had never cared for empty flattery, but he did believe in telling someone if they’d done good work. It was something he’d learned not to take for granted. Praise was something that he’d never heard himself when he was growing up. His father hadn’t been reticent when it came to acknowledgment, he just wasn’t around all that much to begin with. It was hard to honestly comment on any accomplishments if you didn’t know about them; if you hadn’t been around to see or hear anything about them. Dr. Gerald Armstrong always seemed either to be at the institute he’d founded, or on his way to the institute.
Paul swore to himself that if he ever had any children of his own—something he was doubtful at this point would ever come about—he would never miss an opportunity to praise them if they did something well.
Hell, he’d even praise them for an attempt to do something well. People needed to be encouraged, especially children. That was why he’d initially become a doctor. To get the great Gerald Armstrong’s approval. To get Gerald Armstrong’s attention, at least for five minutes.
Neither really happened, but somewhere along the line, he grew to love his work. He supposed that made him one of the lucky ones after all.
Paul was just about to go see Ramona and discuss her release when there was another knock on his door. Had Derek changed his mind and decided to stay? He figured it was probably too much to hope for.
“Come in.”
And he was right. It was too much to hope for. It wasn’t Derek who walked into his office. It was Olivia.
“I saw your wunderkind doctor,” she told him. There was no sarcasm in her voice. The title was bestowed in earnest.
Paul noticed that her face was flushed. Was that a good sign? Or a bad one?
“And?” Paul asked when she didn’t continue. He gestured for her to take a chair.
She did, perching her weight on the edge of the cushion as if she anticipated the need to fly away at any moment.
“And he said there was a chance I could become pregnant. Slim, but a chance,” she added breathlessly, clinging to the word chance as if it were a lifeline.
Paul nodded. He more than anyone knew how iffy that statement was. But he was not about to rain on Olivia’s parade.
“Well, he would be the one to know. There’s none better,” he assured her. For a moment, he sat there just looking at Olivia, debating whether or not to back away. He decided to try one more time to get her to open up. “Livy, is it Jamison?” he asked, referring to his brother-in-law, the up-and-coming junior senator from Massachusetts and media darling.
Olivia looked up sharply, a porcelain doll about to shatter. Her eyes were wary. “Is what Jamison?”
Paul had no idea how to phrase this, he just knew he had to get it out into the open somehow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his sister’s un-happiness than just the failure to become pregnant.
“Is Jamison pressing you to become pregnant?” He knew how important lineage and legacy were to the Mallorys. They were practically their own dynasty, the young lions of the world, determined to leave their mark. Part of that involved offspring. “I mean, there are other ways to go, you know. You could adopt, or have a surrogate mother who—”
Olivia began shaking her head the moment he’d said that there were other ways to go. She didn’t want to hear it.
“No. I want to feel this, to do this myself.” Olivia pressed her hand against her flat belly, splaying her fingers out beneath her chest.
Paul looked into her eyes for a long moment. “Having a baby doesn’t solve anything, you know,” he told her quietly. “It usually creates its own set of unique problems.”
“I know that.” There was tension wrapped around each word and he noticed that Olivia was clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap.
Paul pressed again, more succinctly now. “Are you sure everything is all right between you and Jamison?”
“Yes,” she finally snapped. “Which is more than I can say about between you and me if you keep asking these ridiculous questions.”
This wasn’t getting him anywhere. Paul retreated. “Sorry. I’m just concerned about you, Olivia, that’s all.”
She pressed her lips together and took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. “I appreciate that and I’m sorry, too. I really didn’t mean to snap at you like that, it’s just that it seems like everywhere I look these days, I see women either pushing a baby carriage or being pregnant and looking as if they’re about to pop at any second. Everybody is pregnant but me.” Her voice quavered and she looked down at her knotted fingers. “We’ve been trying for five years now. Five long years.”
“Yes, I know. You told me,” he replied gently.
Olivia abruptly rose to her feet, a deer about to flee. Paul rounded his desk, coming to her side. Though he wasn’t a demonstrative person by nature, seeing his sister like this tugged on his heartstrings. He hugged her, albeit awkwardly.
“Everything’s going to be all right, Livy,” he promised.
“I hope so,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I sincerely hope so.”
There was yet another knock on his door. Undoubtedly that was his nurse, here to remind him that he had patients to see this afternoon. Anxious patients who felt exactly like his sister.
“Come in,” he called out.
Ramona came in just as he gave his sister another bracing hug before releasing her.
Olivia stepped back.
Surprised, certain that she’d inadvertently walked in on something, Ramona instantly looked down at the rug as if it had suddenly become fascinating. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
“You didn’t,” Paul told her crisply. “This is my sister Olivia Armstrong Mallory.”
Ramona looked at the other woman, a wariness automatically entering her eyes. Another Armstrong. Another hurdle?
“Someone else who has to approve my being hired?” she asked politely.
Turning from the woman in the doorway, Olivia looked at him quizzically.
“Long story,” Paul told her, forestalling any questions on her part. “And I have to be somewhere.”
Olivia slipped the strap of her designer purse onto her shoulder. “So do I,” she told him. “Thanks for getting me in to see Dr. Demetrios,” she said, then nodded at Ramona before slipping out. “Nice meeting you.”
But you didn’t, Ramona thought. The fourth branch on the Armstrong family tree—this had to be Senator Mallory’s wife, she realized—hadn’t learned her name, making the introduction incomplete.
“She didn’t,” Ramona said out loud to Paul once the door was closed again.
That
