In a moment, Elaine came rushing in and sat on the bed, hugging me.

"Oh, Kate it's you! You poor dear," she said, examining my cuts and ankle. "Drake told me this guest had fallen and wanted to talk to me. I had no idea it was you!"

Drake?  Dr. Delish finally had a name.

"Yeah, we didn't introduce ourselves. Can I borrow something safe in the shoe department? I fell outside because I wore those," I said and pointed to the high heels on the floor.

"Of course," she said and went right to her huge walk-in closet with racks of shoes, sorting through her collection. She pulled out a pair of black ballet slippers and held them out. "Will these do?"

"Yes, thank God you have some. I should have been wearing those in the first place."

I put them on and limped out using Elaine as a crutch.

"Leave your coat here," Elaine said. "I'll have one of the staff hang it up."

We stood just inside the entry to the living room, and I was so reluctant to be there. The suite itself was huge, two full stories with cathedral ceilings in some of the rooms and floor to ceiling windows. Everything was cream and gold with rich dark wood on the furniture, floors and all the trim.

Almost two dozen people were there, most of them rich businessmen in several-thousand dollar suits, a couple of women there as arm candy, tall leggy bottle blondes who were managing quite fine in their own stiletto heels. I was a dwarf compared to the rest of the women in attendance. 

Now, I'd have to explain to everyone why I was bandaged up and limping. I searched for Nigel. Immediately, he called out to me.

"There you are my girl," he boomed, pushing through the people standing around him to get to me. My cheeks burned as everyone in the room turned at the sound of his voice.

I smiled when I saw him and he opened his arms wide. Close to three hundred pounds and six foot six, while I was all of five foot three, and one hundred and fifteen, we made a comedic pair. He picked me up and hugged me like a bear.

"Hey, hey!" I said when he held me up. "Watch it – I fell and hurt my ankle."

He placed me gingerly back down on the ground, kissing both my cheeks in that Continental manner, a huge arm around my shoulder, helping me limp into the room. Immediately, a group of men surrounded us and Nigel introduced me to them all.

A few minutes later, Peter, my father's chief of staff for his campaign, came by.

"Kate what happened?"

"I fell in the back alley."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Your father's in a conference call. Can I introduce you to a few people?"

Nigel let go of me and now Peter escorted me around the room, letting me lean on his shoulder for support.

It was then I saw 'Dr. Delish' – Drake – standing with a man I met two years earlier before I went to Mangaize with Nigel.

Dave Mills was an MBA type who worked in fundraising. He also happened to hit on me, blatant about wanting to take me home at the end of a long booze-filled party. I refused him and his advances.

"I'm Justice McDermott's daughter," I'd said, hoping that would scare him off.

"You need lovin', too," was his reply.

He was attractive with blond hair and brown eyes, well-dressed and erudite. He was a catch. But he was far too glib for my tastes. He'd hit on me each time we met after that. I could almost predict what he'd say and it bothered me, as if he couldn’t see me as anything other than fuck material.

He placed his beer down on the table and stood up straight, adjusting his jacket when Peter led me towards them, me limping along beside him.

"Drake, Dave, may I introduce—"

Before Peter could introduce me, Dave stepped forward. "Ahh, the lovely Miss Bennet," he said in an affected British accent. "Um, I mean the lovely Kate needs no introduction."

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a good fortune must write out a check and make a donation to the cause," I said in an equally affected British accent, not wanting to miss the opportunity to tease him and also continue with the Pride and Prejudice reference.

Dave laughed. "Well played, Ms. McDermott, well played."

 At that, Drake made a face of surprise. "You're Katherine…"

"Oh, this is Kate McDermott," Dave said, gesturing to me.  "Kate, this is Dr. Drake Morgan, brain surgeon, bass player, philanthropist. I assumed you already knew each other."

"I met, but didn’t really formally meet, Ms. McDermott," Drake said, his voice soft. "I've known you by reputation for years. My apologies for not introducing myself."

"By reputation?"

"Your father told me about you, and I read your articles on Mangaize."

I smiled briefly, surprised that he knew who I was.

Dave turned to me. "Dr. Morgan's father Liam fought with your father in Vietnam. Drake volunteers with Doctors Without Borders," he said, sounding mock officious. "I run his foundation, which donates surgical equipment. Drake goes to war zones where civilians have experienced brain trauma and fixes them up."

It was then I realized who Drake was and I turned to him, totally surprised. "My father's spoken of you before." I smiled. "It was Dr. Morgan this, Dr. Morgan that. He thinks you're practically a saint."

Drake gave me this warm I'm smiling just-for-you smile. I felt a little flip in my gut in response to him.

"Sorry, I didn't introduce myself earlier," I said, my cheeks hot. "I was in kind of injured mode."

"Nice to finally meet Ethan's beloved daughter."  He extended his hand. "Your father told me so much about you. I should have known it was you by your eyes, but I was in slightly caddish doctor with bad bedside manner mode and not my charming and gracious guest mode."

Our eyes met again as he kissed my knuckles and I felt a jolt of adrenaline surge through me at his kiss.

"I'll leave her with you then," Peter said and left the three of us. Then, Dave stepped forward as if trying to get in between us.

"So, Ms. Bennet, how have you been since our last meeting?"

"Mr. Mills," I said and turned to him when Drake let go of my hand. "I wouldn't have taken you for a fan of Miss Austen's work."

"Ah, but I studied Victorian Lit in college," Dave said. He extended his hand. "I've brains behind this beauty, in case you failed to notice."

"Oh, I noticed." I took his hand to shake.

"It didn't help my case." Dave kept my hand in his. "So tell me, Ms. McDermott, what would help my case?"

I succeeded in extracting my hand from Dave's.

"My father warned me about men like you, Mr. Mills," I said, thinking of Drake. "Suave. Charming. Devastatingly handsome…"

"Oh, that's riiight. Your father The Hangin' Judge… Does he keep a shotgun under his bed to keep away your suitors? I take it you only go for the nerds? The dorks? The ones who don’t have a clue what to say or how to treat a woman? Some of us do know."

"I don't know why I'd be of much interest to you," I said, trying to change the subject. "I'm looking for donations. Care to donate to Nigel's foundation?"

Dave smiled at me and we locked eyes for a moment as if in battle.

"Kate was with Nigel in West Africa during the famine," Dave said to Drake. 

"I'm well aware of her work in Africa," Drake said to Dave, not taking his eyes off me. "The Judge talks about you a lot."

"He does?" I frowned, surprised that my father spoke of me at all, especially since my trip to Africa. It was usually Heath my father paraded around, his little clone.

"It was always, Katherine this and Katherine that. He's very proud but he's kept you pretty well hidden."

"I've been really busy with school and work…"

Drake nodded, watching me, his expression hard to categorize. Interested, surprised? I couldn’t tell which.

"Your father told me you got a job with Geist. What are you writing about now?" Drake said, his hands in his pockets.

Geist was an indie paper run by Columbia Journalism students. Another black mark against me. My father wanted me to use his connections with The New York Post instead but it just wasn't my kind of paper.

"Philanthropy in the age of social media."

Dave turned back to me. "Drake's foundation funds a number of hospital projects in West Africa if you're interested in philanthropy. I'm his manager of fundraising."

"Yes, that's what my father told me." I smiled again at Dave, unable to keep looking in Drake's oh-so-blue eyes. The idea he was a doctor just did something to me. Doctors knew their way around bodies… "I'm doing an article for Geist," I said, trying to divert my mind from Drake. "Maybe I could do an interview?"

Dave stepped closer to me, leaning in.

"I'd be only too happy to do an interview, Ms. McDermott. Your place or mine?"

I laughed uncomfortably at Dave's balls.

"I think she meant she wanted to interview me," Drake said.

Dave wouldn't let up, waving him off.

"You're far too busy with all your important breakthroughs in robotic brain surgery, your band and humanitarian projects, Drake. I'd be more than happy to oblige, take Ms. McDermott off your hands."

"Either one of you would do fine," I said and smiled. Just then, Peter came back and put a hand on my shoulder, scooping me up and away from them. Dave made a telephone sign with his hand and mouthed call me.

"Nice to meet you Dr. Morgan."

"Please, call me Drake, considering," he said, pointing to my knees.

I gave him a quick smile and left them, limping off with Peter to the next group of wealthy suits.

 

For the next half hour, Peter introduced me around to everyone who mattered in the room. I was still recovering from meeting Doctor Delish, Drake Morgan, brain surgeon, bass player, philanthropist… Someone my father thought walked on water.

The conversation got going again, this time about new regulations governing tax shelters but my mind was occupied thinking of Drake. My father told me before of this brilliant young surgeon who ran his father's charitable foundation, using the wealth he earned from the robotic surgical implement business his father founded to fund charity projects in Africa. My father thought he was a stellar example of manhood. I didn't believe I'd ever seen a more beautiful man in my life. But if my father liked him, I could strike him off my list of men I would go out with. A Republican with social conservative religious roots, my father's kind of man was definitely not mine.

Despite being off-limits, Drake Morgan was imprinted on my brain. Later, I knew I would fantasize about him when I was alone in my chaste little bed back in my apartment in Harlem.

"Tell me more about Drake Morgan," I said to Nigel while we circulated, trying to keep my voice nonchalant.

"Why?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Are you interested?"

"No," I said a little too quickly. Then I shrugged. "My father's talked a lot about him, but I never really listened."

Nigel pursed his lips for a moment as if debating whether to say anything. "I know he's a very big supporter of your father's candidacy for the House seat and absolutely loaded with cash from his father's business. He's a Republican. I also know he's divorced and quite the lady's man."

"He is?" I frowned. Not my type, in other words.

"Quite. But he's rich and a big supporter of Africa, so I make sure to butter him up when I can, get us some of his excess money. It wouldn't hurt if you did, too."

"I don't like buttering people up, Nigel. I hate hypocrisy."

"I know, my dear." Nigel patted my cheek. "But we need their money. Can you smile sweetly and stroke a few egos if it means we can fund more campaigns?"

I took in a deep breath. "I can be as fake as the next person if necessary."

"Good girl. Go out and rake in the donations. I knew you could do it."

 

We were talking about West Africa when I saw Drake Morgan standing on the edge of the group, watching me. I had almost finished my first glass of champagne, and my tongue was even looser and my inhibitions a bit muted. I tried my hand at buttering him up.

"People with influence have to step up to the plate and use their power to do good." I turned to Drake and looked at him directly. "Like Dr. Morgan, using his father's foundation to provide hospital equipment to Africa. Those who have the means should use them."

He seemed pleasantly surprised that I referred to him and bowed his head, touching his chest.

"My father was committed to Africa," Morgan said. "I'm just trying to fill his big shoes using whatever influence I have."

As that conversation ended, Nigel pulled me away and I noticed that Drake followed me with his eyes as I left to meet someone else. Dr. Drake Morgan was a rich doctor with family money. He was probably a lady's man like Nigel said, a jet-setting lothario. Self-absorbed, self-important. Dr. Dangerous. Republican.

My father's kind of man.

Not my kind of man.

I decided I would do the interview with Dave Mills instead of Drake. I didn't think I'd be able to stand interviewing someone that gorgeous. I'd send Dave a text later and see when we could meet for the interview.

 

My father didn’t show up for his own fundraiser until a few minutes before it was scheduled to end. A teleconference with several powerful types in the Party advising him about his run for the Congressional seat went longer than anticipated.

When he finally did arrive, I was just getting ready to leave, saying goodbye to Elaine and Nigel. Nigel and I were able to garner a pretty impressive amount for his pet project in West Africa, started after we returned two years earlier. My father breezed in and was greeted by Peter and others, who surrounded him, wanting to shake his hand and hear the latest on the campaign.

He saw me from the doorway and came right over.

"There you are," he said, kissing my cheek, his characteristically gravelly voice ebullient. "Have you met everyone? There was someone I wanted you to meet in particular." After he glanced around, he took my arm and I limped behind him to the door where Drake and Dave stood.

"Drake, did you get a chance to meet my daughter, Katherine? I don't believe the two of you have met."

Drake stopped and turned, his face brightening as he saw my father. He held out his hand and the two men shook and it was quite the contrast. My dad was on the shorter stout side, with a growing pot belly and a grey brush cut. His several thousand dollar suit was on par with Drake's, but it was rumpled, his eyes a bit weary.

"Judge McDermott," Drake said, shaking my dad's hand vigorously. "Glad to see you. Yes, I did meet Katherine. Finally. You've kept her pretty well-hidden."

I turned to my father. "Dr. Morgan used his medical skills on me, father. I fell in the alley and he patched me up." I pointed to my knees and my dad made a face but then smiled.

"Well, that's just great," he said and shook Drake's hand once more. "I knew you’d come in handy one day." Drake shook my father's hand again, an amused expression on his face. "Thank you for looking after my very tomboyish daughter, Drake. She has a tendency to take a bigger bite out of life than she can always chew." My father winked at me, and I saw a hint of affection in that moment instead of criticism. For a change. "Can't call her timid, at least. Maybe foolishly brave."

I frowned at that and turned to him. "How am I foolishly brave, Daddy?"

"All your life, you've been trying to keep up with the older kids, like your brother. Going to Africa with Nigel and staying in one of the camps is a perfect example. How many of your friends can say that?"

I shrugged. "Lots of us volunteer, Dad. We have to in order to stand out on college applications and for scholarships. Dawn went to India."

He nodded. "Still, you have to admit it was pretty brave." A thrill went through me when he put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. He rarely had anything nice to say about me, so it felt great. "Thanks for looking after my baby girl," he said to Drake.

"No, my pleasure," Drake said, his voice soft. "Thank you for inviting me. I was pleased to finally meet the mysterious Katherine you’ve spoken so much about." Drake smiled at me.

"Not hidden," my father said. "Katherine's been very busy with school and the student paper, haven’t you, sweetheart?"

I smiled, feeling a little overwhelmed by the attention.

"Of course," Drake said.

Then, Peter came by and dragged my father off to speak with some high roller and I was left with Drake and Dave by the front closet where our coats were hung. I took mine out and was just about to put it on when Drake stopped me.

"Here," Drake said. "Let me get that."

 Drake took my coat out of my hands, holding it out for me to slip on.

"I can do that," I said, not wanting anyone to fuss over me.

"Please, allow me."

I slid one of my arms in the coat and he helped me on with the other arm, and for a moment, he stood behind me, adjusting the shoulders while I pulled my hair out from under the neck, and I swore he bent forward and smelled me – my hair. I heard him inhale as he stood with his hands adjusting the collar.

I turned around and smiled at him, feeling a bit awkward, not certain if I was right.

"Thank you," I said. He nodded and just watched me as I gathered up my things and limped to my dad, who was standing a few feet away, now engaged in a conversation with Nigel. When my dad saw me coming, he leaned to me and offered his cheek.

I kissed him the way I always used to when I was a girl and still lived with him.

"Good night Daddy," I said, pleased that he seemed so nice.

"Good night, sweetheart." I saw him glance over at the door where Drake and Dave were standing. Then Drake came over and said his own goodbyes to my father. After another round of handshaking and back slapping, my father turned to me.

"Do you need to use the limo service?"

I shook my head. "I'll catch a cab."

Drake made a face at that. "Nonsense," he said. "Let me drop you off. Where do you live?"

My father rolled his eyes. "In a hovel of a rent-controlled apartment building in Harlem," my dad said as if it was an affront to him. Drake pursed his lips at that.

"Don't ask," my father said. "She could live somewhere nice, but that's my Kate. Independent to a fault."

"Daddy," I said, frowning. A nice moment between us was ruined. "I have a perfectly fine apartment." I turned to Drake. "I'm sure it's out of your way. I can catch a cab. But thank you."

"I insist," Drake said. "I won't take no for an answer."

I sighed and my father kissed me this time and we were off. Drake opened the door and he and Dave escorted me into the elevator. Dave offered me his arm as did Drake. I didn't want to encourage Dave, but I also didn't want to pick Drake. Instead, I took both their shoulders and limped inside.

"So, Katherine," Drake said, as we went down to the garage. "You should watch those cuts, make sure they don't become infected. If they do, you can go to a clinic to have them cleaned."

"Thank you," I said. "My best friend is a nurse, so I'll get her to check."

"Where does she work?"

"Harlem," I replied. "She's doing her Master's right now and only works part-time."

He nodded. When the elevator opened, he very purposely took my arm to help me walk. I initially resisted, but finally gave in when he kept hold of me. As we walked through the garage, I held onto his shoulder to take the weight off my ankle. When we arrived at his car, a shiny black Mercedes, I thought it seemed perfect for him, sleek and expensive. Drake held the door for me and I got inside.

"Where do you live?"

I gave him directions and we drove through the streets north and west to Harlem. Dave turned and glanced back at me from the front seat.

"So Kate, do you feel like going out for a drink? I'm still up for some fun tonight."

"I don't think so…"

"Come on, live a little. I've been trying to get you to go out with me for a long time. Why not tonight? Muse is just around the corner from your place. We could have a drink and something to eat."

I shook my head and caught Drake's eye in the rearview mirror. He was frowning a bit.

"I don't think so," I said. "I have class tomorrow early…"

"Kate, you are just such a mean woman," Dave said, laughing. He turned to Drake. "See what I mean? Turned down again!"

"Maybe you should take a strong hint," Drake said, his voice low, sounding a bit impatient.

Dave made a face and turned back to me. "No offense meant, Kate."

I shook my head, my cheeks heating. "No offense taken." I forced a smile but saw Drake watching me in the rearview.

Still, Dave didn't give up. "One of these days, you will have to go out with me, Kate. Live a little. Nigel told me you've been practically a hermit for the last two years."

"Final year of classes before I write my thesis," I said. "I've been working hard trying to keep my grades up."

We drove up to my apartment and I was never so glad to be able to get out of a car, feeling like Dave was totally ignoring Drake's not so subtle warning to leave me be. Dave hopped out when the car stopped and opened my door.

Drake got out of his door and watched as Dave walked me up the stairs to the front entrance.

"Good night, Kate," Dave said when we reached the door. "Call me about that interview."

"I will," I said, regretting that I agreed to it. No doubt he'd take the opportunity to hit on me once more. I turned back to the car where Drake stood watching us. I smiled at him. "Thank you for the ride. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to finally meet you," he said and smiled back. "Take care of those knees. If you have any problems, feel free to call me."

I turned and went inside.

 

Once I was in my apartment and had my coat off, I called Dawn.

"You won't believe what happened."

"What?" she said, her voice excited.

"I broke a heel on your shoes and fell in the alley on the way to the fundraiser."

"Oh, God, Kate," she said. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, but your shoes are ruined."

"Don’t worry about the shoes. I got them from my sister, and you know her. The queen of cheap shoes. She'll never even notice they're missing."

"You won't believe who I met at the fundraiser," I said, my thoughts turning to Drake.

"Who? Tell me!"

"Doctor Dangerous himself."

"Oh, oh," Dawn said, her voice sounding hesitant. "I can smell trouble over the Ether. Don't tell me you have a date with him or I'll have to come over there and knock you upside the head."

"No, but he did have his hands all over my bare legs."

"What?"

I told her the story of my fall and Drake's doctoring. "Thing is, he's a big friend of my father's. His father and my father were both Marines in Vietnam. Real buddy-buddy. My father thinks Drake is a saint."

"You better not be getting any ideas. The nurses I spoke to at NYP thought he was a dick."

"Of course not. I'm meeting with his business manager to do an interview on his father's charitable foundation for my article for Geist, but speaking of dicks, I don't know if I really want to now. I couldn't do an interview with Doctor Delish, Dawn. He's far too gorgeous."

"Keep away from him. Someone that good looking and rich has to be a total asshole. Plus he's a surgeon. Balls of steel. I'm warning you. Huge balls. Ego galore. Control freak. It's just impossible for him to be anything but a jerk on some level."

"That's awfully judgmental," I said, feeling a need to defend him for some reason, having faced my own share of criticism from my friends on the left because I was born into a wealthy family. "Don't blame him for being born good-looking and wealthy."

"This is just for safety's sake, Kate," she said, a warning tone in her voice. "Your safety. He can probably have anyone he wants whenever he wants and knows it. Stay away."

"I doubt you have anything to worry about."

I felt somewhat saddened. Part of me wished I could go out with him. He was so gorgeous, like Dawn said, that he probably would barely even notice someone like me. On the short side, mousy brown hair, non-descript green eyes and tits a bit too big for the rest of me which I usually took pains to keep hidden under layers of clothes, I blended in with the background most of the time. Except when I wore a revealing dress and had bloody knees and a sprained ankle.

I went to bed later that night, desperately trying not to think of Dr. Drake Morgan. Dr. Delish. But of course, each time I closed my eyes, I remembered his mouth, his jaw, his eyes, which I could barely stand to look into.

I tossed and turned for several hours, fighting with my urges, not wanting to resort to Big. I did not want someone like Drake – someone who was friends with my father – someone who was the opposite to everything I wanted in a man – to invade my private sexual fantasies. He was a Republican. Comfortable around my father's 'people'. Suave. Filthy rich. Powerful.

Yes, he was the best looking man I'd ever seen, but he was just so wrong for someone like me.

Finally, I got up and made a cup of chamomile tea and read Anna Karenina until I fell asleep, the book in my hand, Big still in a tangle of socks at the back of my dresser drawer.

 

Three days later, I sat in a café across from NY Presbyterian so I could interview Dave. I had on my Doc Marten shoes, with an elastic bandage on my ankle the only sign I'd been injured, my cuts and scrapes mostly healed over. I had the sheet of paper that contained my questions and my iPhone so I could record his answers. I'd called Dave earlier to confirm our interview. I suggested we meet at a café near the Foundation's offices and he suggested one. He called a few moments after I arrived.

"I'm on my way over. Dr. Morgan hoped to be able to do the interview, but he's unable so I'll be doing it after all. He has a busy day in the O.R."

Good. Despite disliking Dave, I didn't want to have to interview Drake. He was just so attractive that I knew I'd feel all tongue-tied around him. As I waited for Dave to arrive, I wondered if he would be his usual self and hit on me. He really was a lothario, although very friendly about it. When Dave arrived and saw me, he made a beeline for me. I remained seated, glad he didn't bother trying to kiss my hand again.

"Kate, so glad you could come meet me," he said, friendly but more formal. "I've been looking forward to this since the fundraiser."

"Nice to see you again," I said, not meaning it for a moment.

He took a seat across from me and ordered a coffee when the waitress came to our table. After she left, he turned to me and folded his hands on the tabletop.

I conducted the interview, turning on my iPhone's recorder. I asked questions about how the foundation started, where it had its main projects, how it choose hospitals to fund, the usual questions I needed to write my article. I asked him what he thought were the most successful projects and he responded, articulate, informed, and helpful. For once, he talked to me as a person, not a Don Juan, and I wondered why. Had Drake said something to him?

"I just checked out our projects, and we have twenty currently open."

"Wow," I said. "That's quite a lot going on."

"We're very busy. When I'm not fundraising, I spend most of my time coordinating shipments of surgical implements and supplies. Dr. Morgan donates a lot of his own money as well as raising funds from other donors. He keeps me busy."

"Well, I guess that's it," I said and turned off my iPhone voice recorder. "Thank you so much for this. I really appreciate it."

Before I could rise to leave, Drake Morgan entered the café from the street. Still dressed in his scrubs and white lab coat, he stopped at the front and glanced around the café before spying us in the rear. When his eyes met mine, I felt my cheeks heat. I quickly gathered up my things. I did not want to have to talk to him.

He was just too good looking and powerful.

"Thank you for coming down, Kate," Dave said, extending his hand. I had to shake, but he didn't lean down and kiss my hand. I just smiled back, anxious to see if Drake came to our table and if I could escape before he did.

I couldn't. He walked over and before I could leave, he came up behind Dave and laid a hand on his shoulder, a smile on his face.

"There you are," he said. "I was wondering if I'd make it down in time."

"We just finished," I said and shrugged, smiling in relief. 

 He nodded, his lips pressed a bit thin. "I told Mr. Mills that I'd be right over and he was supposed to wait and let me do the interview." He made a face at Dave and then turned to me and caught my eye. "Perhaps you could stay behind for a moment so we can speak alone."

I glanced at Dave, who smiled sheepishly. "I didn't want you to waste your time in case Drake wasn't able to get away from the hospital. Sometimes his surgeries take longer than planned. Nice talking to you again, Kate. Good interview."

I watched as he left the café, closing the door behind him.

I turned back to Drake. He didn't sit in Dave's vacated chair across from me but the one next to mine, his arm on the back of my chair. He looked at me directly.

"Well," I said after a moment when he did nothing and said nothing, just sat there looking at me. "I'm here. What did you want to talk about?" I forced a smile.

"How's your ankle? Your knees?" He peered down at my legs, which were covered by tights under my short jean skirt.

"Almost all better."

"Good."

 We smiled at each other and I finally sighed. "So? You wanted to speak with me?"

"I just wanted to offer you the chance to ask me anything now that I'm here," he said, his voice low, soft.

"I think I got everything I need from Mr. Mills."

"You don't want to hear my side of things? Considering it's my father's foundation…"

I sighed. I really should ask him some of the more personal questions I skipped because I was interviewing Dave instead of him.

"I do have a few questions, more about motivation." I took out my iPhone and started the recording. I took in a deep breath. "Can you tell me why he started this foundation?"

He moved his chair a bit closer, and leaned in as if he wanted to say something personal. He was a bit too close for my comfort.

"He was a socialist, committed to eradicating poverty. He didn't expect to become rich and so when he did, he poured almost every extra cent into helping hospitals in third world countries, especially Africa. He said something about unequal development and capitalist exploitation – you'd know more about that than me."

I frowned, not certain I knew what he meant, but not wanting to push him.

"The Foundation continues his work today. Everything we do in the Foundation," he said, "is to try to fulfill my father's vision, even if only in a small way. He was so committed to his causes. He made a lot of money, and his company is still making a lot of money. I know he'd want it to be put to good use. He hated being rich and gave most of his money away. We lived in the same apartment all my life, once my mother left. He lived off his salary as a trauma surgeon, which while high, was nothing compared to what his company made."

I watched as he spoke, keeping my eyes on his mouth instead of his eyes. So bright blue and piercing, I found it hard to look at them directly.

There was silence for a moment and I realized he wasn't speaking any longer. He smiled indulgently.

"I'm sorry." I grimaced in embarrassment, although something he said about his mother stuck in my mind. "Can you tell me what project you're most proud of?"

He spoke about a pediatric neurosurgery program that brought patients to the US for the most delicate surgeries that couldn't be done as safely in local hospitals. I nodded and listened, my eyes focusing on everything but his eyes.

"Your father died while in Africa several years ago," I said, remembering the story.

"Yes. He died just after you came back from Africa."

"What happened?"

Drake blinked a few times, his eyes becoming distant. He fiddled with the cutlery.

"He was flying into a small base camp where he was going to do some work with a local charity." He glanced down at his hands when he spoke, as if it still hurt. "Even though we were political opposites and didn't always see eye to eye, when he died, it was as if the ground was ripped out from under me." He glanced back up and met my eyes. "Nothing has been able to fill the hole. Nothing. I took over the helm of his foundation because I thought doing his work might heal me in some way. That's how your father and I became friends. He came to the funeral and it was like he adopted me."

I shook my head. "I guess I just never saw my father as someone who would do that."

"What? Act fatherly?"

I nodded. "I mean, he's an authoritarian type – head of the family and all. But not to, you know, step in and act as a father substitute."

"He did. I relied on him to get through it." He looked back up at me and his expression was so earnest. Seeing his raw emotion, hearing it in his voice, something in the way he said it brought out emotions that were just under the surface and I couldn't help myself. My throat choked up a bit.

"I know what it means to lose a parent."

He smiled softly. "Your mother died of cancer a few years ago. The year before you went to Africa. Your father told me."

I nodded and a silence passed between us.

"Well, that's all I have," I said a little reluctantly, suddenly wishing I had more to ask. "I guess I should go. Don't want to keep you from the OR."

We both stood and he extended his hand. I took it and instead of shaking, he lifted my hand to his mouth, his lips soft against my knuckles.

"People have spoken so highly of you," he said, keeping my hand in his. "So has your father. In the past few days, I've read up a bit about you, reread your articles on Mangaize. Still so impressive. I don't know who I was expecting when I thought about meeting you. Someone older. Different. I was so surprised to actually meet you."

I pulled my hand away. "What do you mean?"

"Your writing – it's so visceral. Insightful for someone so young." I didn't know what to say about that and glanced away, stuffing my iPhone into my bag.

"I'm glad we could meet and talk," he said. "I'd like to interview you sometime, talk about Africa."

"I don't really like to talk about Africa."

"Why?"

"It was upsetting."

He nodded as if in understanding. "Your father told me you had problems after you came back. You were there at the height of the famine. It had to be very hard."

Problems… I didn't say more for my throat choked up at the thought. I nodded, glancing away.

For my Honors Degree, I wrote an investigative series on the politics of famine in West Africa. I had the opportunity to go there and volunteer, then report from the scene because of my father's connections in philanthropic and political circles. I was so ambitious back then – so certain of my own mental strength. So determined to succeed and become a foreign correspondent and please my father. In the end, it was too soon after my mother's death. I was still grieving but saw the trip as a chance to move forward.

My project had gravitas. Because of it, I won the Honors prize for my BA in Journalism at Columbia.

I also had a nervous breakdown.

Five weeks surrounded by the death and chaos that was the Mangaize refugee camp in Niger was enough to change my focus from politics to popular culture. From grave to glib.

"I'd really like to just take you out for coffee or a drink," he said. "I feel like I've known you forever from everything your father's told me about you. But I probably shouldn't."

"Probably," I said, although I didn't know why I agreed or what he meant. I stopped and turned to face him, our eyes meeting. "Can I ask why?" My face heated, but I was curious now why he thought he shouldn't ask me out.

He shook his head quickly. "You're The Hangin' Judge's daughter," he said, his face dark, his brow furrowed. "I'm not the kind of man Judge McDermott's daughter should get involved with."

I frowned. "He thinks very highly of you."

He cracked a strange grin, that didn't reach his eyes. "He doesn't really know me."

I said nothing more.  What does he mean by that?

We walked to the door to the café, his hand very soft on the small of my back, and he opened the door for me.

"Thank you for doing an interview," I said once again as I stepped outside into the cool air, still a bit taken back by what he said.

He smiled, a crooked grin. "Goodbye, lovely Katherine."

That sent a jolt of pleasant surprise through me that only added to my confusion. Then the door closed and he walked one way, while I walked the other, the image of his face, his smile, in my mind's eye as I made my way down the street to the subway.

 

Before the door to my apartment was even closed, I was on the phone with Dawn, telling her about my meeting with Dave and Dr. Morgan.

"So I think you were right about him being a bad boy," I said, remembering his words at the café.

"Why? What did he say?"

"He told me he wanted to ask me out on a date, but that he wasn’t the kind of man someone like me should get involved with."

"What?"

"I know," I said, frowning. "Strange, right? He said my father didn't really know him."

"Holy crap," Dawn said. "That's cryptic. And ominous. Like I said, stay away from him, Kate. He's trouble."

 

I spent the rest of the week interviewing other people on my father's list of philanthropic giants for my article on charity for Geist. I had to turn it in before the weekend and so I spent my spare time working on it, polishing it before I had to send it to my editor.

I wished I could see Drake again, despite his warning for there was just something so… enticing and slightly dangerous about him. It wasn't just that he was drop-dead beautiful. It wasn't just that he was a surgeon and skilled. He was powerful. Self-assured. But there was something else.

It was something in his bearing that made you believe he could sweep you off your feet, like one of those bare-chested heroes in the bodice-ripping romance novels my girlfriends and I consumed like candy when we were teens. His dark arched brows and deep voice made you think he was out for plunder, like a pirate searching for treasure or some rich Lord of a great estate surveying the pretty daughters of his indentured serfs for his next trifle.

I had to admit I resorted to Big a few times in the ensuing days…