Page 40 of Offside Attraction

The dinner tonight was with a small group of influential doctors in the area. They served on all the boards, and she'd done her research. Dr. Harris was a cardiologist at the University of Alberta Hospital. He'd published several papers on the benefits of a Mediterranean diet. Ordering a Greek salad as an appetizer wasn’t beneath her.

Then there was Dr. Singh, a prominent oncologist who'd been instrumental in starting a new cancer treatment program in Edmonton. She'd read about his work in the Journal of Clinical Oncology and was genuinely impressed.

Rhonda finished with a setting spray and stepped back to admire her work. Perfect. She packed up her makeup, then grabbed her dress and unzipped the garment bag.

She put on her shapewear, then slid into her dress and smoothed it over her hips. It fit like a glove, hugging her curves in all the right places. She paired it with a statement necklace and her favourite heels, then gave herself one last once-over in the mirror.

She closed her suitcase on the luggage stand and tidied her toiletries in the washroom. Leaving her room immaculate was a habit she'd picked up over the years. You never knew when you might want to bring someone back.

Rhonda scanned the room and grimaced. Lately, the idea of bringing someone back felt more like a chore than a possibility. Alarming, to say the least. Maybe she was just tired. Or maybe, like one doctor in Red Deer had said flippantly a few months ago, she was entering perimenopause early.

That had stuck with her. She’d read enough testimonials on Reddit to give her permanent insomnia. Were these the best years of her life? Was her sex drive going to plummet? Worse, would she have to think about chin hairs andlabial chafing?

For the love.

Rhonda clutched her purse and strode out of the room, then walked down the hall to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened, and she stepped inside, her heels clicking on the polished tile floor.

She still had drive. The problem was that it seemed to be directed at one person and one person only at the moment. That moment with Jordan in the hallway . . . she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that kind of animalistic desire.

Rhonda's chest grew tight at the thought. She hadn't heard from him since he'd joked about getting himself pregnant. He was probably laughing with the entire rest of his team right then. Showing them what an idiot she was for talking about him to her friends, or crowing about how he’d lured her back to his apartment with hopes of getting an audience with Dr. Mallory.

He was just another guy on the roster.

Even if her roster had only one name on it for the past two months, that could change at any time. It could change tonight if she wanted it to.

The elevator doors opened, and Rhonda stepped out into the lobby. She walked past the front desk, her eyes scanning the room for any familiar faces. She didn't see any of the doctors or reps she'd been meeting with, so she made her way to the restaurant.

The place was packed, but they had a private room reserved in the back. Rhonda walked past the hostess stand and headed straight for it. She was the first one there, as planned. She liked to be early so she could get a feel for the room.

She slid into one of the leather chairs past the double doors and set her purse on the seat next to her. Their server appeared a moment later, and mmm. He was adorable. Younger than her, but that had never been a problem.

"Good evening, ma'am. Can I get you started with something to drink?" His voice was smooth, like honey drizzled over warm toast.

Rhonda smiled, twisting her earring. "I'll take a glass of your finest tap water, please. Lemon, no ice."

The server smirked. "Coming right up." He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a glass, more like a goblet, of water and set it in front of her.

"Thank you." Rhonda took a sip, then set the glass back down. His eyes flicked to her neckline. Mission accomplished.

He cleared his throat. "Are you waiting for someone, or should I bring you a menu?"

Rhonda kept her face straight. "I like to reserve the largest room. For one. It’s my personal protest against the idea that perceived feminine value increases with her ability to procure relationships.”

His lips twitched. “Where’s the petition?” He glanced down at the seat next to her. “I want to sign.” Rhonda couldn’t keep the edges of her lips from turning up. He held up a finger, then walked to the stand closest to them and brought back a menu. He handed it to her. "I would recommend the filet. Medium rare. Since you’re out for blood."

Rhonda’s smile widened. "I don’t think they’re paying you enough."

“I usually make up for it. In tips.”

Hot damn. He was charming as hell. Rhonda’s heart started to race, and for a moment she thought she might be cured. But then her hands grew clammy. This wasn’t attraction. This was blind panic. Because even when all the right pieces were combined in front of her, she felt nothing.

He took a step back and paused. "I’m at your service until eight."

“Hmm. What happens at eight?” Flirting was so second nature, she couldn’tnotdo it, even when she felt dead inside.

“I clock out. Then I usually sit at that seat at the bar.” His lips quirked.

“You’re a man of routine.”

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