“What?” Janet ran a hand through her mussed hair and stifled a yawn.
Lacy passed her cell phone over.
In the online society section of the Houston Chronicle there was a huge beefcake photograph of Gage with the headline: Local Physician to Wed Ex-Child Actor Turned Doctor Gage Gregory.
The lead paragraph read:
Famous not only for his work in television commercials as a child but for developing a revolutionary medical technique, skilled Hollywood plastic surgeon turned pediatrician, Gage Gregory is engaged to the daughter of Houston’s own illustrious Dr. Niles Hunter.
“Oh no.” Janet groaned and sank into a kitchen chair. Who all had seen the article? She could just imagine Dr. Jackson having his Sunday brunch and finding out hat his two newest doctors had gone off and gotten engaged to each other.
“You’ve been holding out on us,” CeeCee said. “You naughty girl! When did you and Gage get engaged?”
“Oh, Janet,” Lacy said. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we three got married at the same time? We could have a triple wedding. Wouldn’t that be romantic and fun?”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Lace, but Gage and I are not getting married.”
CeeCee and Lacy plunked down in chairs on either side of Janet.
“Wait,” Lacy said. “Are you engaged or not?”
“Kinda, sorta, not really. We have no intention of going through with it. We were just pretending to be engaged to make my father happy. But why did Gage leak the story to the media? I could kill him with my bare hands.”
“According to the article, it wasn’t Gage who broke the story, but your father.” Lacy tapped the screen with an index finger.
Father.
Oh, well, it all made sense now. He was big buddies with the Chronicle’s managing editor. She should have known. It also did not escape her notice that it was Gage’s name and photograph that appeared in the headline, and not hers.
“Did you know Gage once saved Senator McConelly’s son from drowning?” Lacy asked as she took her phone back.
“So I’d heard.”
“And he used to date A-list actresses,” Lacy read aloud from the article and then murmured under her breath, “Oh my goodness, he went out with her?”
“Why does that not surprise me?” What surprised her was why Gage was interested in Janet at all when he could have his pick of the world’s most beautiful women.
He’s not interested in you, rational voice scoffed. He just loves rescuing people. Don’t go off on an ego trip.
Janet groaned. “Please. Enough already. The whole thing is turning into the media snowball from hell.”
Her own cell phone rang.
Wearily, she tugged it from her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number but worried it might be from a patient. “Hello?”
“Is this Dr. Janet Hunter?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Hi, I’m Amanda Jacobs with TMZ, and I was wondering if I might ask you a few questions about your relationship with Dr. Gage Gregory.”
“No comment,” Janet said and hung up.
The cell phone rang again a few seconds later.
“I’ll just let it go to voice mail,” she told her friends coolly as if unruffled. But deep down inside, she wondered what in the heck she’d gotten herself into.
They sat sipping coffee, eating bagels, and listening as she got one call after another and let them all go to voice mail. When she checked the messages, they were all from reporters wanting an interview.
“This is insanity,” Janet muttered.
The doorbell chimed.
“Fabulous, now they’ve muscled past building security.” Janet got up and stomped to the foyer, ready to give someone a piece of her mind. The last thing she wanted was to talk to tabloid tattletales about her impending nuptials to the sainted Dr. Hero.
She peered through the peephole. It wasn’t a reporter, but rather the sainted Dr. Hero in question.
Big as life and twice as handsome. A lock of sandy-brown hair had fallen rakishly over his forehead. He wore navy shorts and a Rice University T-shirt. He looked more like a college student than a doctor with two specialties.
At the sight of him, her heart gave such a strange hop. Janet wondered if she should have an electrocardiogram to make sure all four valves were firing properly. It wasn’t normal to experience erratic palpitations simply from looking at a guy. Nothing in the medical textbooks described that phenomenon.
He rang the bell a second time, and Janet realized she must look like the rough end of an industrial mop.
Yikes! She couldn’t let him get an eyeful of her dressed like this. Her hair lay mussed, and she knew she had sheet creases on her cheek. Not to mention she had yet to brush her teeth this morning.
“CeeCee,” she said and darted back through the kitchen. “It’s Gage. Let him in while I get dressed.”
“Hmm,” Lacy mused out loud. “She’s worried about how she looks in front of him. Methinks she’s got it bad.”
“I heard that!” Janet shouted, stripping her pajama top over her head as she ran for the bedroom. “And I do not have it bad.”
“Yeah, honey,” CeeCee teased. “You’ve got it good.”
“Just hush and let him in, will you.” Janet was in the bedroom kicking off her pajama bottoms and wriggling into jeans.
She slipped on a form-fitting V-neck crimson silk shell, jammed her feet into loafers, and dashed into the bathroom. She heard a deep, masculine voice from the living room and CeeCee’s bouncy laughter in response to something he’d said. In the bathroom, she scrubbed her teeth, then gargled with mint-flavored mouthwash. She ran a brush thorough her hair, spritzed herself with anise cologne, and rolled on Native Sunset—her favorite shade of lipstick. Stunned, Janet stared into the mirror and realized Lacy was right. She wanted to look good for Gage.
What did that mean?
“Janet,” CeeCee called from the living room. “Gage is here.”
“Be right there,” she called back, but not before dragging blush over her cheeks. Then to her reflection she muttered, “You only want to look good for him because he’s being so nice. It means nothing. Really.”
Good one, Janet, rational voice said. Tell us another fairy tale.
Ignore her, impish
