The Agreement (3 page)

"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.