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Marti swallowed. Her thoughts drifted to the art show. To Logan’s bring-you-to-your-knees eyes. His smile. The way they laughed. Almost kissed. Something told her his abrupt departure had s
omething to do with the baby.
“It’s complicated.”
Blue scoffed, then leaned forward, one palm braced in front of Marti on her desk. Her expensive perfume lingered in the air between them as she said, “Welcome to love, McBride. It’s never easy. It’s always complicated. Figure it out. And while you figure it out, tell your readers about it. They don’t want perfection; they want something real. It’s what they’ll relate to. It’s what they’ll understand. The messier, the more complicated, the better. That just makes things more interesting.”
Marti nodded. She was right. Marti knew she was right, and yet . . .
“Okay.” She nodded. “You’re right.” She only wished she felt as confident as she sounded.
“Of course I am.” Blue straightened. “I expect a new article sent to my inbox by midnight.” She turned to leave, then hesitated, her gaze whip-sharp. “And, Marti, you have one chance to pull this off. People are talking. They think you’ve changed, and your ratings are soaring. Don’t disappoint.”
Marti nodded. The weight of her job landed squarely on her shoulders. “Right. Got it.”
She watched Blue’s retreating form, then exhaled, blowing a lock of hair from her face and melting onto her desk. What was she thinking, turning in that crappy article?
She’d better get it together or she’d be out of a job. If that happened, she may as well kiss any chance of living in the city, let alone Manhattan, goodbye. She’d be unemployed. Broke. Moving into her mother’s apartment in Jersey would be her only option. Ugh.
She needed a piece confirming her relationship with Logan. It would solidify their couple status. But before she could write anything else about him, she had to know if there was a child involved. Faking a relationship for the world was one thing, but dragging someone’s kid into the spotlight was another.
She felt eyes on her back and turned. Mel stood behind her, hands on her hips, a crease of worry in her brow. “What was that about?”
“Oh, you know, just me jeopardizing my career. How do you feel about a little field trip?” Marti asked.
“The kids kept me up all hours of the night. I’m exhausted, hungry, and ready for the underworld to swallow me whole. If I spend any more time here, I’ll fall asleep at my desk, so I’m game. Where to?”
“There’s a med school expo, and I happen to have it on good authority that a certain Love Doctor is there. We’re going to crash it.”
“And why would we need to do that?”
“Because I need to talk to Logan as soon as possible, and I’d prefer some place where he can’t just up and leave,” she said, thinking of how abruptly he left dinner the other night.
Mel wiggled her brows. “Ooh, an ambush. I like it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARTI
MARTI WAS TWELVE YEARS old the first time she remembered seeing a large amount of blood. They had been playing dodge ball in gym class. It was her favorite of all games, and nothing said happiness like wailing a rubber ball at someone’s face. Especially when your father and mother had been fighting for months like they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Smacking someone in the gourd as hard as humanly possible was the ultimate release.
So, on that particular day in gym class, she was ready to kick some sixth-grade butt and expel a little pent-up frustration. The sharp thwack of the ball was all she could do to escape her inner turmoil.
Early in the game, her team was four kids down. Several of her classmates cowered behind her, using her as a human shield. Marti moved her feet quickly, auburn ponytail swinging like a flame. She dodged a fast strike from the opposing team and grabbed the ball. Taking aim, she cranked her arm back and launched it right at Johnny Marco’s face. The rubber impaled him like a torpedo, hitting him dead-center in the mug. It was a beautiful shot, and she puffed her chest out, lungs filling with pride. Until his nose started gushing blood and Mr. Savoy, their gym teacher, made her escort him to the nurse.
Her stomach roiled as she shuffled her way toward him, her sneakers squeaking on the freshly waxed gym floor. He clutched his nose, bent over, bleeding all over the front of his shirt and onto the ground by his feet, the crimson spreading like ink. And right as she went to grab his arm—okay, it was the sleeve of his shirt—Johnny tripped her, and she fell. In the blood.
Only a second passed before she lost her breakfast all over Johnny’s new shoes. Worse yet, Mr. Savoy banned her from dodge ball for the rest of the year. But it was the last time Johnny tripped her.
Ever since, Marti recoiled at even the slightest mention of blood. So, as she peered around the cavernous expo center, she prayed she didn’t encounter anything dealing with bodily fluids.
She smoothed the front of her black slacks and sweater, hoping she blended in with the other Med students. Everyone around her was eager-faced and wide-eyed like baby birds, and Marti wondered if she’d looked the same way when deciding on a career. Probably not. Her role as Queen of Single came so quickly, there was never any time for contemplation. She went from struggling college student, living off Ramen, to an overnight success story, attending exclusive events and drinking Moet from crystal flutes.
The large room was filled with booths and tables from doctors and medical practices of varying specialties, a veritable gathering of Who’s-Who of medical professionals in the city.
She passed a cardiology booth on Mel’s right and grimaced. A large plastic diagram of an anatomical heart mechanically mimed the human heartbeat, and she fought the urge to dry heave.
“Why are we wearing white doctors coats again?” Mel asked, peering down at her, complete with a sticker tag that read Dr. Belinda Bradford.
