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Marilyn folded her hands on her lap. “Unfortunately, not everything you hear in the media or read on the Internet is true.”
Janet checked her manicure. “Your husband makes a living playing a child’s game.”
Marilyn’s face tightened. “My husband is a professional athlete. He works hard and is paid well. But what does that have to do with me?”
Janet swept a hand toward her. “You’re his wife. What he does reflects on you. Frankly, I’m afraid we don’t approve of his lifestyle. We don’t believe it suits our image.”
Marilyn’s eyes narrowed. “What is it about his lifestyle that concerns you?”
Dionne shrugged. “We’ve heard about celebrities’ really loose social lives.”
Oh, this should be good.
Marilyn’s gaze swung between Janet and Dionne. “With how many professional athletes have you socialized ?”
Janet smoothed her hair in an almost defensive gesture. “None, but we’ve heard of the wild parties and loose women.”
Marilyn’s burst of laughter startled even herself. “My husband’s not the stereotypical celebrity. Just like every other demographic in society, some athletes party a lot and some don’t. My husband prefers quiet nights at home—with me.”
Dionne angled her chin. Her gray eyes were troubled. “It was widely reported that Rick Evans was in a Cleveland bar the night before one of the team’s games.”
Widely reported? “Actually, it appeared in one online gossip blog and the writer had an ax to grind against the Monarchs.” Warrick’s words rang nicely—probably because they were true.
Janet waved her hand dismissively. “In any event, we don’t want those rumors reflecting badly on our business interests. We don’t think you’d want that, either.”
No, she didn’t. But what were they suggesting? “What would you recommend I do?”
Dionne leaned forward. “Talk with him. Tell him he has to be aware of how his behavior affects your career.”
Janet commanded her gaze. “We’re looking at two other candidates. You’re well regarded professionally. Our only concern is your husband’s reputation.”
Marilyn suppressed her irritation. She looked from Janet to Dionne. “I’ll speak with him. I’m certain we won’t have any cause for concern.”
That’s because Warrick’s reputation was just as impeccable as the clinic’s partners’, perhaps more.
“We hope so. We’d like you to be part of our team.” Janet’s expression was more avaricious than welcoming.
“I’d like that, too.” Marilyn finished her coffee.
The clinic partnership was another part of her plan to build an identity separate from her larger-than-life parents. But the look in Janet’s eyes made her wonder if she could ever put enough distance between herself and her parents.
“The clinic partnership may not work out.” Marilyn curled up on the rose-colored love seat in the living room of Emma’s condo. Her friend had a penchant for pastels and fluffy furniture.
Emma Mane lowered herself to the matching armchair. Her honey blond hair swept over her left shoulder as she turned toward Marilyn on her right. “What happened? Did they reject your application?”
“No. They said they were impressed with my résumé and my background. They’d checked my credit, which is good. But they seemed more interested in my parents than me.”
Marilyn had changed into her baggy red cotton shorts and Warrick’s silver Monarchs T-shirt. The comfortable outfit usually helped her relax after a long, stressful day at the hospital. But tonight, she couldn’t settle her thoughts.
Emma crossed her legs. Her lemon capris exposed her lower calves and ankles. “Well, your parents are very well known in philanthropic circles. I’m sure your prospective partners have at least considered approaching them for a donation.”
Resentment soured Marilyn stomach. “That’s an irresponsible reason to invite someone to become a partner of a clinic.”
Emma shrugged her thin shoulders beneath her bright white T-shirt. “Maybe. But it’s a strategic move that immediately gets them closer to your parents’ purse.”
Marilyn drummed her fingers against the love seat’s padded arm. “I can’t guarantee that my parents will invest in the clinic. Besides, they’re in northern California. There are plenty of philanthropists in New York.”
“But none of them are your parents.” Emma sounded drained from her hospital duty hours. As a pediatric doctor, she often treated injuries children should never experience.
