The Perfect Affair (2 page)

A
ward-winning biologist Randall Atwater walked toward the baggage claim area of Los Angeles International Airport envisioning green palm trees, blue skies, and fluffy white clouds. Instead, looking out the windows, he saw rain. Lots of it. Pouring out steadily and heavily from a dark gray sky.

I thought they said it never rained in California.
Randall was sure he’d heard those words in a song. April showers were common in Virginia, where he lived and unfortunately where he’d left his umbrella.
Sheesh.
Looking down at the expensive outfit he’d just purchased for the trip, he lamented,
So much for this brand-new, tailored designer suit.

He retrieved his bag and, using the
USA Today
he’d been given on the airplane for cover, made a dash for the taxi stand across from the passenger pick-up area. So focused was he on trying to stay dry and not getting hit, he didn’t recognize the long line until he’d arrived at his destination, where only two taxis waited.

First the rain and now no taxis? Randall had enthusiastically boarded the plane back home, excited about coming to one of his favorite cities to meet some of his most esteemed colleagues and to learn the latest discoveries and innovations in his chosen field. He was still happy to be here, but so far the visit hadn’t gotten off to a terrific start.

“Hey, excuse me,” he said to the young man standing in front of him, whose thumbs were flying all over his iPhone screen. “Do you know what’s going on, and why there are no taxis?”

“Accident,” the man answered without looking up. “Traffic is having a hard time getting through.”

“How long have you been standing here?”

“About thirty minutes.”

Randall looked at the twenty or so people in front of him and his scowl increased. He looked at his watch and the crease in his brow deepened. The conference didn’t start until the next morning, but he’d made plans to meet a talented colleague and good friend for drinks at six. It was now four thirty. Getting from the airport to downtown, where the conference was being held, could sometimes take forty-five minutes. Waiting a half hour for a taxi wasn’t going to work for him. He turned and looked around, thinking of possible alternatives. And that’s when he saw her.

Jacqueline gripped her full-sized umbrella in one hand while pulling her carry-on with the other. Organized and prepared to the point of what some would consider obsessive, she’d known about the 70 percent chance of rain hovering over Los Angeles and the seasonably cooler weather and had dressed and packed accordingly. She placed one Bebe-pump-covered, French-manicured foot in front of the other, thankful that she’d tightened the belt on her Burberry raincoat and donned a matching hat. Jacqueline was more self-conscious than conceited, but she knew how to highlight her best assets, and right now the best parts of what she was working with—breasts, legs, classically pretty face—were on full display.

She strode to the taxi stand, coyly smiling at the unabashed appreciation on Randall’s face.

“Hello,” he said with emphasis as soon as she joined the line.

“Hello,” she replied. “Perfect California weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say?”

Randall smiled back. “I’m glad to be seeing a little sunshine now.” He looked at her umbrella and then down at her rainy-weather attire. “I see someone checked the Internet.”

“I like to be prepared.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I travel.” He stuck out his hand. “Randall Atwater.”

“A pleasure to meet you.
Doctor
Atwater, correct?”

Randall’s brow rose. “Forgive me if I’ve forgotten but . . . have we met?”

Jacqueline’s laugh was melodic. “No,” she said, holding out her hand. “Jacqueline Tate.” Their hands touched and something happened: a magnetic electricity unlike anything she’d ever felt before. The way his eyes darkened as he continued to gaze at her, Jacqueline was sure he felt it too. And just as quickly as the absurd idea came to her head, she forced its exit and reclaimed her hand. “I’m a freelance writer with
Science Today
,” she explained, working to forget the undeniable jolt she’d just experienced. “I’m well aware of your research and groundbreaking work.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I take it you’re also here for the conference?”

“Yes, I’ll be conducting interviews and attending workshops. Along with your talk on progressive changes in the technology regarding stem-cell research, I’m looking forward to covering Dr. Darshana Chatterji and his rather unorthodox position on spiritual healing.” She looked at her watch. “In fact, I was hoping to get to the hotel quickly—get organized for the pre-conference breakfast happening in the morning.” Looking over his shoulder, she asked him, “Where are all the cabs?”

Randall relayed the information he’d been given. “I don’t want to wait for a taxi either, and was just thinking about trying to find a car service. If so, you’re welcome to ride as well.”

“Oh no, Dr. Atwater. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” She also didn’t want to be in quarters as close as a car, not with a magnet like him. In town less than an hour, and already she was battling with her vow to stay focused on business. If she rode with this doctor, she felt it was a battle she’d lose.

But he persisted. “Call me Randall.”

“Thank you, Randall, but I couldn’t impose.”

“Nonsense. We’re going to the same place, right? Are you staying at the conference site?”

“Yes. I’m at the Ritz.”

“Then it’s no trouble at all.” Randall placed a hand on her elbow. “Come on, let’s go inside. I believe I have a contact who can help us out quickly.”

“If you insist.” She relented, justifying it by deciding to use the opportunity to learn more about the scientist and gather information for an article.

“I do.”

Ten minutes later, Randall and Jacqueline were dry and comfortable, riding in the back of a cushy town car and chatting as if they’d known each other far longer than fifteen minutes. “The article on bone regeneration,” he said, nodding with recognition. “That’s where I’ve heard your name.”

“I’ve written dozens of articles, but I must admit . . . that one definitely made my name more recognizable.”

“Forgive me, but it also had some people thinking you were certifiable!”

“Ha! That’s not nice.”

“Well, when you tell the scientific community that it’s possible to regrow limbs and other body parts . . .”

“Hey, I did the research and stand behind that story.”

“If you say so,” Randall conceded with a shrug.

“I do, and at least a dozen of your noteworthy, award-winning cohorts agree with me.”

“A dozen? You sure?”

“I am. Four were named in the article. But I can recall the names of all twelve.”

“Right now? From memory?”

Jacqueline quickly recited the names of the scientists and doctors who’d backed the research.

“Impressive. You do like to be prepared.” Randall leaned back so he could take a good look at her. “You’re obviously as smart as you are beautiful. I like that.”

The conversation flowed much more easily than LA’s rush-hour traffic. Their journey took almost an hour. By the time they reached the Ritz, however, they were chatting like old friends.

“Thanks for the ride,” Jacqueline said to Randall after the doorman had helped her out of the car. Reaching into her purse, she asked, “How much do I owe you?”

Randall dismissed her question with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. We were both coming to the same place.”

“Thanks again. I look forward to hearing more from you during this week.”

“Perhaps you can join me for dinner.”

His words stopped her cold. They weren’t at all what she’d expected. Given the self-talk she’d continued throughout the ride, she hadn’t expected anything. Not from someone like Dr. Randall Atwater. While not exactly star-struck, she was indeed impressed with not only what she’d read but what she’d seen. He was highly intelligent, totally engaging, and blessed the heck out of a tailored suit.
Which is exactly why you shouldn’t dine with him. Totally professional, remember?

How could she forget? Totally professional and absolutely determined is how she’d conduct herself this week, she’d vowed. But she remembered something else. What Kaitlyn had said about finding Mr. Right, how Kaitlyn had known the man she met at a friend’s office party would become her husband.
He felt right, and good, from the beginning. That’s how I knew it. And that’s how you’ll know it too.

This man felt good, and right. Their conversation had been easy, had flowed like water. So after taking a deep breath and throwing caution to the wind, Jacqueline answered him. “I’d like that too.”

R
andall reached his room, set down his luggage, and continued straight to the bathroom. Having bypassed the airport restaurant selections, he was more than ready for a tasty meal. But first he knew he needed to return e-mails, check phone calls, and freshen up. So he stripped and hit the shower, all the while thinking about the beautiful and fascinating woman with whom he’d just shared a car.

He stopped, suds dripping as he remembered her name:
Jacqueline Tate.

Stepping out of the shower to the sound of a ringing phone, Randall hastily wrapped a towel around his lean hips and crossed over to the counter, where he’d left it. He smiled at the name on the ID, and answered after putting the call on speaker phone. “James! What’s happening, brother? Are you here yet?”

“ No. ”

“But you are in LA.”

“You didn’t get my message?”

“I saw that you’d called, but, no, I didn’t listen. Figured you were checking on my whereabouts. Where are you?”

“In Phoenix.”

“As in Arizona?” His friend’s deep chuckle floated around the room. “What the heck are you doing there?”

“Air travel nightmare: mechanical failures, overbooking. Even with first class and my frequent-flyer upgrade status, a connecting flight originating out of Newark was the only way I’d get from Long Island to LA before midnight.”

“You had to drive to New Jersey from Long Island to catch a flight? What time will you arrive?”

“Nine o’clock. With the early breakfast meeting that’s scheduled . . . too late to meet for drinks.”

“No worries, man, I’ve made other plans. We’ll find time to catch up.”

Before hanging up, the two men chatted a few more minutes and made plans to meet for breakfast. Randall hated that James was stuck at the airport but was glad he’d called. Given his impromptu dinner plans, all had worked for the best. He reached for his leather garment bag and, after hanging up its contents, chose a casual outfit, dressed, and sat at the desk in the tastefully appointed suite. His stomach growled its annoyance, but because of the three-hour difference between LA and the East Coast, Randall was determined to handle e-mail and telephone business before leaving the room. If nothing else, there were at least three very important calls that he needed to make. One was to his assistant back at his company, Progressive Scientific Innovations, or PSI. The second was to the administrator of the nonprofit organization he’d founded, the one that tutored grade- and high school students in science and math. The third was to someone who probably wouldn’t go to sleep until she’d heard from him.

 

Her room looked like someone was studying for a college exam. Books and magazines were strewn across her bed. An iPad lay atop that mess while a laptop occupied the nightstand. The most recent newspapers from five major cities were stacked on the table that doubled as desk and eating area, and the television was turned to CNN. People who met Jacqueline considered her extremely knowledgeable and academically above average. Some had even labeled hers a photographic memory. It was true, she was no dummy. But few would believe how fiercely hard she worked to make intelligence look so easy. For the past two weeks she’d read all of the information she could find about the careers of the people she wanted to interview. She’d stayed up late and gotten up early. She’d made phone calls, sent e-mails, and now felt totally prepared to deliver informative articles.

So why did she feel so nervous?
Because of Randall Atwater, that’s why.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she mumbled, even as just thinking about sharing the car ride with him gave her heart a thrill. “If you play your cards right, this three-month contract can turn into full-time employment.” She laughed as she imagined mother-hen Rosie’s voice in her head.
Don’t trade a short-term BMW for a long-term J.O.B.”

A short while later, after organizing her information for the following morning and putting her room back in a semblance of order, Jacqueline dressed to go downstairs. She studied herself in the mirror. Far from being conceited, she looked at her reflection with a hypercritical eye, making sure that every part of her being was perfect, from the long, silky hair, which most mistook for a weave, to her designer-clad, size-seven feet.

Turning this way and that, she noted the way the simply-designed Calvin Klein dress she’d chosen fit her body to a tee, as if it had been tailored, though it hadn’t. The neckline exposed just the right amount of her 36Ds, and the dress clinched her twenty-four-inch waist and hugged her thirty-six-inch hips. Falling just an inch above her knee, the dress color was a perfect complement to her creamy caramel skin, and the strappy red-bottomed heels she wore highlighted her toned thighs and calves, evidence of the time she spent on the StairMaster. Her jewelry was simple: a cross dangling just above her cleavage on a thin gold chain, a slender tennis bracelet, and diamond stud earrings. With a nod to the fact that her attire passed muster, she turned and walked into the bathroom, sprayed on a subtle perfume, and gave a final fluff to her hair. After calling the elderly neighbor whom she treated like a grandmother, the woman who’d graciously agreed to babysit her Siamese cat, Jacqueline took a last look around the room, made sure she had her room card, and left.

 

Randall exited the elevator and entered the lobby. Even in a pair of simple, tailored black slacks, a white button-down shirt, and loafers, he looked exceptional. Even so, he wasn’t vain. Far from it. His journey had been that of an ugly duckling turning into a prince. So even though his lanky teenage frame had finally filled out, his smooth chocolate skin became all the rage, and stylish black-rimmed glasses or contacts replaced his thick specs, and even though he was one of the most acclaimed and respected scientists in the country, if not the world, vestiges remained of that shy, awkward boy growing up in the inner city streets of Washington, D.C.

For this reason, he was aware of the appreciative glances, the blatant stares, the subtle nods offered by one female after another . . . but a part of him refused to believe their adoration was really for him.

Randall reached the WP24 lounge and took a seat. Within seconds a server approached with a menu. He ordered a pinot noir from the Drake vineyards of Temecula. The cute, petite redhead smiled. “Good choice,” she said with a wink. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”

He was staring at the menu when he smelled it, a subtle floral odor with citrus accents that floated across the table and tickled his nose.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

The unexpected whiff of goodness, and a sexy sounding voice, caused him to look up.

“Ah, yours must be the perfume I’m smelling.”

Jacqueline smiled and held out a delicate wrist. “Could be.”

Randall sniffed it. “Yes, it’s you. Very nice.” He stood to pull out her chair. “Allow me.”

“Such a gentleman,” she cooed as she sat down. “Thanks.”

“My mama raised me well.”

“She did, and it shows.”

“Thank you.”

“With all of the education and accolades and awards you’ve received, you still appear to be humble and down-to-earth. It’s refreshing.” She placed her chin in her cupped hand and gazed at him. “Tell me about that upbringing.”

Randall chuckled slightly as his mind went back to obviously good memories. He leaned back and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the tableau that was downtown LA. “Barbara, my mother, single-handedly raised three rough-and-tumble hardheads in a very challenging part of Washington, D.C.”

“You grew up in the hood?” Jacqueline used air quotes to emphasize the last two words.

“I did, the Anacostia projects.” He stopped the waiter.

“Would you like something to drink while we wait for our table?”

She ordered. He continued. “So where was I? Oh yes, growing up in the hood.”

“And coming out a world-class scientist, specifically, biologist, one of the best in his field. Kudos to Barbara.”

“Indeed.”

“How did she do it?”

“Lots of love and even more discipline.”

“You required lots of discipline, did you?”

“Let’s just say I saw my share of the famous black belt, and I’m not talking karate.”

“Corporal punishment?” Jacqueline’s brow raised in surprise.

“Oh yeah. There was no time-out in my neighborhood. Those mothers and fathers were strictly old-school.”

“So your dad was around.”

Randall shook his head. “He died when I was fourteen.”

“How did you cope with such a terrible loss at such a young age?”

“Buried myself in books. I’d always loved reading; in fact, it was often my sanctuary in those turbulent times. My mentor, a science teacher named Mr. Brunner, saw my talent early on and encouraged me every chance he got. He’d pick me up from home, take me to science fairs and technology conferences. He was young himself, not more than thirty-five, and became a big brother, almost a surrogate dad.”

The server approached their table. “Dr. Atwater, your table is ready.” He motioned to their drinks. “Shall I take these there for you?”

Randall looked at Jacqueline. “Are you ready to eat, beautiful lady?”

“Yes, I’m starved.”

His expression changed, eyes narrowing ever so slightly behind his black rims. Aside from that, his demeanor remained totally professional as he told her, “Let’s assuage our appetites.”