Page 53 of Doc Showmance
She gazed up at me, blinking. In silence.
Finally, she asked, “Where do we have to go? Are they in town?”
As if she didn’t already know. “They’re in San Francisco. We’ll fly up there.”
“So it’d be an overnight?”
“Yeah.”
“If I say yes, that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you. This is just for moral support.”
“You’ll do it because you like me. Don’t be putting things on the won’t-do list yet.”
20
Amber
Thanksgiving Day. We loaded into the back seat of a sleek, dark SUV on the tarmac of a private airport somewhere near San Francisco. We, as in, Ian, Martin the camera guy, and me. The jet on its private runway behind us with the name ToddCo emblazoned on the side made me realize Ian didn’t come from the kind of rich I think about. This was crazy rich.
We’d timed it to arrive early afternoon, in time for the mid-afternoon Thanksgiving dinner. Ian only wanted to stay one night. Our producer said four. Ian agreed to two, bringing us home on Saturday morning, but arriving at that concession involved a lot of bickering, not on my part. I’d already clearly stated I wanted no part of any of this.
Our flight had been awkward, with us sitting far apart and barely talking. Everything about Ian had gone granite the moment we boarded the plane. He’d even lost his stress ever-smile and his ability to speak more than three or four words. A little heads-up on what I was getting into would’ve been great. Even a few small hints might’ve helped regulate my nerves. I tried to tell him I had no clue, but he said he was trying to figure out who was on the invite list, and therefore spent the entire flight on his phone.
“This is luxurious,” I muttered as the driver turned the SUV into a private driveway of an estate in the middle of the city. The house took up what felt like almost a block and had its own parking area. The lot was tastefully manicured with shrubbery and flowers, not the standard slab of asphalt and white lines. San Francisco was crowded to the point there wasn’t much available property. To own something this big confirmed these people were filthy rich.
“It’s the entertainment house. The real house is north of the city. They hold events here since you can see the Golden Gate Bridge from the second story. There’s guaranteed to be some big names for this event and…” Ian didn’t deviate from his stare out the window. His voice held little emotion. “It’ll be a production. I suggest at least one to three glasses of wine an hour so by the time we reach hour two, we’re wasted. Might make it more tolerable.”
“Sounds like fun.” I wanted his attention. I’d even take his perma-smile. This guy next to me was so walled off that he scared me. “How many people will be here?”
“Between thirty and seventy.”
“That’s a lot of turkey.”
The driver opened my door. By the time I got out Ian was striding around the car with his wide smile in place. Scruff shadows lined his jawline, and his dark hair curled at the edges where he’d neglected to get a haircut since starting at the ER hospital. I liked it longer, not that I’d admit it out loud. The last thing this man needed were compliments on his good looks.
He wore a button-down rolled up at the sleeves, whose color contrasted his tan skin, and jeans that looked far too good on him.
He paused to stare at me, but then his face blanched. “Are you changing before the event? I didn’t see a clothing bag.”
“What’s wrong with this? It’s only Thanksgiving.” I looked down at my skinny jeans, boots, and dark sweater. “I’ve had this on since we got on the plane.”
“Do you have a dress to change into?”
I shook my head. “I did try to ask for details, but no one seemed interested in my questions yesterday or today about the dress code.”
“We should’ve stopped on the way to shop.” A glance at Martin, and his face hardened as if he despised our interaction being caught on camera. “They’re probably not going to let you in to film during the event.”
Martin put the camera down. “You’re contractually obligated—”
“This isn’t about me or Amber. You’ll have to see what my mother will allow.” He leaned in to say low, “These are people who can buy the TV studio, maybe already own its parent company. Go wherever my mother puts you. If you have even an ounce of self-preservation, you’ll stay within the boundaries she puts down until this is over.” He stared at my clothes again.
“If I need to change, it’s a national holiday,” I said. “Nothing will be open for shopping other than a gas station. I’m thinking anI love San Franciscosweatshirt isn’t what you’re talking about.”
He tugged a hand down his face. “These people are vipers. I won’t let you show up at a disadvantage. I’m changing into a tux when we go inside. I don’t want you to feel—”
“Feel what? Out of place?” I interrupted. “Poor? Hello, I’m a veterinarian with little to no personal wealth. I’m barely surviving on a residency salary to support my entire family. I come from nothing. Literally nothing. That clearly puts me on everyone here’s judgment plate.”
“I don’t need to fight the chip on your shoulder today, too. Look, I’m sorry. Not my intention to make you feel bad.”
