Paging Dr. Hot (6 page)

Liliana rushes up and gapes at us. “What happened? How did he get in the pool? I thought you said he doesn’t swim.”

“He doesn’t.” I sigh and hold Romeo close, feeling like a negligent mom.

Just then Liliana’s cell phone beeps with a text message. “I have to go, it’s my husband. Are you okay?”

“Yes, go on. I’m fine.”

“Good. I’ll see you next week,” Liliana says. She puts a leash on her poodle, Henri, and waves good-bye.

A blonde little girl comes up to me and points to a fat corgi. “That dog over there pushed your dog in the pool.”

“He did? Whose dog is it?” I ask.

“Mine. Hello, Francesca,” intones a deep voice I’m all too familiar with. I whirl around and stare into Devon Hamme’s penetrating silver gaze.
No, not you!

“Devon,” I say, unenthused. “Strange meeting you here.”

He makes a tsking sound at Romeo. “More dog trouble?”

Romeo growls and lunges at Devon, but I manage to restrain him.

“Hey, Frankie,” another voice I recognize suddenly calls out. Noooo, this can’t be happening. A few feet away, I see none other than hunky Harrison heading our way.

“Harrison?” I wail, hoping I’m in the middle of another nightmare and about to wake up. I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch myself, but I’m still here. I can hear Liliana giggling in the background.

His mouth twitching, Harrison hands me Romeo’s soft blankie. “You left this at my office last night. I figured you, or Romeo, might be missing it.”

“Thanks. How did you know where to find me?” I mumble, wrapping the blanket around bedraggled Romeo.

“You mentioned you were taking Romeo to Kennedy Park, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right.” I’m surprised he remembered.

“What happened to you?” He stares at my wet clothes with a puzzled expression.

“Romeo almost drowned in the pool and I had to rescue him,” I explain, wishing I didn’t look like a drowned rat.

Romeo lets out an indignant groan and glares at me as if I’m a traitor. “What?” I ask Romeo. “Harrison knows you’re a northern dog. How could you possibly know how to swim?”

Harrison grins. “How indeed?”

“I thought you were sky diving today,” I say, smiling back.

“I’m going this afternoon.”

“Ahem.” Devon clears his throat. “After you mentioned this park last night, I thought I would bring my dog here too.”

Me and my big mouth—I
had
to mention to both of them that I’d be at the doggy park this morning. Sheesh.

“This is Trouble,” Devon says, lifting the plump Welsh Corgi in his arms.

“He’s Trouble all right,” I mutter under my breath. “I had no idea you had a dog.” Dr. Hamme sure didn’t act like a dog lover last night when Romeo was sick.

“Trouble was a gift from my agent,” Devon says.

That figures. His agent must have decided Devon’s image could use some softening, but why on earth would he give him an aggressive corgi?

A shaggy, mid-sized mutt comes scampering up and nudges Harrison’s leg. Romeo’s ears stand at attention and Trouble snarls.

“Whose mutt is this? Get him away from Trouble,” Devon commands.

“Scout is mine,” Harrison says, ruffling his big dog’s honey-colored fur. Scout licks Harrison’s hand and sprints away to join the other dogs in the pool.

Both men stare at me and I realize I haven’t introduced them. Unfortunately, Harrison beats me to it. “I’m Harrison Taylor, Romeo’s vet.”

“Dr. Devon Hamme,” Hamme articulates. “Francesca and I were feasting at Tantra last night when she got word that her dog was sick.”

“Tantra?” Harrison lifts an inquiring eyebrow at me. “Is that a restaurant?”

Devon gives a suggestive chuckle. “Yes, you should try it. Their aphrodisiac menu is amazing,” he says, elbowing Harrison with annoying male camaraderie.

“I’m a meat and potatoes kinda guy,” Harrison says. “Give me a thick, juicy steak…”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Devon interjects, his knowing eyes dancing with mischief. “Francesca loved the Triple Orgasm dessert. Too bad her dog’s illness got in the way just as she was beginning to unwind.”

Harrison’s dark brows shoot up and then furrow over his keen eyes. Damn that Devon, he is purposely being outrageous. I could smack him. I can’t meet Harrison’s searching gaze. I’m sure he thinks I’m not only a liar, but a negligent mother to Romeo. Last night I told him that I didn’t remember the name of the restaurant. I also neglected to tell him that Fizzy had called me in the middle of my date to report Romeo was sick. But that’s because he wasn’t
really
sick and it was my exit plan. We only made it up so I could get away from Devon. This is what I get for spinning tall tales.

Meanwhile, Devon’s lustful gaze leaves no doubt that he’s thrilled to see me again. He’s also getting a kick out of rattling me in front of Harrison.

“Let’s go back to Tantra tonight,” he says. “You still haven’t tried the…”

Romeo barks ferociously and tries to lunge at him. Devon takes a step backward and that’s my cue to exit.

“I have to go. Romeo’s afraid of Trouble,” I say, backing away from them. “Bye!”

Clutching Romeo to my chest, I run as fast as my legs will take me. Never mind that both men get an intimate view of my bobbing behind through the damp, now see-through Capris!

As soon as I get into my Jetta, I dial Chloe’s number. She’ll give me advice on how to redeem myself. Not that I’m interested in Harrison, but he is Romeo’s vet. I can’t have him thinking I’m a flake or worse yet, a liar.

After several rings, I get her answering machine. I try her cell, but it goes straight to voice mail.

The minute I get home, I check my landline messages. The first one is from Mom. “Hi, Frankie. I wanted to make sure you made it home okay.”

She must have Googled Dr. Devon Hamme and seen all the hype about his sex therapy. I dial home and am relieved to get the answering machine. I leave a quick message: “Hi, I’m home now. Thought you might wanna know that I’m not interested in dating Dr. Hamme anymore. I just got assigned to cover the health beat for Elise Richards while she’s on maternity leave, so I’ll be meeting more doctors. Maybe some eligible ones,” I add to cheer Mom up.

I listen to the second message. It’s from Chloe. “Frankie, call me. I just had the weirdest conversation with Harrison. He thinks you’re really cute, but a little nutty. I wonder why?” She giggles. “Anyway, when I asked what happened, he started laughing and told me to ask you. So I’m asking you—
what
happened
?”

Great. Now Harrison thinks I’m nutty, which is worse than being considered a flake. I punch in Chloe’s cell phone number, but I get her voice mail again.

I woke up this morning with the beginning of a headache and now it’s major. Even the light bothers my eyes. I give Romeo water and his favorite chewy treat and once he’s cuddled on my bed, I take a quick shower.

I close the shades and change into my nightgown. Then I take ibuprofen for my headache and massage some tea tree oil on my temples. Romeo looks so cute on my bed, bundled in his blanket with his little pointy snout peeking out. His dark chocolate eyes beckon me to join him.

I sink down beside Romeo and pull the sheet over my face when I feel a sudden, electrifying stab in my right temple. I sit up, clutching that side of my head. What was that? I wait a few seconds and nothing happens. No sooner do I lie down again, telling myself it was a random pain nothing more, when the phone rings. I fumble in the dark to answer it, but the answering machine gets it first.

It’s my dear boss, Antoinette. “Francesca, we snagged an interview with Dr. Brian Gottlieb, the neurosurgeon. He’s being honored tonight at the Healthsouth Gala for a procedure he invented to remove hard-to-reach brain tumors. Your ticket will be at the front desk of the Ritz Carlton in Key Biscayne. The gala starts at eight. Don’t be late. Dr. Champlain at Channel Four is fuming that we got the first interview. Call me.”

A neurosurgeon? Is God sending me to him because something might be wrong with my head? Is the stab a sign of something serious?
No, stop it now. Stop making yourself crazy with “what-ifs”
. This is the chance of a lifetime—an interview with a renowned neurosurgeon. It’s more than social reporting—Dr. Gottlieb’s procedure will save lives!

I begin to feel better and my headache subsides a bit. All my life my addiction has been watching the news. I would have loved to be a jet-setting reporter, but I tend to avoid dangerous situations and I’m sure that has hampered my getting ahead as a serious journalist.

Now this has fallen in my lap. I’m thrilled to be the first to snag the interview with a life-saving brain surgeon.

I wonder if he’s single…

Romeo: Rowrrrr, I have a man crush. Harrison came to my rescue, not once, but twice. First in the middle of a stormy night…well it was actually clear, but stormy sounds more exciting. I am mortified that I almost drowned today. The side of the pool was too high for me to climb out of and I swallowed gallons of water. It sucks being short.

I feel better now. The room is dark, I have Francesca all to myself and we’re ready to snooze. Poor girl got a bad headache after her ordeal in the park, but hey, what about my humiliation? Dr. Hamme and his pushy dog, Trouble, better stay away from us or next time I will bite them.

On the other hand, Harrison’s dog, Scout, is alpha all the way. I could learn a few tricks from that top dog…

Chapter Five

So it turns out that Dr. Brian Gottlieb is single. He’s good-looking too—mid-thirties with wavy brown hair and brilliant hazel eyes. He’s tall, fit and looks great in a black tux. His hairline is receding a tiny bit, but it gives him an air of intelligence and his trimmed goatee balances his face. I’m glad he’s at the ball without a date—at least that’s what the elderly lady next to me whispered with a meaningful wink. She patted her coiffed silver hair and added, “He’s quite a catch.”

I’m seated at a table in the middle of the Ritz Carlton ballroom, listening to Dr. Gottlieb’s acceptance speech and I have to admit I’m star struck. He has recently been awarded the Neuroscience Institute’s Global Award for Excellence in Neurosurgery.

I mentally go over all the material I researched. The man is a genius. He’s only thirty-six and his trailblazing surgery on hard-to-reach brain tumors has created quite a stir in the medical community. After reading the description and seeing the gruesome pictures of his famous operation online, I wished I could have taken a chill pill. It was not a pretty sight.

Dr. Gottlieb bows to thunderous applause and exits the stage. I’m suddenly nervous. In my career, I’ve conducted dozens of interviews, but Dr. Gottlieb is intimidating. I mean, all that scientific knowledge. When I see he’s heading my way, I smooth my hair away from my face and adopt a confident expression as I rise from the table to greet him.

“Dr. Gottlieb, I am Francesca Lake, the medical correspondent at WBCG.” I extend my hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Thank you,” he says, shaking my hand. “Nice to meet you too.” His hand is cool and smooth, how I’d imagined a surgeon’s hand would be.

I’m giddy with excitement. I’ve heard these brainy types spend so much time in research and work that they don’t have much time to socialize. Tonight I get a chance to kill two birds with one stone—interview The Brain and maybe get him to ask me out on a date.

“Would you like to step out on the balcony so we can chat?” I ask.

“Why don’t we dance first?” he says, pleasantly surprising me.

“I’d love to.” I allow him to lead me to the dance floor. The band is playing a
bossa nova
and Dr. Gottlieb is quite the mover.

“Where did you learn to
samba
like that?” I ask, catching my breath after his last flourish. He was swiveling his lean hips like Ricky Martin.

“In Brazil. Traveling abroad is my passion, especially to Latin America.”

“Mine too. I’ve been to Rio and
São Paulo
. Have you been to Iguaçu Falls in Brazil? My father is a marine biologist and on one of his trips to the Galapagos Islands, he took us to Brazil afterwards. Iguaçu Falls is gorgeous.”

He beams at me. “Ah, yes, it’s one of the natural wonders of the South American continent.” Dr. Gottlieb’s voice sounds a lot like Dr. Frasier Crane’s on the late-night reruns of
Frasier
.

“I am excited about featuring your ground-breaking operation on the news next week,” I say, segueing into business.

“Why don’t we talk about that later?” he suggests with a charming smile. “Let’s dance.”

“Sure.” If he wants to party, who am I to stop him? I put away my mini-recorder and let him lead me onto the dance floor again. This time they’re playing vintage Rolling Stones. I’m disappointed when he lets go of my hand because I don’t enjoy dancing solo to rock music. It makes me a little self-conscious, especially next to Usher here. I imagine my basic moves will bore him, but he doesn’t seem to mind, he’s too busy rocking out.

When the band switches back to Latin music, I’m relieved we’re back to partner dancing. Several songs later, I don’t know much about Dr. Gottlieb, except that he likes to travel and he’s a demon on the dance floor. We’ve danced the
samba
, the tango and the
paso doble
. Mom would be proud of me—those two years of cotillion paid off.