shut and swore under her breath. “Stop asking that question,” she whispered harshly to herself.
Steeling herself against the ugly swarm of emotions, Bridget set her cup of tea on the table. She would complete the task Stefan asked of her. Then maybe she would have settled the score inside her, the score she couldn’t quite explain even to herself. Afterward she would go to Italy and hopefully she would find the joy and lightness she’d lost.
After three days of being unable to meet with the head of residents at Texas Medical Center of Dallas, Bridget seethed with impatience. Dr. Gordon Walters was never available, and all her calls to his office went unanswered. Thank goodness for connections. Apparently Tina’s friend Keely knew a doctor at University Hospital and there just happened to be a meet and greet for interns, doctors and important donors at a hotel near the hospital on Tuesday night.
Bridget checked into the hotel and her security took the room next to hers. One advantage of being at Zach’s ranch meant security was superfluous. Not so in Dallas. She dressed carefully because she needed to impress and to be taken seriously. A black dress with heels. She resisted the urge to paint her lips red. The old Bridget wouldn’t have batted an eye.
Frowning into the bathroom mirror in her suite, she wondered what that meant. Well, hell, if Madonna could wear red lipstick and be taken seriously, why couldn’t she? She smoothed her fingers over her head and tucked one side of her hair behind her left ear. She’d colored her hair darker lately. It fit her mood.
She frowned again into the mirror. Maybe she would dye it blond when she moved to Italy.
She punched the code for her security on her cell phone. Raoul picked up immediately. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“I’m ready. Please stay in the background,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. But I shall join you on the elevator.”
A couple moments later, she rode said elevator to the floor which held the meeting rooms and ballrooms. A host stood outside the ballroom which housed the cocktail party she would attend. “Name?” he asked as she approached him.
She blinked, unaccustomed to being screened. Doors opened at the mention of her title. Not in Texas, she supposed. “Bridget Devereaux and escort,” she said, because Raoul was beside her.
The man flipped through several pages and checked off her name. “Welcome,” he said. “Please go in.”
“The nerve of the man,” Raoul said as they entered the ballroom full of people. “To question a member of the royal family,” he fumed as he surveyed the room.
Bridget smiled. “Novel experience,” she said. “I’m looking for Dr. Gordon Walters. If you see him, by all means, please do tell me.”
Thirty minutes later, Bridget was ready to pull out her hair. Every time she mentioned Dr. Walters’s name, people clammed up. She couldn’t squeeze even a bit of information about the man from anyone.
Frustrated, she accepted a glass of wine and decided to take another tack.
Dr. Ryder McCall checked his watch for the hundredth time in ten minutes. How much longer did he need to stay? The latest nanny he’d hired had seemed okay when he’d left tonight, but after his previous experiences, he couldn’t be sure. He caught a glimpse of the back of a woman with dark brown wavy hair and paused. Something about her looked familiar.
The dress was classic and on a woman with a different body, it would have evoked images of that actress. What was her name? Audrey something. But this woman had curves which evoked entirely different thoughts. The sight of the woman’s round derriere reminded Ryder of the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman in a while. Too long, he thought and adjusted his tie.
Curious, he moved so that he could catch a side view of her. Oh yeah, he thought, his gaze sliding over her feminine form from her calves to her thighs to the thrust of her breasts. He could easily imagine her minus the dress. His body responded. Then he glanced upward to her face and recognition slammed into him.
The woman speaking so animatedly to one of his top residents, Timothy Bing, was the same woman he’d met in the elevator the other night. Princess whatever. Bridget, he recalled. And of course, his top resident was utterly enthralled. Why wouldn’t he be? The poor resident was sleep-deprived, food-deprived and sex-deprived.
Ryder was suffering from the same deprivation albeit for different reasons. He wondered why she was here tonight. Might as well cure his curiosity, he thought, if he couldn’t cure his other deprivations. He walked toward the two of them.
Timothy only had eyes for Her Highness. Ryder cleared his throat. Both Timothy and the woman turned to look at him.
Timothy stiffened as if he were a marine and he’d just glimpsed a superior. Ryder almost wondered if he would salute. “Dr. McCall,” he said.
Bridget looked at him curiously. “Doctor?” she echoed. “I didn’t know you were a doctor.”
“We didn’t have much time to discuss our occupations. Your Highness,” he added.
Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Timothy’s eyes bulge in surprise. “Highness,” he said. “Are you a queen or something? I thought you said you were a representative of Chantaine.”
Bridget shot Ryder a glare, then smiled sweetly at Timothy. “I am a representative of Chantaine. A royal representative, and I hope you’ll consider the proposal I gave you about serving in Chantaine for a couple of years in exchange for a scholarship and all your living expenses.”
Ryder stared at the woman in horrified silence. She was trying to seduce away one of his prized residents. Timothy was brilliant. His next step should be to one of the top neurological hospitals in the States.
Ryder laughed. “Not in a million years,” he said.
Bridget furrowed her brow. “Why not? It’s a generous offer. Dr. Bing would benefit, as would Chantaine.”
“Because Dr. Bing is not going to make a gigantic misstep in his career by taking off for an island retreat when he could be one of the top neurological surgeons in America.”
Bridget’s furrow turned to a frown. “I find it insulting that you consider a temporary move to Chantaine a misstep. Our citizens suffer from neurological illnesses, too. Is it not the goal of a doctor to heal? Why should there be a prejudice against us just because we reside in a beautiful place? Does that mean we shouldn’t have treatment?”
“I wasn’t suggesting that your country doesn’t deserve medical care. It’s my job, however, to advise Dr. Bing to make the best decisions in advancing his career and knowledge.”
Princess Bridget crossed her arms over her chest and looked down her nose at him. “I thought that was Dr. Gordon Walters’s job, although the man is nowhere to be found.”
Timothy made a choking sound. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to …” He walked quickly away without finishing his sentence.
“Well, now you’ve done it,” she said. “I was having a perfectly lovely conversation with Dr. Bing and you ruined it.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. The whole tenor of our conversation changed when
