Bingham’s bedroom smelled of freshly applied orange-oil wood polish and a hint of woodlands-scented air freshener. As he precisely knotted an expensive red silk tie around the neck of his tailored white shirt, he wondered if he was only imagining the slightly musty scent of a long-unoccupied room beneath the more pleasing fragrances.
His efficient housekeeper made sure his condo was always clean and welcoming when he returned from one of his many long business trips, but sometimes the place still felt foreign to him. Like just another of the series of hotel suites and corporate apartments he slept in during his travels—when his demanding job allowed him to sleep, of course.
Picking up the hand-tailored jacket that had been laid out on his bed, he shrugged into it as automatically as a mechanic might don his blue cotton work shirt. As far as Geoff was concerned, this fifteen-hundred-dollar suit was merely a business uniform, no more indicative of his true personality than his immaculately polished wing-tip shoes. The party for which he was dressing was just another business meeting to him, at which he would smile and mingle and shake hands with the smooth skill he had spent the past ten of his thirty-two years developing.
Squeezing the tight muscles at the back of his neck with his left hand, he could only hope the reception for the hospital’s new public relations director wouldn’t last long. All he wanted to do was get this over with, come back to his citrus-scented condo and crash in the den with a beer, some chips and his treasured Taylor guitar. An evening of quiet solitude sounded very good to him right now. But he would do his duty. He always did.
“So, Geoff.” A florid-faced man in a suit that was too tight across the belly clapped him on the back with enough force to make him almost stagger. “How long are you in town for this time?”
With the benefit of a decade of practice, Geoff held on to his pleasant smile, which was, to him, as much a tool of his trade as a hammer was to a carpenter. “Looks like I could be around for a while this time.”
“That’s good to hear.” Bob Howard slapped Geoff’s back again. “Maybe we can hit the golf course. Not this weekend, I’m afraid. The wife’s sister is coming for a visit, and I’m expected to entertain my moron of a brother-in-law.”
That was one thing Geoff could identify with. Family obligations. His entire life revolved around them. “Maybe some other time.”
“I’ll give you a call.”
Geoff could think of a couple dozen things he would rather do than spend an afternoon golfing with Bob Howard—root canals and ditch digging among them—but since Howard’s bank was a major financier for Bingham Enterprises, he spoke warmly. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Howard moved on, and Geoff took advantage of the moment of peace to take another bracing swallow of his lemonade. Around him various members of his family—his father, his grandmother, his sister, his cousins—worked the crowd attending the reception for the new public relations director for Merlyn County Regional Hospital.
The hospital had been founded by Geoff’s grandparents and was still family controlled, along with their other local and international business interests. The Binghams took their responsibilities to the corporation and to the community very seriously. And to the rest of the family, of course.
Even Geoff’s late, wild, uncle Billy’s illegitimate offspring—the ones he had acknowledged, anyway—had certain expectations thrust upon them, whether they wanted them or not. Two of those cousins, Dr. Kyle Bingham and Hannah Bingham-soon-to-be-Mendoza, were in attendance at this affair, doing their part to promote the hospital and its upcoming public relations campaign.
Geoff’s gaze lingered on Hannah, who was several months along in her pregnancy. She had very recently announced her engagement to Eric Mendoza, a rising young executive in Bingham Enterprises. The couple looked radiantly happy, and the engagement had been approved by Geoff’s father and grandmother.
In their opinions, Hannah needed someone to help her raise the child she had conceived in an ill-advised affair several months ago, and young Eric needed a wife to help him further his career. This marriage was the ideal solution, as far as they were concerned.
It wouldn’t be long, Geoff feared, before they turned their attentions back to him. Ever since his thirtieth birthday two years ago, they had been pressuring him to find a suitable bride and start producing more Binghams.
While Geoff had no problem with the idea of fatherhood, the prospect of marriage did not appeal to him at all. As it was now, his free time was almost nonexistent. The opportunities were extremely rare for him to do whatever he felt like doing without taking anyone else’s needs or wishes into consideration. In his opinion, a wife was simply someone else who would claim a right to his time and attention.
Maybe he could subtly redirect the family’s matchmaking efforts to his sister Mari, he mused. After all, she was thirty-four and firmly established as an M.D. and director of the Foster Midwifery Clinic and the Bingham Midwifery School. Sure, she was busy with her duties and her plans for the biomedical research center she dreamed of founding here in town, but she was no busier than Geoff, whose primary job was to secure funding for those grandiose plans and to keep the other Bingham Enterprises interests viable in an increasingly tough international market.
Someone walked by nibbling on a fat, juicy-looking chocolate-dipped strawberry, reminding Geoff he hadn’t eaten in a while. He glanced toward the refreshments tables, where a small crowd of attendees munched on summer party fare. His gaze lingered on a beautiful brunette in a flame red dress.
Cecilia Mendoza. A prominent midwife at the clinic, Eric’s sister was an extremely attractive woman Geoff had admired several times but had never actually met.
Maybe he would sample the treats before he made his escape from this boring affair.
The reception was held in the atrium of the administration and education building on the hospital campus. Four stories high, the fully enclosed atrium was a haven of glass, greenery, statuary and fountains. Wrought-iron tables, chairs and benches were scattered artfully around the stone floors. Greenery cascaded from the balconies of the floors above, leading the eye to the angled glass roof high above their heads. Accessed by gently rising ramps, another balcony circled the main atrium, holding more tables and chairs and providing a second level for entertaining and activities.
There was very little empty space, Cecilia noted as she entered the atrium from the back hallway that led into the main clinic building. When Mari Bingham arranged an official event, few members of her staff or the surrounding business community failed to make an appearance.
This affair had been billed as an informal after-hours welcome for the new PR director. Cecilia was a bit late because she had taken the time to change out of her wilted scrubs and into a bright red sheath dress she’d chosen to counter the weariness of a long day’s work. Sleeveless and scoop-necked, it fit closely to her hips, then flared out just a little and fell to her knees.
She had reluctantly swapped her comfortable walking shoes for a pair of black high-heeled sandals, and her feet were already protesting. Several tendrils of dark hair had escaped the upswept style she had worn for convenience, tickling the back of her neck and her freshly made-up cheeks when she turned her head to greet friends and business associates who had already gathered around the refreshments tables.
In deference to the heat of a July evening, the caterers served frosty lemonade, iced raspberry tea and light snacks—chilled shrimp, crisp vegetables, tiny sandwiches, fresh fruits and flaky pastries. Cecilia looked longingly at the food. She had worked through her usual lunchtime—the McAllister baby having chosen
