Doc Showmance by Zoe Forward

Author:Zoe Forward
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zoe Forward

Twenty

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.

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