Secret from Their LA Night
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Julie Danvers
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CHAPTER ONE
IT WASN’T EVEN ten thirty, and Dr. Emily Archer had already seen three patients. A torn rotator cuff, an injured meniscus and a case of tennis elbow made for a productive morning, and she was just getting started. She looked at the appointments filling her schedule for the afternoon with a mixture of relief and excitement. Six months had passed since she and her best friend Izzie had left their steady, secure jobs at Denver General Hospital to start their own private practice in sports medicine. Izzie had been worried that they might not have enough patients to support a full-time practice, but Emily had felt certain that if other doctors made it work, then she and Izzie could do it, too.
And now, things were finally beginning to pick up. Their reputation as an orthopedic practice was spreading, and they were starting to get referrals from physicians who worked with professional athletes. She might have a busy day ahead of her, but it was nothing compared to the expectations she’d faced at the hospital, where pressure to see increasing numbers of patients meant working ten-or twelve-hour days, cramming as many patients into her schedule as possible without enough time to spend with any of them.
Private practice was a different world in comparison to the hospital. Emily had been able to see her three patients that morning at a leisurely pace, carefully outlining each treatment plan and talking over any obstacles that might interfere with healing. In addition to the reduced pressure, she felt far more confident in herself as a doctor, knowing that she’d had the time to thoroughly review and plan for each case.
She’d been certain that going into private practice was the right decision, but it had still been a risk. Even more so because she’d taken Izzie along with her. It had been one thing to put her own career and livelihood on the line, but with Izzie counting on her, too, Emily couldn’t allow their practice to fail. And now, it appeared that her worry had been unfounded: their clinical caseloads were filling, and she and Izzie could relax, just a little.
It seemed like just the right time for a quick coffee break and a congratulatory moment with Izzie. Emily paused to gather the waves of her unruly mahogany-brown hair into a ponytail before heading into the receptionist’s area to see if Izzie was between patients. But when she walked past Izzie’s office, it was empty, and there was no sign of her coat or bag in the reception area.
“Has Dr. Birch arrived yet?” Emily asked the receptionist.
“Not yet,” Grace responded. “She’s twenty minutes late for her first patient.”
A chill settled in the pit of Emily’s stomach. It wasn’t like Izzie to be late, especially with a patient scheduled. A hundred different worst-case scenarios raced through her mind. But just as she fished her cell phone out of the pocket of her white coat, a commotion at the door stopped her. Izzie was trying to make her way through the front door on crutches, her foot in a walking cast and her arms weighed down by her handbag and lunch container.
“Izzie!” Emily cried, lifting the handbag from her friend’s petite frame while Grace held the door open. “What on earth happened to you?”
“Lateral malleolar fracture,” Izzie replied, her face grim.
“Oh my God! You broke your ankle? How?”
“It happened last night, on my way home from work. That’s what I get for biking after dark.” She glanced at Emily, as though expecting an I told you so, but Emily held her tongue. A former triathlete, Izzie rode her bicycle every chance she could get, including to and from work. Emily had often expressed her concern that cycling home in the dark could be reckless, but she wasn’t going to chastise Izzie now. It wouldn’t help matters, and the last thing her friend needed was a lecture on top of her injury.
“Did you get hit by a car?” she asked.
“Not exactly. The car was parked—I just ran into it. The driver was getting out and opened the door without checking for bicycles. I managed to avoid running into them head-on, but only just. I spun out and caught my ankle on the edge of the door.”
“You shouldn’t’ve come in today. You should be at home, resting.”
“I can’t take time off now. Today’s the first day since we opened that I’ve had a full schedule of appointments. The practice can’t afford for me to cancel them all.”
Emily tried to suppress the pang of guilt that stabbed at her heart whenever the topic of money arose. If Izzie still had her job at the hospital, she could be at home resting, knowing that she had paid time off and other doctors who could cover her patients.
“Oh, don’t look like that,” Izzie said. “I know what you’re thinking, and I do not regret leaving the hospital. Sure, I probably could have taken today off if I still worked there, but what about the next day? What about the endless weeks of too many new patients and no time for following up with the old ones? This is better.”
Izzie’s words eased her discomfort, but just a little. “Maybe I can see some of your patients for today.”
“A generous offer, but not necessary.” Izzie rolled her eyes at Emily’s worried expression. “Look, I know you feel responsible for everyone and everything, but I actually am capable of making my own decisions. I’ll be fine seeing patients today.”
“Are you sure? Because I can find a way to fit them onto my schedule somehow.”
“I know you would if I needed you to. But I’ve got this. And...” She took a deep breath and bit her lip. “You might not be feeling so generous when you hear the favor I have to ask of you.”
Oh, no. The realization of what Izzie’s injured ankle would mean for the next several weeks hit Emily with full force. The World Youth Dance Championship. It was taking place in Los Angeles next week, and Izzie was supposed to be part of the competition’s medical staff.
They’d planned for Emily to maintain the practice in Denver for six weeks while Izzie was gone. Not only had Izzie been looking forward to it for months, but they’d both hoped that being on the medical team would be a good way to form connections with colleagues in the sports medicine world. If all went well, they could build their practice’s reputation, gain more patients at the professional athlete level and earn a place as medical consultants for other major sports events. The dance competition was supposed to be their gateway to bigger things. Now, it looked like those bigger things would have to be put off for a while.
Unless Emily went instead of Izzie.
There was almost nothing Emily wouldn’t do for her friend...except return to Los Angeles. For a dance competition, of all things.
Emily had grown up in Los Angeles and started dancing when she was six. She’d quickly demonstrated a talent for it. She’d never felt more herself than when she was dancing, connecting her feelings to movement. But her pure enjoyment of dance quickly turned into something else. Her dance instructor was friends with an actor who knew a producer, and before long Emily found herself cast in a breakfast cereal commercial. And then the casting director had known lots of other people who needed a child to dance and to do a little acting in commercials, and he thought that Emily would be just right for that kind of work.
Emily missed dancing just for fun, but her mother explained that she had to keep performing, because they needed money, and this could be Emily’s way of helping. How could she say no? Her father had just left, and if her mother said they needed money, then Emily couldn’t let her down.
A whirlwind career as a child performer followed. She spent most of her childhood and teen years dancing in stage productions and taking acting roles on a few television shows. She had to dance the way others wanted her to, and memorize lines, and she had to do it over and over again, even if she was tired or had school the next day. But by the time she was a teenager, Emily noticed that even though she was working hard and bringing in a steady income, it never seemed to be quite enough for her mother.
At fourteen, she’d started to suspect their constant lack of funds had something to do with the acrid smell of alcohol and the empty bottles that cluttered the bureau in her mother’s room. It had been a relief when a knee injury at twenty had finally given her an excuse to tell her mother that she was done with performing. For the first time in her life, Emily was able to focus on herself. She threw herself into her college coursework, and as she healed from her knee injury, she discovered she had a passion for medicine. When she eventually left Los Angeles, she’d promised herself she would never go back.
Except that Izzie needed her. The hope in her friend’s eyes clawed at Emily’s heart. But LA?
“I can’t, Izzie.”
“Please? It’s only six weeks. Everything’s arranged—the hotel accommodations, the flight, the scheduling. All we have to do is swap places.”
Emily grasped desperately for an escape. “But they’ll be expecting you. You’re the one who applied for the position. You’re the one they approved to be on the team.”
“Nothing that a few phone calls can’t fix. We’ll simply explain to the administrators that we’re in practice together and that they’re getting a physician with the same training and qualifications as they would have had with me. I’m sure they’ll be glad to have an immediate replacement instead of having to run around looking for someone just days before the competition.”
Izzie looked at her with pleading eyes, and Emily once again felt a wave of guilt wash over her. When the two of them had left their jobs at the hospital, she’d promised Izzie she’d do whatever it took for their practice to be successful. Was she really going to let her friend down now, after Izzie had shown such faith in her? The competition could give their reputation a boost that would put them months ahead of schedule. Maybe they could even think about hiring another doctor to provide backup for times like this.
But Los Angeles held so many memories, none of which she was ready to face.
“I know it’s a big ask,” said Izzie. “Your mother...”
“Won’t even know I’m there, if I can help it.”
A glimmer of hope returned to Izzie’s eyes. “Does that mean you’ll go?”
“It means I’ll think about it.” Even as she said it, Emily knew that letting Izzie down was out of the question. Her friend was counting on her.
For the first time in ten years, she was going home.
A week later found Emily sitting at a hotel bar in West Hollywood, just a few blocks from the high school she’d attended as a teen. She’d walked by the hotel a thousand times while growing up, but she’d never seen the inside of it. It felt surreal to be in a place so close to her childhood and yet so utterly unfamiliar to her. The barroom was elegant but cozy, with gleaming dark wood countertops and leather chairs. More importantly, it was empty of any other hotel guests.
Or nearly empty. A man had arrived shortly after Emily, and he sat just a few bar stools away, nursing a drink. Emily tried to keep her attention on the medical journal article she was reading, yet she found her gaze returning to the man again and again. Dark, wavy hair that was on the longish side, and a pair of deep-set brown eyes. He had the kind of face that could have gotten her into trouble years ago. Before she became a respectable doctor.
She tore her gaze away from where Brown Eyes sat down the bar and tried to focus on her journal article. She hoped the man hadn’t caught her staring; she didn’t want to attract his interest, and she didn’t want to have any more uncomfortable conversations than she’d already had that day.
He was attractive, though. Too bad she had zero interest in meeting anyone. If Izzie were here, she’d have groaned and told Emily that Los Angeles was wasted on her.
Poor Izzie had been looking forward to all the excitement that LA had to offer, but Emily had no such plans. Her intentions were to spend the next few weeks working, reading up on medical journals in her spare time and perhaps taking in a stage show if the mood struck.
The only reason she wasn’t in her room now was because her memories were too loud in the silence.
Even at the height of her career as a child actor, Emily had only ever been moderately famous. She’d had a few roles on television shows that didn’t get picked up beyond the first season, and she’d been in one movie. Still, she’d noticed a woman staring at her when she checked in, as though trying to make out who she was.
And then, on the way up to her room, she’d run into that same woman, who appeared to be traveling with her daughter, a child of about six. Emily recognized all the signs of a mother and daughter on their way to an audition: the mother’s face, anxious and tight-lipped, the little girl’s glittering dance costume, far too neat and unwrinkled for a child that age.
The woman squinted at Emily. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but...didn’t you used to be Emily Archer?”
Emily wasn’t sure how to answer such a question other than to give a small smile and a nod.
“I loved watching your show when I was my daughter’s age...the one about the ballerina who ran the lost-pet detective agency? I was devastated when it was canceled.” She nudged her child’s shoulder. “Maybe if Samantha’s audition goes well today, it can happen for her, too. Any advice for a budding actress? Sammie’s very talented. She’s quite a little dancer, and she sings and plays piano, too.”
Emily felt her smile stiffen. She hadn’t expected to be recognized so soon, and the woman’s attention left her feeling exposed, uncertain. The little girl looked up at her with a nervous gaze, and suddenly all Emily wanted to do was to reassure the child that no matter what happened at her audition, she deserved to feel proud of herself. But the moment was bringing up too many memories that she wasn’t ready to deal with, and too many feelings that she didn’t know how to articulate. “Just be yourself,” she managed to say as the elevator doors finally opened.
For a split second, the woman looked disappointed. “Thanks,” she muttered, shuffling her daughter off the elevator. Perhaps she’d been expecting to hear something more profound, or some sort of industry insider advice that would make her daughter a shoo-in at her audition.
Be yourself. Such a simple phrase, yet she’d been trying to follow it for most of her life—with a dubious amount of success. When she got to her own hotel room, the woman’s question was still swirling in her head. Didn’t you used to be Emily Archer?
If she was no longer Emily Archer, then who was she? And why had she returned to a place where people felt so comfortable pointing her out, as though she were a celebrity rather than a person? This hardly ever happened in Denver. But of course, on her first day back in Los Angeles in over ten years, it had happened almost the moment she arrived. That was the Los Angeles she remembered. If you were even remotely recognizable, you couldn’t walk down Sunset Boulevard without someone mentally calculating where you ranked on the scale of fame. Yet another reason she’d hoped to never come back.
She couldn’t bear to stay in her hotel room, alone with her swirling thoughts. The face of the little girl, nervous and hopeful, had brought back memories of Emily’s childhood that felt as fresh as though they’d happened yesterday. She desperately wished she had someone to talk to so she could take her mind off things. But she didn’t know anyone else in LA; all her friends from the old days had moved, and anyone she hadn’t kept in contact with didn’t need to know she was here.
At a loss for what to do, she’d brought a medical journal down to the hotel bar and tried to concentrate on it while nursing a gin and tonic and avoiding the gaze of the dark-haired man in the corner.
Now he was the one staring at her, she was sure of it. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if he might possibly be attracted to her, but then her brain immediately supplied a number of reasons for why that couldn’t possibly be true. Her entire body was hunched over the journal, she was wearing her university sweatshirt, her hair was in a messy ponytail and a highlighter hung from her lip. She’d been so eager not to be alone in her room that she hadn’t thought much about her appearance before coming down to the bar, and unless the man was drawn to medical school chic, he probably wasn’t looking at her that way.
Why, then, was he staring? She quickly tore her gaze away and caught a slight movement of his head as he tried to maintain eye contact. He was definitely looking at her.
Well, if that were the case, then she needn’t be wary of looking at him. She peeked over the edge of her journal. His wavy hair fell just past his chin. Olive skin, facial hair that was more than stubble but less than a lumberjack-style beard. He was wearing a white shirt that was somewhat rumpled, probably from traveling, and left open at the collar. Emily didn’t date much, and the few relationships she’d had had all fizzled out after just a few months. But when she did date, she usually went for the brooding type, and the way this man’s eyebrows hooded his eyes gave him an expression of intense thoughtfulness.
Or maybe he looked that way because he was deep in thought. Maybe he’d come to the quiet bar to sit with his thoughts, just as she’d come to get away from hers. For all she knew, the only reason he was looking at her was because she couldn’t seem to stop staring at him.
Why couldn’t she stop staring at him? It wasn’t as though she’d never seen a good-looking man before.
Maybe it had something to do with those brown eyes of his. Somehow, they seemed richer and warmer than other men’s eyes. She forced herself to look away again.
He spoke to the bartender, who began walking over to her. Probably to tell her that she was making his sole other patron uncomfortable, and to politely ask her to keep her eyes to herself. She turned back to her reading, cursing herself for being ridiculous. What did she think was going to happen, that the man in the corner would buy her a drink, they’d strike up a conversation and then have a passionate night in his hotel room? Most likely, he just wanted to be left alone.
The bartender approached, placing another gin and tonic in front of her. “From the gentleman,” he said, nodding his head toward the man.
The highlighter fell out of Emily’s mouth as her jaw dropped in surprise. The man waved to her and raised his eyebrows, the question apparent on his face.
She should probably return the drink to the bartender and call it a night. Even if she’d been looking for a date—which she wasn’t—coming back to LA was hard enough without adding any romantic entanglements.
But then a germ of an idea formed in her mind. Perhaps Brown Eyes over there wasn’t interested in romantic entanglement. Perhaps he might be more interested in...whatever it was that people went looking for in hotel bars.
It had been more than a decade since she had gone looking for anything, or anyone, in a hotel bar. But then, it was a decade since she’d been back in LA, and she was having a rough reentry. Whatever Brown Eyes’ intentions for the evening might be, she knew one thing for certain: she was grateful for that gin and tonic he’d bought her.
She locked eyes with him and took a long, slow sip of her drink.
“Daniel Labarr,” he said moments later, when he’d come over from his corner to introduce himself. “And you?”
She took another sip of the gin and tonic. “Apparently, I used to be Emily Archer.” She watched to see how he would react, but he showed no sign of recognition. She relaxed her shoulders a bit. At least he hadn’t been staring just because he recognized her.
He smiled, clearly bemused. “How can you used to have been someone?”
She put her highlighter down and did a little jazz hands motion. “Veronica Lawson, Girl Pet Detective?”
His face remained blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s the first piece of good news I’ve heard all day.”
“Damn. And here I was hoping that me buying you a drink might count as good news.”
“Well. It certainly didn’t go amiss.”
“You didn’t answer my question, though. How can you used to have been someone?”
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible, either, but I was informed just this afternoon that I’m a ‘used to be.’”
“You don’t look like the kind of person who lets other people tell you who you are.”
“Oh? And how can you be so sure?”
He gestured toward her journal article, with its many highlighted passages. “It’s a Saturday night in LA, one of the most exciting cities in the world, and you’re alone in a bar at 7:00 p.m. Even though you’re in an elegant hotel filled with fascinating people, you’d rather read than take advantage of your surroundings. In fact, you’ve nearly highlighted this entire page. You’re clearly not one to let your environs determine your actions. If you want to sit at a bar and read, then, dammit, that’s what you’re going to do.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Fascinating people, hmm?”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t resist a little self-promotion.”
His shrug made him appear even more disarming and had the added benefit of drawing her attention to his shoulders for the first time. Broad, sturdy shoulders. The kind that might make a man particularly good at holding someone.
A small voice in the very back corner of her mind was telling her she should bid Daniel a prim farewell and go to bed early so she could be refreshed for her first day on the job tomorrow. The other ninety-five percent of her was noticing how the waves of Daniel’s hair fell against his eyes, tempting her to push it back.
She pushed a lock of her own hair behind one ear instead, trying to regain her focus. She still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. More than anything, she’d dreaded going back to her lonely hotel room. And now, here was an excuse not to be alone. A handsome, reasonably conversational, practically gift-wrapped excuse.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked him.
“What gave me away?”
“For one thing, you look way too relaxed to be from LA.” He did, too. Something about his posture held a certain grace; the way he calmly filled the space in front of her made her suspect he was used to feeling at ease in nearly any environment.
“How could someone not feel relaxed in LA? The mountains, the beaches...it’s paradise.”
“It’s beautiful here. No one can deny that. But there’s no substance.”
“How can you say that? There’s so much history to Hollywood. Look at this hotel—Judy Garland used to stay here all the time.”
“The problem with Hollywood history is that it’s all about what looks good to the audience. It doesn’t necessarily tell you the whole story. Judy Garland is the perfect example—gorgeous on the outside but troubled underneath.”
“Spoken like someone who knows there’s usually more to a situation than meets the eye. Or the camera.” He inclined his glass toward her. “Here’s to what’s beneath the surface.”
She clinked her glass against his. “Cheers.”
“You’re right, by the way,” he said, after they’d both taken a sip. “I’m not from LA. I’m only in town because—”
“Wait.” She put a finger to his lips to stop him. His lips were light and feathery, and touching him made her feel a bit tingly, in a way that was more than just the gin and tonic kicking in. “Let’s make a deal. We’re two ships passing in the night, and nothing more. We don’t need to know anything about each other beyond our names.”
He raised his eyebrows, which made the rich brown of his eyes even more apparent. “If that’s what you’d prefer. Although I have to admit I’m disappointed not to have a chance for us to get to know each other better.”
“Let’s just get to know each other for tonight, instead.” She couldn’t believe how forward she was being. Part of it was her reluctance to face the loneliness in her room, but there was something about Daniel that was drawing her, as well. Physically, he was on the muscular side, but the way he spoke, and the way he stood before her, calm and steady, with his shirt collar just open, gave him an air of vulnerability. When she’d touched his lips just a moment ago, she’d felt the faintest quiver go through her. She couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to let herself put her hands around the back of his neck, to feel herself pulled close to him.
She hadn’t been pulled close to anyone for a long time. She’d never dated anyone seriously. She’d tried, but dating never seemed to go well for her. Her longest relationships over the past few years had all gone up in flames after a few months. It felt like ages since she’d been held, and she didn’t think she’d mind being held by Daniel at all. And faced with the option of choosing between a man she barely knew and a lonely first night back in LA... Well, Daniel seemed nice, and he was certainly enjoyable to look at.
He put his hand over hers, very lightly, where it rested on the table. “Just for tonight, then,” he said. She felt her hand come alive with the warmth of his, and the memories that clamored for her attention grew quiet as she gazed into the rich brown depths of his eyes.
The next morning, Emily woke with a jolt as her cell phone alarm went off. She grappled for the phone on the hotel room nightstand, stabbing frantically at the screen to silence it.
She blinked her eyes against the sunlight that peeped through the curtains, glancing around the unfamiliar room. Next to her, someone was snoring gently. Daniel.
She’d been right about him. He’d been funny, charming, interesting and had provided exactly the distraction she’d hoped for.
But now it was time for her to leave.
She couldn’t believe what she’d done. It had been more than ten years since she’d had a one-night stand. But it had taken her less than twenty-four hours in Los Angeles to jump right back into old habits.
She tucked the waves of her hair behind her ears, trying to keep it out of her face as she gathered her clothes from where they’d been haphazardly thrown about the floor. Somehow her bra had landed underneath the credenza. How enthusiastic had they been for it to end up all the way over there? She wondered if one-night stands were as rare for him as they were for her. She hadn’t asked. Getting to know him, after all, hadn’t really been the point.
The last thing she wanted was to wake him and engage in any awkward morning-after conversation. As far as she was concerned, they wouldn’t see each other again. Hopefully he’d understand that the moment he woke up and saw that she had gone.
She felt a twinge of guilt at the way she was leaving, slinking out without so much as a goodbye. He’d been nice enough that he deserved at least some acknowledgment of his existence. But what could there possibly be to say? They barely knew each other. If she woke him, then at best, they might exchange some false promises about calling one another, and she didn’t need yet another person in her life who made promises they didn’t intend to keep. She’d experienced more than enough of that, starting in her mother’s old bungalow, a mere fifteen-minute walk from this hotel.
I am not that girl anymore, she thought fiercely, as she pulled her jeans on and threw her shirt over her head. Her cheeks burned, which made her even more glad that Daniel was asleep and unaware of the identity crisis she was undergoing as she scrabbled about the room for her belongings. For years, she’d built a life based on trying to be the exact opposite of the woman she’d been in her early twenties. She prided herself on being responsible. Professional. Steady. But then she’d run into Brown Eyes over there in the hotel bar, and somehow, her resolve to spend her time in Los Angeles focusing on work had melted.
Last night was just a fluke. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be a slippery slope back into old patterns. She’d simply had a moment of weakness, brought on by loneliness and old memories, and she’d given in to temptation. With time, she could forgive herself for that. But first, she needed to find her shoes.
Ah. She spied the pointed toe of one ballet flat poking out from beneath the bed. She gathered up her shoes, not bothering to put them on. Her own room was only a few floors away, and it was early enough that the halls were still empty. She turned the doorknob; the door creaked as she opened it, and she slowed so it would open quietly. At least she hadn’t lost her silent creeping skills. And hopefully she hadn’t lost her ability to perform the walk of shame with panache, if she did happen to run into any other hotel guests or staff on the way back to her room.
As she stepped out, Daniel turned over in his sleep, and her heart rose in her throat. His snores paused, and for a moment she was certain he’d woken up. But then she relaxed as his breathing returned to a slow, even pace. He really was very attractive, with his dark, tousled hair and his barely shaven stubble. But great hair or not, she needed to put last night behind her. Daniel, fun as he had been, represented a past she had tried her best to forget, and the past was where he needed to stay.
One brisk shower later, Emily was back in professional mode. She was determined to forget all about the night before. She’d come to Los Angeles to focus on work, and despite last night’s interlude, she had every intention of spending the rest of her time in the city doing exactly that. She felt a tingle of excitement. As reluctant as she’d been to enter the dance world again, working on the medical staff for the contest was sure to give a boost to her and Izzie’s practice. All Emily needed to do over the next six weeks was demonstrate her professionalism, make a few friends in the sports medicine world and do her best work as a doctor. That shouldn’t be too hard, especially if she made sure that events like last night didn’t happen again.
She took a cab to the convention center and found the right conference room a few moments before orientation was scheduled to begin. She was the last one into the meeting, but only just; a few other stragglers were still hanging their jackets when she arrived. She took the last seat available, next to a dark-haired physician who turned to greet her.
Her stomach dropped.
His brown eyes widened.
Emily was completely tongue-tied, but somehow, he was able to speak.
“Dr. Daniel Labarr,” he said, holding out one hand. “I do believe we’ve met.”
