obviously going to hit her up for a donation, nothing more. What else did she expect?
“It’s a great tournament,” he continued. “All kinds of people come—athletes, businessmen, politicians, doctors, lawyers. I thought that if you were a golfer, you might like to enter. We play the Belfield. It’s a pretty good course, up near Paoli.”
For the first time in her life, she actually wished her father had taken the time to teach her how to golf. But there was no use pretending. “It sounds like a great event, and of course it’s a wonderful cause,” she said in a resigned voice. “I’d be happy to make a donation.”
Nate leaned his elbows on the scratched Formica tabletop, bringing his body only inches from hers. She forced herself not to react.
“I’m not trying to put the hook in you for a donation, Holly,” he said with a chuckle. “Even though you don’t golf, I’d like you to come, anyway. To wrap up the day, the tournament committee holds a banquet at the club in the evening. That’s where some of the fundraising takes place. They have silent auctions and that sort of thing. I always sponsor a table for eight, and there’s a chair with your name on it.”
A banquet? Was he asking her on a date? Or was he just plumping the charity event? She had to struggle to mask her confusion and…disappointment.
Then she remembered something her mother used to say. Holly, dear. State the obvious when you’re not sure what to say. That way you won’t appear quite so dense.
“You’re inviting me to be part of your dinner group?”
Nate nodded. “Absolutely. You’ll love it. Jake Miller will be there. You must have heard of him, right? Jake Miller, the Patriots’ very own future Hall-of-Famer?”
She gave him a hesitant nod. That name was vaguely familiar, but pro sports just weren’t her thing. Clearly, she was striking out on all counts. Maybe going to the banquet wasn’t a good idea.
Nate watched her with disconcerting intensity. She opened her mouth to politely decline, but he cut her off.
“Jake and his wife, Maddie Leclair, will be at my table. So will Martha Winston. Maddie and Martha are both sportswriters with the Post. Martha will bring along a date, another guy from the paper. And then there’ll be Dr. Fredericks and his wife. I’m sure you’ve heard of him ,” he said.
Holly practically fell out of the chair. “Dr. James Fredericks? Our Dr. James Fredericks?”
“The very one.”
Dr. Fredericks, a vice-president of PCH, was one of the top neurosurgeons in the world. Holly had studied and admired his pioneering work. For a few years in med school, she had almost chosen neurosurgery as her specialty, mainly because of Fredericks. Any doubts she had about the wisdom of accepting Nate’s offer instantly evaporated.
“Well,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager, “that is certainly an enticing prospect. When is the tournament?”
“Monday,” Nate answered with a smile. He seemed pleased that she was on the verge of saying yes. “I realize this is short notice, but...”
She jumped in. “That’s no problem. Unless there’s an emergency, of course. Otherwise, I’ll be glad to go. Thank you for inviting me, Nate.”
“Great. Why don’t I pick you up and drive you to the club. It’s north of the city, and isn't that easy to find if you don’t know your way around up there.”
“Are you sure that wouldn’t be too much trouble?” She hated to make him drive in the opposite direction to pick her up, but she still wasn’t used to driving Philadelphia’s intimidating freeways.
“No trouble at all. I’d like to show off my car. It’s an Aston Martin, and I think you’ll love it.”
That really got her attention. “Is it a DB9?”
Looking surprised, Nate leaned back in his chair, almost knocking into a grouchy looking administrator from HR squeezing past in the narrow space behind their table. The balding man muttered but didn’t bother to stop.
“It’s a great tournament,” he continued. “All kinds of people come—athletes, businessmen, politicians, doctors, lawyers. I thought that if you were a golfer, you might like to enter. We play the Belfield. It’s a pretty good course, up near Paoli.”
For the first time in her life, she actually wished her father had taken the time to teach her how to golf. But there was no use pretending. “It sounds like a great event, and of course it’s a wonderful cause,” she said in a resigned voice. “I’d be happy to make a donation.”
Nate leaned his elbows on the scratched Formica tabletop, bringing his body only inches from hers. She forced herself not to react.
“I’m not trying to put the hook in you for a donation, Holly,” he said with a chuckle. “Even though you don’t golf, I’d like you to come, anyway. To wrap up the day, the tournament committee holds a banquet at the club in the evening. That’s where some of the fundraising takes place. They have silent auctions and that sort of thing. I always sponsor a table for eight, and there’s a chair with your name on it.”
A banquet? Was he asking her on a date? Or was he just plumping the charity event? She had to struggle to mask her confusion and…disappointment.
Then she remembered something her mother used to say. Holly, dear. State the obvious when you’re not sure what to say. That way you won’t appear quite so dense.
“You’re inviting me to be part of your dinner group?”
Nate nodded. “Absolutely. You’ll love it. Jake Miller will be there. You must have heard of him, right? Jake Miller, the Patriots’ very own future Hall-of-Famer?”
She gave him a hesitant nod. That name was vaguely familiar, but pro sports just weren’t her thing. Clearly, she was striking out on all counts. Maybe going to the banquet wasn’t a good idea.
Nate watched her with disconcerting intensity. She opened her mouth to politely decline, but he cut her off.
“Jake and his wife, Maddie Leclair, will be at my table. So will Martha Winston. Maddie and Martha are both sportswriters with the Post. Martha will bring along a date, another guy from the paper. And then there’ll be Dr. Fredericks and his wife. I’m sure you’ve heard of him ,” he said.
Holly practically fell out of the chair. “Dr. James Fredericks? Our Dr. James Fredericks?”
“The very one.”
Dr. Fredericks, a vice-president of PCH, was one of the top neurosurgeons in the world. Holly had studied and admired his pioneering work. For a few years in med school, she had almost chosen neurosurgery as her specialty, mainly because of Fredericks. Any doubts she had about the wisdom of accepting Nate’s offer instantly evaporated.
“Well,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager, “that is certainly an enticing prospect. When is the tournament?”
“Monday,” Nate answered with a smile. He seemed pleased that she was on the verge of saying yes. “I realize this is short notice, but...”
She jumped in. “That’s no problem. Unless there’s an emergency, of course. Otherwise, I’ll be glad to go. Thank you for inviting me, Nate.”
“Great. Why don’t I pick you up and drive you to the club. It’s north of the city, and isn't that easy to find if you don’t know your way around up there.”
“Are you sure that wouldn’t be too much trouble?” She hated to make him drive in the opposite direction to pick her up, but she still wasn’t used to driving Philadelphia’s intimidating freeways.
“No trouble at all. I’d like to show off my car. It’s an Aston Martin, and I think you’ll love it.”
That really got her attention. “Is it a DB9?”
Looking surprised, Nate leaned back in his chair, almost knocking into a grouchy looking administrator from HR squeezing past in the narrow space behind their table. The balding man muttered but didn’t bother to stop.
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