12. Elixirs

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I had just the right dress for the cocktail party

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I had just the right dress for the cocktail party. It was indeed pink, but nothing like the gingham number I'd described to Dr. Styles. It was a sophisticated pink, covered in sequins and it hugged my body in all the right places. The sleeves were maybe a bit too long for the season, but I didn't care. I felt fabulous in it, and I secretly knew it would knock the doctor off his feet, even if this was just a business outing. I also took the extra time to straighten my hair. It was no small task, but I liked the elegance it lent to my appearance when I took the time to do it right. 

My doorbell rang at precisely 7:30, the exact time he said he'd swing by and pick me up. I opened the door and literally felt my heart jump, and my hands started shaking. He had a suit jacket slung over his shoulder and a white shirt hanging open by a few buttons. I caught sight of those black wings again, but I didn't feel it appropriate to ask what kinds of birds they were.

"Black tie?" I questioned.

He produced one out of his pocket. "I hate ties. I'll put it on at the last possible second." His smile made my knees weak. "You look fantastic," he said.

"Thank you," I said, grabbing my clutch purse.

I was locking my door when he asked, "Your full name is Elloise, right?" 

I cringed at the old-fashioned name. "Ugh, yes. Why?" I looked up at him, my face still twisted in displeasure.

"I think it sounds more professional," he said.

"Well, no one calls me Elloise, except my granny," I said. "And I only allow it because she's like 95 years old."

"I think it's a lovely name," he countered.

"I'd rather be called Ms. Jansen," I suggested with a laugh.

We left our building and Dr. Styles hailed a cab. Oh, so the good doctor actually knew how to ride in a taxi. I guessed that he didn't want either one of us to have to drive home after a cocktail party, but I was tempted to remind him about his comment about cab drivers being untrustworthy, but I decided against it.

On the way, he briefed me on the evening. "Let's see, this is a fundraiser for a new pediatric emergency center at CMI. It's been in the works for a long time, and this is the first official push after CMI made the decision to go ahead with the renovation."

"So, the current emergency department will be renovated?" I asked.

"Partially, yes," he replied. "They plan to make an addition, too."

"How do they do that in Downtown Chicago? We're already on top of each other as it is."

"You'd be surprised," he said. "These architects are genius."

After a few moments of silence, he added, "I'm hoping they'll choose me as head of the new department." He was looking down at his fingers, fiddling with his rings, which I'd noticed a few times before. Every once in a while, I wondered about who he was, on a deeper level. He was this perfectionist, hard-working doctor but the long hair, tattoos, and rings didn't seem in keeping with the idealist image he presented.

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