Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad: Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad

She looked diligent, Paul observed, completely involved in her work. She was obviously intent on doing a good job.

Maybe Derek had been right in hiring this young woman after all, he mused. Maybe a public-relations spokesperson was exactly what they needed to give them that much-needed shot in the arm. Good works didn’t count for very much if no one knew you did them, and the public, fickle at best in their loyalties, couldn’t exactly be expected to embrace something if they didn’t know about it.

Paul took a step forward and cleared his throat.

The sound caught her attention and Ramona raised her eyes. The next moment she was clamping her lips together, stifling a gasp. When had Armstrong come in? “How long have you been standing there?”

A slight smile curved his mouth. “Long enough to discover that you nibble on your lower lip when you’re thinking—or was that fretting?”

Fretting. Now, there was a word she hadn’t heard in—well, maybe forever. This man definitely had stepped out of the last century. Quite possibly the first half of the last century, she speculated.

“No, no ‘fretting,’” she answered with a straight face. “You were right the first time. I was just thinking something through. Don’t worry. There’s nothing in what I’m writing that should stir up any kind of concern.” She gestured toward the screen, which, given its position, only she could see right now. “It’s just the institute doctors’ backgrounds, plus I’ve added a little family history for each of them.”

Personal histories had never really interested him all that much. They were just fillers, padding that was easily eliminated. It was what a person did, not who their parents were, that mattered. Though he had to admit that maybe his own background tainted his view of things.

Still, he asked, “Do you think that’s really necessary?”

As far as she was concerned, a person’s history was the most interesting part. She always wanted to know what made people tick, how they got to be the way they were. She sincerely doubted that she was alone in this.

“People like to know who they’re dealing with. It makes the whole challenging process of fertility treatment a little more down-to-earth for them—and a little less like science fiction.”

Leaning back in what she hoped would continue to be her chair for at least a modest amount of time, Ramona did her best to appear relaxed. The very act belied the knots in her stomach. She laced her fingers before her and tried to sound cheerful as she asked, “So, what’s the verdict?”

Technically, there was no official verdict yet. He told her what was happening. “I managed to send Derek to Lisa to apologize.”

Well, that didn’t sound very heartening. “For hiring me?” she asked. This would be the part where she would have gotten up and told him what he could do with his apology. But she wasn’t being herself, she was being a subservient employee. She assumed that was what Paul Armstrong wanted and she was willing to go along with it, as long as it eventually got her access to the archives.

“For hiring you without consulting with the rest of us,” Paul corrected.

That still didn’t give her the answer she was hoping for. “So you’re letting me go?” she guessed. She had trouble envisioning the woman who belonged to that cold voice over the phone giving her a thumbs-up. Even so, there was absolutely no way she was going to go without a fight. “Because if you are, Dr. Armstrong, you’re going to regret it.”

“Are you threatening me, Miss Tate?” he asked quietly.

“No, I’m telling you that you need me,” she responded with feeling. “I’m very good at my job.” Ramona straightened and squared her shoulders.

She made him think of a warrior princess. He had no idea where that had come from, only that it seemed like a very appropriate description.

“I’d like you to read what I’ve been writing before you have security eject me.”

Paul held up his hand to stop her before her mouth launched into double time. The woman was already talking faster than he could listen. He had a feeling that, like Derek, Ramona Tate could talk with the best of them, easily winning battles simply by wearing her opposition down.

“No one’s ejecting you, Miss Tate,” he assured her. “You have a temporary stay of execution.”

The surprise came and went from her face in an instant. Had he blinked, Paul suspected he wouldn’t have seen it at all.

“How temporary?” she wanted to know, banking down her eagerness.

“That remains to be seen,” he told her. It depended on whether she actually got results that would do them any good. For now, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Why don’t we just take this one step at a time, shall we?”

“That’s all I ever wanted, an opportunity to prove myself to you—whichever ‘you’ I happen to be talking to,” she added with an amused smile. Rising, she cocked her head just a tad as she peered at him closely, her eyes swiftly taking inventory and reviewing everything she noted. And then she made her decision. “You’re Dr. Paul,” she declared with just a hint of triumph.

He hid his amusement. “What makes you so certain?” he asked.

Even though he felt that there was a world of difference between his brother and him, Paul knew that as far as looks went, he and Derek were close to interchangeable unless they were standing beside one another. It was only then that someone might notice that Derek was thinner, while he looked as if he availed himself of the gym’s facilities whenever he could, which he did.

When they were younger, both of their parents managed to confuse one with the other, in part, Paul suspected, because neither parent ever really took the time to get to know either of them. Although, if he thought about it, Paul had a feeling that if his parents had taken the time, it would only have been Derek who would have garnered their focused attention.

It wasn’t only the squeaky wheel that got greased, it was the noisy, silver-tongued brother who ultimately got all the attention.

Ramona smiled up at him. The smile penetrated clear down to his bones. “Your eyes.”

He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “What about my eyes?” he pressed. He fully expected her to say something to the effect that they were dull, that Derek was the one whose eyes looked as if they held a host of secrets and the promise of excitement.

But she surprised him. “You’re the one with the kind eyes,” Ramona said. “Your brother’s eyes are … unfathomable.”

Maybe she didn’t have such a happy way with words after all. Paul interpreted her meaning. “So Derek is the man of mystery while I’m the flat, two-dimensional one.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together into a V. She looked surprised at his interpretation of her assessment.

“Not at all,” she protested. “On an absolute level, you’d be the one who people would trust, Dr. Armstrong, not your brother. They’d go to him looking for a good time, not honesty.”

Ramona firmly believed that it was never too early to begin laying groundwork in order to build a viable relationship. That was her goal at the moment to build a connection with Paul. She could accomplish more at a quicker pace if she had one of the Armstrongs in her corner, and Paul, although reserved, struck her as the one who was more real, more open. She had the feeling that Derek had his own, private agenda, one he meant to pursue no matter what. A man like that couldn’t be manipulated.

Besides, Derek Armstrong was far too into himself to be of any use to her.

Paul shook his head ever so slightly. “I already said you had a temporary stay of execution, Miss Tate. There’s no need to try to flatter me.”

Annoyed with herself that she’d come across so transparent, nonetheless Ramona managed to rally quickly. “I wasn’t flattering, I was telling it the way I saw it,” she informed him simply.

She might have given him a simple answer, Paul mused, but he had the impression that this woman was anything but that. As a matter of fact, he would have been willing to say that, despite declarations of honesty and truth, there was something Ramona Tate was keeping back.

The fleeting thought intrigued him.

In case she believed he was fishing for more validation, he changed the subject. “By the way, about your references—”

Ramona was one jump ahead of him. She’d learned that a good defense was to have a good offense. “I have them right here.” Reaching for her oversize purse, she pulled it toward her, then flipped the locks open. “Your brother said he’d be getting around to reviewing them eventually, but I think they should be a matter of record, don’t you?” Taking out a light blue file that contained more than a few letters of praise, she offered the folder to him. “There’s also a copy of my academic transcript and employment history,” she told him.

Taking the folder, Paul opened it and scanned a few of the pages. There were letters from college professors and from news editors, some of whom had the logos of local TV stations stamped on them. One was from the Washington Post. He’d expected one letter, perhaps two. If asked, he would have said that she was too young for more than that.

“And you said that you were just twenty-five?” he asked incredulously.

Maybe Monty had laid it on a little thick, Ramona thought. Monty Durham was the computer geek/wizard she’d befriended in her first year in college. He’d been so grateful to have someone to talk to, he became Sancho Panza to her female Don Quixote. There wasn’t anything that Monty couldn’t make a computer do, including spew out lies and make them look like gospel. There also wasn’t anything that Monty wouldn’t do for her.

“I graduated two years early,” she told Paul by way of an explanation.

Which was true. Eager to start leaving her mark in the world, Ramona had opted for an accelerated course of study. It had allowed her to crunch four years of high school into three and then do the same with college. To make it work, she’d attended school year-round, picking up courses part-time in the summer. In her spare time, she had also worked any job in her field she could get her hands on. That in turn gave her a much-needed solid core for her résumé. Monty had done the rest, embellishing where he could. He was also responsible for half the letters of recommendation in the folder.

She was unusual, Paul decided, he’d give her that. “In my experience, most people like to extend their college experience if they can.”