suitcase on the floor and let out a low whistle. This place was swankier than she’d expected. Over the years, she'd stayed in a lot of bougie hotels, but this one was definitely in the top five. Maybe even top three. In Edmonton of all places.

She slipped off her shoes and sank her toes into the plush carpet. It was like walking on a cloud. The lobby had been an elegant mix of dark wood and marble, and the room followed suit with its understated luxury. No tacky floral bedspreads or peeling wallpaper here. Even the air smelled better, like fresh flowers instead of the usual faint whiff of industrial cleaner.

The bed linens looked like they defied the laws of matter and were both crisp and soft. She had to resist the urge to strip down, flop onto the mattress, and take a quick cat nap. She had work to do. A whole routine to go through before her presentation that night.

She pulled her toiletries from her suitcase and set them on the sink, then extracted her garment bag and hung it in the closet. The presentation was at six, so she had plenty of time to prepare.

She'd already picked out her outfit, a tailored dress with clean lines. It was professional but had just enough of a dip in the neckline to keep every doctor in the room on their toes. Not that she needed help with that. Being a mixed-race woman in a room full of mostly old white men was usually enough of a hook.

Rhonda leaned against the counter and stared at herself in the mirror. She ran a hand through her curls, then pulled them back into a low bun. It was a fine line to walk. She couldn't be too pretty, or they thought she was a bimbo. But be unpolished? They’d settle into the stereotypes they already held about women who looked like her. It was a delicate balance, and one she was getting damn good at navigating.

Rhonda opened her makeup bag and started her application. She’d learned to go for a natural look that highlighted her features without being too flashy. A bit of blush to accentuate her cheekbones, a swipe of mascara to make her eyes pop. Red lips were too much, but soft, nearly translucent pink worked well. It reminded them of their mothers.

The dinner tonight was with a small group of influential doctors in the area. They served on all the boards, and she'd done her research. Dr. Harris was a cardiologist at the University of Alberta Hospital. He'd published several papers on the benefits of a Mediterranean diet. Ordering a Greek salad as an appetizer wasn’t beneath her.

Then there was Dr. Singh, a prominent oncologist who'd been instrumental in starting a new cancer treatment program in Edmonton. She'd read about his work in the Journal of Clinical Oncology and was genuinely impressed.

Rhonda finished with a setting spray and stepped back to admire her work. Perfect. She packed up her makeup, then grabbed her dress and unzipped the garment bag.

She put on her shapewear, then slid into her dress and smoothed it over her hips. It fit like a glove, hugging her curves in all the right places. She paired it with a statement necklace and her favourite heels, then gave herself one last once-over in the mirror.

She closed her suitcase on the luggage stand and tidied her toiletries in the washroom. Leaving her room immaculate was a habit she'd picked up over the years. You never knew when you might want to bring someone back.

Rhonda scanned the room and grimaced. Lately, the idea of bringing someone back felt more like a chore than a possibility. Alarming, to say the least. Maybe she was just tired. Or maybe, like one doctor in Red Deer had said flippantly a few months ago, she was entering perimenopause early.

That had stuck with her. She’d read enough testimonials on Reddit to give her permanent insomnia. Were these the best years of her life? Was her sex drive going to plummet? Worse, would she have to think about chin hairs and labial chafing?

For the love.

Rhonda clutched her purse and strode out of the room, then walked down the hall to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened, and she stepped inside, her heels clicking on the polished tile floor.

She still had drive. The problem was that it seemed to be directed at one person and one person only at the moment. That moment with Jordan in the hallway . . . she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that kind of animalistic desire.

Rhonda's chest grew tight at the thought. She hadn't heard from him since he'd joked about getting himself pregnant. He was probably laughing with the entire rest of his team right then. Showing them what an idiot she was for talking about him to her friends, or crowing about how he’d lured her back to his apartment with hopes of getting an audience with Dr. Mallory.

He was just another guy on the roster.

Even if her roster had only one name on it for the past two months, that could change at any time. It could change tonight if she wanted it to.

The elevator doors opened, and Rhonda stepped out into the lobby. She walked past the front desk, her eyes scanning the room for any familiar faces. She didn't see any of the doctors or reps she'd been meeting with, so she made her way to the restaurant.

The place was packed, but they had a private room reserved in the back. Rhonda walked past the hostess stand and headed straight for it. She was the first one there, as planned. She liked to be early so she could get a feel for the room.

She slid into one of the leather chairs past the double doors and set her purse on the seat next to her. Their server appeared a moment later, and mmm. He was adorable. Younger than her, but that had never been a problem.

"Good evening, ma'am. Can I get you started with something to drink?" His voice was smooth, like honey drizzled over warm toast.

Rhonda smiled, twisting her earring. "I'll take a glass of your finest tap water, please. Lemon, no ice."

The server smirked. "Coming right up." He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a glass, more like a goblet, of water and set it in front of her.

"Thank you." Rhonda took a sip, then set the glass back down. His eyes flicked to her neckline. Mission accomplished.

He cleared his throat. "Are you waiting for someone, or should I bring you a menu?"

Rhonda kept her face straight. "I like to reserve the largest room. For one. It’s my personal protest against the idea that perceived feminine value increases with her ability to procure relationships.”

His lips twitched. “Where’s the petition?” He glanced down at the seat next to her. “I want to sign.” Rhonda couldn’t keep the edges of her lips from turning up. He held up a finger, then walked to the stand closest to them and brought back a menu. He handed it to her. "I would recommend the filet. Medium rare. Since you’re out for blood."

Rhonda’s smile widened. "I don’t think they’re paying you enough."

“I usually make up for it. In tips.”

Hot damn. He was charming as hell. Rhonda’s heart started to race, and for a moment she thought she might be cured. But then her hands grew clammy. This wasn’t attraction. This was blind panic. Because even when all the right pieces were combined in front of her, she felt nothing.

He took a step back and paused. "I’m at your service until eight."

“Hmm. What happens at eight?” Flirting was so second nature, she couldn’t not do it, even when she felt dead inside.

“I clock out. Then I usually sit at that seat at the bar.” His lips quirked.

“You’re a man of routine.”

He grinned and his hair fell over his forehead. “Sometimes. But I’m always willing to be spontaneous.” He tapped her table, then turned and walked away.

She could do it. She could work her way through dinner, then end up on the stool next to him after eight. It would be the most natural thing in the world. They’d flirt, she’d order a drink, he’d probably pay, or the bartender would pull him a solid, and then she’d tell him what room she was staying in.

The thought made her mouth go dry, and she took another sip of water. That was exactly what she needed, wasn't it? To let loose. Forget about whatever had happened with Jordan.

Rhonda didn’t have much time to consider. The doctors filed in, and she stood, shaking hands and making introductions. She’d met two of them previously, and the others were colleagues they’d brought along.

The dinner went exactly to plan, besides a brief diversion when they found out she was allergic to peanuts and fenugreek as they were ordering. She gave the high-level story of how she’d discovered that, but it did allow her to expound on something high brow, nuanced, and intelligent within the first five minutes. From there, they discussed politics and hospital administration, then ended with Reviact and the impact it was having on patients around the country.

Even though she didn’t order the filet mignon, the server was extremely attentive. Always filling her water first, his eyes meeting hers from under his dark lashes. It was a welcome addition to her toolbelt. When other men picked up on a man’s pointed interest, they were immediately more tuned in to what that woman had to say.

Again. She judged herself for using all of it to her advantage, but would a man apologize for that? For using communication strategies or charisma? No, he sure as hell wouldn’t. This was business, and using her knowledge of human psychology didn’t make her unethical. It made her good at her job.

When the meal was over, Rhonda spoke with each of the doctors and thanked them for their time. She excused herself to the washroom as they said their goodbyes, then came back out at eight ten.

Sure enough, there he was. Sitting at the bar, chatting with the bartender. He smiled as she approached. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Rhonda smiled. “I ran out of water.”

He motioned to the barstool next to him. “Perfect. Because I already bought you a drink.”