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I wasn’t about to argue with my mentor—out loud—but Glennis making her flight was more important. She was at a disadvantage that we weren’t.
I couldn’t remember if Dr. Donaldson had ever told me why he’d become a doctor, but I’d become one to help people.
Of course, then I’d discovered I was really, really good at the medical side, too. Which was why I’d gotten the job with the National Institutes of Health. They normally didn’t hire people straight out of a fellowship, but apparently I’d impressed them enough with the research papers I’d co-authored with Dr. Donaldson. Even if the most recent one hadn’t been enough to impress this conference board.
I pulled out my phone to check the lab results I was still waiting on. After such a frustrating weekend, I couldn’t wait to get back to my lab and my cases and my patients. All I needed was a quiet, relaxing flight to decompress—Dr. Donaldson and I should have the row to ourselves—and this entire exasperating experience would all be behind me.
I shifted in my faux leather chair and looked up from my book. For the third time in half an hour, a thirty-something woman sitting across from me in the NationAir Premium Lounge made eye contact. I offered a little smile; the blonde scowled.
I turned back to my book and tried to ignore the suspicion nagging at the back of my mind. Since her breakup album had gone platinum six months ago, Harper Tyne fans had had better things to do than harass me.
Mostly.
I didn’t have to just sit here, waiting around for someone else to tell me. I glanced at the nearest departures and arrivals board. With my cross-country flight already cancelled—twice—it was beginning to look like I would not be starting a new job in Philadelphia tomorrow after all.
The Tynies wouldn’t be the only ones harping on my failure.
Finally, I spotted it in the list: a NationAir flight to Philadelphia thatwasn’tcanceled. I stood and started to make my way to the service desk, but the waiting blonde woman did the same.
She reached me first. “You don’t deserve to live,” she seethed.
“I think you have the wrong person.” Not that the Tynies had cared when they egged my car.
“Sure,Everett.”
“Oh, no, that’s not me.” I might be the closest you could get to Everett Hardcastle without actually being him, but I was stillnotmy older brother.
The blonde snorted. “I don’t know how you sleep at night.”
I resisted the urge to recommend something for insomnia, opting instead for a smoothing-things-over smile. “I have business to take care of. Have a nice day.”
I strode past her, but she followed. “I hope your plane crashes!”
The entire lounge seemed to suck in a breath. An imposing black man in an impeccable NationAir uniform stepped forward and invited the blonde to have a word, probably whisking her away to chat with security.
I could feel the trying-to-be-casual attention of the room follow her, shifting away from me. Good. Tomorrow was supposed to be a big day for me, and I was not about to let yet another Tynie ruin it.
Staying stuck here would certainly do that. I straightened the collar of my button-down and approached the service desk, turning up the wattage to aim my most charming smile at the clerk behind the counter. If that didn’t work, there were always the hundred-dollar bills in my pocket.
The desk clerk—Marsha, her name tag said—looked up. She returned the smile, automatically but broadly—until my face obviously registered with her. I fought to conceal the way my soul flinched. It was bad enough to be related to the newest, most notorious player in Hollywood; it was worse to look exactly like him.
People only smiled at me for two reasons, it seemed: because they wanted an introduction to Everett, or because I’d accomplished something in my career.
“How can I help you?” Marsha asked. At least she didn’t open withCan you introduce me to your brother?
“Hi, I’m sure you’re busy, and I know it’s probably been a hectic day for you.” You had to treat people with decency to get decency, I’d learned. She was a human, not a means to an end. Even if she was also that for me, I hoped.
Marsha waved away my concern. “I’m here to help.”
“Great, thank you. I was on flights 285 and 7145 to Philly today, and obviously—” I gestured at myself and held out my hands as if to sayI’m still here. “I really need to get to Philadelphia today—I’m starting a big, new job tomorrow. Can you help me with that, Marsha?”
She giggled. “I can certainly try.”
“I saw that there’s a flight leaving in half an hour?” I tried to sound helpful.
“Oh, yes—your name, sir?”
That was nice of her, pretending she didn’t suspect. “Davis Hardcastle.”
