leaned back in his chair and studied her. “Will you be needing an escort to the ball?” he asked.
“No,” she said, gathering the folder and standing. Was she never going to live that down?
“Just checking. It would be easier to know early rather than the day of the event.”
“It wasn’t my idea last time. I assure you, I’ll find someone to take me to the ball. And if I don’t, Dr. Taylor will never learn it from me!”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “You’ll find someone? No steady man in your life?”
“Not that it’s any business of yours, Dr. Hastings, but no there’s not.” She clutched the folder to her chest and edged toward the door.
“Greg,” he said, standing.
She nodded abruptly. “If that’s all, I do have other things to do.”
“That’s all for now. Review the information and let me know if you have any questions. Are you free tomorrow at two?”
“Tomorrow? Why?”
“So we can check out the ballroom at the hotel. If that time’s not good, let Rose know when you can go. I’ll drive.”
“I don’t have my calendar with me, but I expect it won’t be convenient. I see patients all day long, you know.”
He nodded. “I have a gall bladder first thing tomorrow, but then am free. If you’re not, we’ll make it later. Say seven?”
Abby wanted to protest, but she didn’t have an alternative time that would be convenient. Never seeing him again would be convenient, but wasn’t going to happen.
“Fine. Seven, tomorrow.” Turning, she almost fled from his office.
Rose looked up in surprise. “Finished already?”
Abby nodded and kept walking. She had more than twenty-four hours to get herself under control before seeing him again. She’d be the epitome of professionalism.
Given time, there’d be other tidbits to capture the attention of the hospital gossips. Her one foray into life on the wild side would fade.
And she’d learned her lesson. She couldn’t compete with Sara. Jeb was gone. She had to accept it. And truth to tell, even if overnight she became some beautiful sex symbol, she didn’t want a man who would turn away at the first sight of a new face.
What did Greg Hastings look for? she wondered.
When Greg rang Abby’s doorbell the next evening, he felt a slight rise of anticipation. So far he couldn’t quite call their encounters productive. She always seemed poised to take off at any second—her leaving him in front of the restaurant last week a case in point. Yet he was almost looking forward to their get-together this evening. For a little while, at least, she’d have to give him some attention. Maybe he could better understand the woman.
She opened the door. For a split second he was disappointed she hadn’t done her hair up as if she’d just tumbled out of bed. And that she wasn’t wearing a dress that displayed every inch of her body like a man’s fantasy. She wore the expected tailored suit, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. And she was not wearing any makeup. From one extreme to another.
“Good evening, I’m ready.” She stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut, checking the lock.
“Despite the rumors, I don’t believe you are trying to seduce me,” he murmured.
“What?” She looked up, startled.
At least that got a reaction. “Seduction needs more privacy than your hall.” He turned toward the elevator. “I’ll have to reassure Rose that we have a strictly business relationship.”
“I don’t feel we have any kind of relationship at all, Dr. Hastings.” Abby fell into step beside him. “I certainly didn’t ask Dr. Taylor to press you into service last week. And I could check out the hotel ballroom on my own this evening. You don’t have to accompany me.”
“But it’s so much easier if we check it out together.” Greg said smoothly. “If you don’t call me by my name from now on, Abigail, I’ll have to take drastic measures!”
“Such as?” She punched the down call button for the elevator with more force than he thought necessary.
“I don’t know,” he teased, suddenly enjoying himself for the first time in a long while. As the elevator doors slid open, they stepped inside. An older couple already was in the car.
“Maybe kiss you,” he said outrageously just to get another rise from her.
She glared at him. Silence reigned.
When the elevator reached the lobby, the older couple gave them a brief glance and stepped out.
Abby watched until they were out the front door before spinning around.
“That was totally uncalled-for. I can just imagine what they were thinking!”
With a gentle nudge, he urged her from the elevator and across the marble floor of the lobby.
“What they’re thinking, Greg.”
“Greg, Greg, Greg! There, are you satisfied?”
Holding the lobby door for her, Greg watched as she stormed out to the sidewalk. For a moment the image of her saying the words in a different context slammed into him.
Abigail Trent and bed? The thought was ludicrous. She had no interest in him and he certainly could afford no long-term interest in any woman.
When they reached the hotel on Union Square, Greg availed himself of valet parking, wondering if Abby planned to dash into another cab when they’d finished.
“For the record, I’m taking you home,” he said as they entered the St. Francis Hotel. The old San Francisco landmark was centrally located and perfect for the lavish fund-raising ball.
“There’s no need—”
“Actually, there is. I have something to discuss with you,” he said as they entered the lobby.
“About the conference?”
“Sort of.”
“And you can’t discuss it here?” Abby asked suspiciously.
“No.”
They met the events coordinator and soon had a tour of the ballroom and the kitchen that would service the event. They discussed decorations and music, in addition to amenities like the cloakroom, anticipated space needed for valet parking, and rooms for guests who would like to avail themselves of the chance to spend the night after the ball.
Greg noticed Abby’s questions were well thought out, and seemed to cover all aspects of the event. He knew she had never attended one of the balls, but she honed in on the aspects most likely to cause problems at
