Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
At some point, I have to figure out which one of these guests is Mr. Smith, the person who gave me the fifty million dollars. I want to pull him aside discreetly and thank him, but I haven’t been able to locate him yet.
“Ms. Bellamy,” a voice says.
I turn to face Dr. Landon Michaels, the oncologist who agreed to sit on our board. I recognize him from the photo on his website.
“Dr. Michaels”—I take his hand—“it’s such a thrill to finally meet you in person. Once again, I can’t thank you enough for being willing to serve on the board to lend your expertise.”
He smiles warmly. “When you called me, I couldn’t say no. I believe in what you’re doing here.” He scans the crowd. “Your sister and your attorney have been wonderful to work with, but”—he looks back at me—“I know working with you will be even more of a pleasure.”
I nod. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”
He looks me up and down. “If you don’t mind my asking, which physicians treated you?”
“I don’t mind at all. I was privileged to be treated by several amazing physicians, Dr. Leonard Smith and Dr. Victoria Jensen among them.”
“Both excellent in their field,” Dr. Michaels says. “I’m so glad they were able to get you into remission.”
“Yes, so am I.” I chuckle nervously. “But unfortunately standard treatment didn’t work for me. I actually owe my life to my brother Falcon. He donated the blood marrow that saved me.”
“You mentioned that in your speech.” He clears his throat. “Would you care to dance?”
My hands become clammy. Dr. Michaels is a nice-looking man—light-brown hair with a little bit of silver around his temples. Lovely green eyes. And tall. I like tall men.
His shoulders aren’t as broad as Vinnie’s. And his facial features aren’t as sharp, as rugged.
But screw Vinnie. He has his own date. The dance floor is beginning to fill up, and the string quartet is playing a waltz. Later, a DJ will come out to play more contemporary tunes.
I hate myself for it, but I do a quick scan of the room to see if Vinnie is within eyeshot. He’s not on the dance floor. In fact, I don’t see him or his date. I turn back to Dr. Michaels. “I would love to dance with you, Doctor.”
I let him lead me to the dance floor. I put my right hand into his left and place my left hand on his shoulder, while he slides his right hand around my waist and pulls me closer than I’m comfortable with.
I step back just a touch.
He seems to get the message.
I know how to waltz, but my goodness, it’s been a long time.
It comes back to me quickly, and Dr. Michaels is a fluid dancer and an excellent leader. I’m proud that I don’t step on his feet at all.
I catch a glimpse of Jared standing on the edge of the wall, watching me like a hawk.
And then my brother, Hawk, also watching me like his namesake.
Falcon and Savannah are dancing, as are my mother and father.
Robin is dancing with a man I don’t recognize. She didn’t come with a date, so good for her.
Eagle is still sitting at the table, his hands folded together. He looks uneasy. I’ll never stop worrying about him.
Leif Ramsey is on the dance floor with his beautiful wife, Kelly, a fiery redhead.
Dr. Michaels and I don’t speak much, and when the dance ends, I give him a smile. “Thank you.”
“May I get you a drink?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m keeping my alcohol consumption to a minimum. Although I have to admit those prickly pear margaritas look amazing.”
“I’m not much for sweet drinks,” he says, “but since it was the specialty cocktail of the evening, I tried it. It’s actually on the tart side. Quite delicious. Are you sure you can’t try at least one? Doctor’s orders?”
I sigh. “You know? I will try one. Thank you.”
He leads me to one of the bars where the line is only two deep at this point. Once we get to the bar, the bartender smiles at me. “Ms. Bellamy, what is your pleasure?”
I open my mouth, but Dr. Michaels speaks first.
“A prickly pear margarita for the lady, please. And I’ll have a Macallan, neat.”
“Of course, sir.”
I’m a little taken aback. I don’t particularly like men speaking for me. Dr. Michaels is probably trying to impress me.
The bartender prepares my margarita and hands it to me. I take a tiny sip.
Dr. Michaels is right. It is tart. A good tart, with just a touch of sweetness, and then of course the smokiness of the tequila.
“Delicious,” I say.
“Thank you,” the bartender says as he slides Dr. Michaels his glass of scotch.
“Obliged.” Dr. Michaels hands the bartender a fifty-dollar bill.
The gala has an open bar. Tips aren’t exactly discouraged, but they’re not required. The foundation will be tipping the bar staff at the end of the night based on the final totals.