Page 4 of Getting Off

Perhaps some psychologist would say this was what happened to the twin who was left behind.

A sense of disconnection, an inability to master the social art of chit-chat, a focus and drive at work that might even seem mildly obsessive.

But Brooklyn wasn’t in the psychology field.

She had no interest in speculating on human behavioral patterns. She wanted concrete facts.

And the only fact she knew for certain was that she hated ballroom fundraising benefits.

She sipped her champagne and tried not to look awkward. She’d rushed here after her shift, only having time to grab this cocktail dress and throw on some jewelry that was far outshone by the diamonds and gold draped on every wealthy woman around her. She felt lucky her hair had cooperated.

“Ah, Dr. Foster!” Dr. Harvey Gibson ambushed her, smiling like a snake.

She’d been doing her best to avoid the chief of staff all night.

“So good to see you here this evening. Have you met Donald Holland yet? Donald, let me introduce you to Brooklyn Foster. She’s an up-and-coming neurologist at the hospital. ”

Brooklyn accepted the sweaty hand of the elderly Mr. Holland and shook hands with his painted wife as well.

She smiled. She nodded. She listened. She nodded some more.

She listened to Dr. Gibson tell stories about his children and how they’d gone to prep school with the Holland children.

How wonderful. They were all one big happy family.

Brooklyn filed as much of this information into her memory as possible so she would remember to ask about the couple’s children the next time they met.

This was all part of the process of getting local wealthy Vegas patrons to donate money to the hospital.

It was how the world worked. Brooklyn wished it was otherwise.

To her, it felt wrong to pander to these big wigs just to get the money to be able to provide vital health services for the community.

But there was a lot of money in Vegas, and they needed to get their share in order to survive.

When the Hollands finally took their leave, Dr. Gibson turned on her, his face set in a scowl.

“If this trauma center is going to become a reality, you’re going to have to be far more charming and convince our donors to contribute the money to fund it. Smile more. Use what advantages God gave you.”

She stared at him, shocked by the bluntness of his words. She knew she should be furious, but right now, she couldn’t think of a word to say.

“You’re upset,” Dr. Gibson continued, eyeing her. “I can tell that much. I suppose it is a good time to inform you that I’ve put in my vote against you for the head position in this endeavor. I simply don’t believe you have what it takes.”

Brooklyn was floored by his words. He’d never been supportive, and he was always making vaguely sexist comments that HR would’ve railed him for…if he hadn’t been the chief of staff. But to put a vote against her was a serious matter.

“Dr. Gibson, I’m absolutely qualified for this position,” she said carefully. “I’ve been training for this for over ten years. I’ve given hours and hours of volunteer time to dealing with head trauma in our emergency room. This center will make a huge, positive impact on the community.”

“You’re right. It will make a huge impact, and I know a good neurosurgeon in Tahoe who will fit the bill perfectly. And there is Dr. Beaumont, of course. Another strong candidate.” Dr. Gibson’s smile turned glacial. “Both men understand the nuances of raising money and pleasing big donors.”

Brooklyn bit the inside of her cheek to keep the words she wanted to say inside her mouth. Those words pounded on her skull until she felt as if she might be sick. But she couldn’t say any of the things she wanted to shout at this vile man who outranked her.

“Of course, sir,” she said with a smile frozen on her face. “Whatever you think is best for the community and the hospital.”

“I’m pleased you understand.”

“But I’m not withdrawing my candidacy,” she continued. “Even if I’m not your favorite. The board of directors might feel differently.”

“I suppose we will see.” After a cold smile, he left her, sliding off into the crowd to find a new wealthy donor whose ass he could kiss.

She was left standing there devastated and reeling from the conversation. Her luck did not improve as she headed toward the food. It was time to stuff her face and forget about Dr. Asshole.

The first person she ran into was Lucas Fox.

Lucas Fox with his raven’s wing black hair and deep, dark eyes.

She already felt her skin heating, and she prayed she wasn’t blushing.

This man was irritatingly handsome. Being rich and handsome seemed like too much of a good thing for any male. No wonder she couldn’t stand him.

“Dr. Foster,” he said smoothly, flashing a half-smile at her. His tall, athletic build seemed perfect for the tuxedo he was wearing.

“Hello, Mr. Fox. It’s so good to see you here this evening. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I’ve heard less stilted greetings from robots,” he said, his grin widening.

He tilted his head to one side and gazed at her in a way that made Brooklyn feel as if he could see right into her brain and read every thought.

It was always like that with Lucas Fox. He always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone around him.

“I’ve never heard anyone struggle so hard to sound polite. ”

“Of course, it’s a struggle to be polite to you,” she snapped. Then she realized what she’d said and had to stop herself from covering her mouth in shock. Not good. “I mean…since you told me I’m worse than a robot. What kind of gentleman says that to a lady?”

He laughed. It was rich laughter that seemed to thrum inside her and make her tummy tighten.

“You’re not a lady,” he said smoothly. “You’re a doctor. It’s better.”

She glared at him. Remember, he’s rich, and we need him to donate… Dr. Gibson will kill me if I make him mad.

Keeping that in mind, she looked him in the eye and calmly said, “It’s not ‘better’ if I have to waste all my time sucking up to overconfident, rich jerks instead of healing people.”

His smile was different this time. Sympathetic? No, that couldn’t be right. Admiring? No…

God, had she really just blurted that out to him? She wasn’t even slightly drunk. She had zero excuses. Flustered, she downed the rest of her champagne in a gulp.

He gestured to one of the tables packed with alcohol and appetizers. “Your champagne is empty. Will you join me in another drink? If we both have to suffer through this, good champagne might help.”

Brooklyn felt suspicious. Was he making fun of her? But how could she refuse? Especially after her last comment. “Of course, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

He signaled over one of the servers carrying a tray filled with fresh champagne glasses. He took two and handed her one with a friendly enough smile.

Brooklyn still didn’t know what to think. She’d always suspected that Mr. Playboy Lucas couldn’t have cared less about her as a doctor or as a person. That his easy charm was simply the facade he showed to everyone, especially women.

That suspicion had always put her off. She’d never really warmed to him.

He was too perfect. Brooklyn had always wondered if he was one of those rich men who believed everyone should pander to him as though he were royalty about to bestow some royal title and, of course, an annuity.

After all, that was the reason Brooklyn hadn’t already walked away from him, despite her awkwardness and despite blurting out exactly the wrong things.

Lucas Fox was rich, and the hospital needed money for the trauma center.

Fox tilted his head to one side and sipped from his flute of champagne. “I’m surprised a neurologist would drink. Aren’t you going to tell me about the evils of alcohol and the effects it has on the brain?”

“Have I taken a sip yet?” Brooklyn asked coldly.

He was definitely mocking her. She didn’t appreciate it, and she wanted him to know.

All of that charm and he’d tricked her. Trapped her on purpose.

Using neurology against her. She set the glass back down on the refreshment table. “I was merely trying to be polite.”

His grin widened even more, his eyes flashing with humor. “I watched you finish off one glass already.”

“Everything in moderation,” she said primly.

His dark eyes danced, and he shoved careless fingers through his dark hair. The bastard looked as though he stood in front of the mirror, styled his hair, and then messed it up on purpose to look sexy or something. Not that Brooklyn was noticing that he was sexy. She didn’t like him.

“What fun is that?” he chided. To her surprise, he set his own glass on the table. “If the lady isn’t drinking, then I won’t either.”

“I thought you said I was a doctor, not a lady?”

He swept into a little half-bow, mischief still in his eyes. “What can I say? I was mistaken. You excel at both.”

Brooklyn opened her mouth to shoot back a sarcastic reply. Then she closed it again. Oh, this guy was smooth. So smooth, he was dangerous.

She needed to regain the initiative, and she knew exactly the way to do it. “Thank you for the compliment. And thank you for your extremely generous donation to our excellent cause. I’m sure your name will be first and foremost on the commemorative plaque.”

He blinked at her. “I haven’t committed to any donation yet.”

She gave him a coy smile. “I have every confidence that a gentleman such as yourself will do the right thing. I’ve heard plenty of examples of your generosity. I can’t imagine I’d end up disappointed.”

He raised his elegant brows before chuckling. “You’re right. How could I disappoint you? You’ve provided such an excellent diversion tonight.”

She didn’t know what she’d expected him to do when she’d flat out asked for money in a manner so blunt and bold that Dr. Gibson probably would’ve had a stroke. Not that strokes were a laughing matter, but still…

Brooklyn tried to pull together an acceptable reply. But before she could speak, she heard someone shouting.

They both turned in the direction of the calls. She frowned, seeing a man charging his way through the crowds as people glared at him in shock and outrage.

“Hey! Doctor Beautiful! It’s good to see you!”

It was Dylan Pierce. The man she’d examined in the ER several days ago. She hadn’t forgotten about him or his obnoxious attempts to make her smile. He had succeeded at the time, but now she definitely wasn’t smiling.

This is a disaster.

She reached for her champagne glass once again.