Epilogue
Teresa Southwick
To all of you who love happy endings
as much as I do.
She was a fake and a fraud.
Cindy Elliott was walking, talking, breathing proof that not only was it possible to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear, but you also could take her out in public. So far no one had pointed and laughed at her pretending to be one of the exalted affluent. But the night was young and she was the queen of getting dumped on.
Famous-rich and anonymous-wealthy people were crammed into this ballroom. She was pretty sure that, unlike herself, none of them had won their seat at this thousand-dollar-a-plate fundraiser with a raffle ticket. Any second she expected the riffraff police to see through her disguise and throw her out.
It wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to her, but it was not high on her list of things to do. Her plan was to enjoy every moment of this night. Take in every detail and let the memories brighten the daily grind as she dug herself out of the deep financial hole she’d ended up in after trusting a man.
Cindy grew up in Las Vegas but this was the first time she’d ever been to a shindig at Caesar’s Palace. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead and silver light trickled down on white tablecloths and somehow made the fragrant arrangements of fresh, vibrantly colored flowers smell even better. Candles flickered but paled in comparison to the views visible from floor-to-ceiling windows of the neon skyline outside on the Strip.
She wished more people were looking at it instead of her, more specifically male people. A lot of the dapper men in dark suits and tuxedos were staring at her as she snaked her way through the crush of bodies. She felt conspicuous and self-conscious in her strapless, champagne-colored cocktail dress. It was knee length, and now was not a good time to wish for more material.
Finally she reached the perimeter of the room and found the table number that corresponded to the one on her invitation. There were eight chairs and all of them were empty. She decided to sit down and take the strain off her borrowed shoes, minding her friend’s warning not to test the limits of a Super Glue repair on a four-inch heel.
Moments later someone appeared in her peripheral vision and a familiar deep voice said, “Is this seat taken?”
Cindy looked up. The face matched the voice as she’d feared it would. Nathan Steele, MD. Dr. Charming himself, she thought sarcastically. He always made her think of Hugh Jackman—tall and broad-shouldered, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair. It pained her to admit, even to herself, that his traditional black tuxedo made him look very handsome—for a bad-tempered, arrogant, egotistical physician.
After a couple seconds of him standing there expectantly, the message translated from her eyes to her brain that he was waiting for an answer. Glancing at the seven empty seats, she briefly thought about saying that her date was sitting there, then abandoned the idea. She might be a pathetic loser who was a really bad judge of men, but she wasn’t a liar.
“No,” she finally said. “That seat isn’t taken.”
He smiled, then lowered his excellent butt into the chair beside hers. “Isn’t that lucky?”
“You have no idea.” She looked at him, waiting for the inevitable moment when he recognized her as the incompetent from Mercy Medical Center’s housekeeping department. The same employee he’d chastised earlier that day for something that wasn’t her fault. The indignity and unfairness still smarted.
“Would you like a drink?” The tone was pleasant, deep and sexy. Definitely not his icy-cold, all-business hospital voice.
“Yes.” It was the least he could do. “A glass of red wine would be lovely.”
He stood. “Don’t let anyone take this seat.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Dream being the operative word. Nathan Steele was walking, talking female fantasy. Definite hero material. A handsome doctor whose mission in life was to save babies who came into this world too early. Infants who needed every trick in his medical bag to survive outside a mother’s protective womb while their not-ready-to-be born bodies caught up. How could a woman not seriously crush on a man like that?
The answer was simple. Pretty to look at, difficult to get along with. Cindy didn’t need the aggravation. She was still paying for the last wrong guy at the wrong time. She was a twenty-seven-year-old college student because she’d lost not only her bank account but money she hadn’t even earned yet to a good-looking man masquerading as a hero. She literally couldn’t afford another stupid man mistake.
A few minutes later Dr. Charming set a glass of red wine in front of her and a whiskey neat at his own place before settling beside her again.
“I’m Dr. Steele—Nathan.” He looked at her, obviously waiting for her to respond with an introduction. When she said nothing, he added, “And you are?”
Surprised and annoyed in equal parts, she thought. The fact that he didn’t recognize her was a surprise. It also annoyed her.
“Cindy Elliott,” she said, waiting for the “aha” light to shine in his eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Cindy.” He held his hand out.
She wanted to tell him they’d already met. More than once their paths had crossed in the hospital. But then she put her fingers into his palm and a ripple of awareness danced up her arm. He held babies weighing hardly more than a pound, tiny little things that easily fit into this hand. It was warm and strong and capable.
Hero worship threatened until she remembered that doing battle for babies barely alive didn’t give him license to be a bastard to everyone else.
“Dr. Steele,” she said with as much cool reserve as she could muster.
“Call me Nathan.”
“All right. Nathan.”
He studied her intently and finally said, “Where do I know you from?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say she saw him almost every day. Granted, the disposable, white “bunny suit” she wore for her housekeeping job in the neonatal intensive care unit made her fairly anonymous. But still …
She was about to tell him, then something stopped her. The devil made her do it. “I look familiar?”
“Yes.”
Maybe she’d finally caught a break. “I guess
