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has first-hand knowledge of our topic today. Let’s give a big hand to Dr. Mark O’Donnell from the Crescent Street Emergency Care Clinic.”

      The crowd’s polite applause audibly increased as Dr. O’Donnell came into view. Phil, the show’s producer, had accomplished his goal. The man could have been an underwear model.

      At least six feet four to her five feet eleven plus four-inch heels, he was taller than her. His eyes were a vivid Aegean green that could only come from tinted contacts. His haircut looked vaguely rebellious, like it had been close cropped once upon a time and now needed a touch-up. It was a cross between brown and a very dark russet.

      He was not the type she usually went for, preferring a more military look. But, then, she’d had no type in quite a while, which might explain her extreme reaction.

      Not only did he make her pulse throb, her whole metabolism seemed to pick up speed as he came toward her. What was it about him that made her adrenaline rush?

      It wasn’t just his looks. It was his attitude.

      She was a sucker for a strong personality. Since she knew that about herself, she also knew to keep him at arm’s length. Not a problem. She wasn’t ready for a man in her life. She was still recovering from the last one.

      The show’s intro song faded into the pre-taped segment she’d recorded yesterday with information on how to contact local emergency care personnel and where to write in for heart-attack information while she got the good doctor seated.

      His swagger made the audience sit up and take notice even if he didn’t deign to look at them. He walked in like he owned the place.

      He had the kind of cocky attitude she would never fall for again.

      She could tell by the clothes he wore that he was a rule breaker, which too easily transitioned into heartbreaker for any woman foolish enough to get close to him.

      The show requested business attire, in his case a suit and tie. Instead, he wore his lab coat over scrubs.

      With the way the lighting was set, the white of his coat with the white of her own custom-tailored lab coat would blanch the set.

      She could see her producer already scrambling behind the cameras, trying to figure out how to salvage the video quality. How could she help from her hosting chair?

      At her gesture, Dr. O’Donnell stood in front of the chair opposite her.

      “Please say something so the sound engineer can do a final microphone check,” she requested.

      He looked at a loss, then said, “Something.”

      Eva couldn’t help smirking. This was going to be a challenging show.

      Dr. O’Donnell would do his guest shot. She’d make him look like a natural in front of the camera by feeding him the answers to the questions she asked him and covering his pauses with insightful comments. Their ratings would soar and he would be another featured rerun during their off season.

      Had it only been two years since she’d left the free clinic environment and entered the television market? She’d learned so much since then. Her innate ambition nagged at her, making her anxious to move up to the next level—national exposure. Her agent had said it was time to put the word out on the street that she was interested in bigger and better things before everyone heard about Ask the Doc’s falling ratings.

      But, then, committing to her television career would mean she’d made a clear-cut decision to leave the practice of medicine behind.

      Good, right? She would no longer be plagued by nebulous thoughts of one day returning to clinical work as she trod her newly chosen path of being a television personality.

      Could she find fulfillment, could she find peace if she never called herself a doctor again?

      Her mind skittered past the possibility of turning her back on the career she’d spent her whole life working toward.

      Concentrate on now. Not the future, Eva. Interviewing the pretty-boy doctor who had a blank expression on his sculpted face took precedence over everything else. She could salvage this interview. She was a professional.

      “Welcome, Dr. O’Donnell.” She made a split-second decision. Instead of offering her hand to shake, she unbuttoned her own lab coat and whipped it off. Speaking to the cameras, she waved her hand down the length of her wrap-front dress.

      “Notice the red dress I’m wearing today in support of educating everyone about the signs of heart attack in women.”

      She ignored the self-consciousness she felt that the dress was intentionally a smidgeon too tight to fit better under her lab coat.

      “Whenever you see a red dress, refresh your memory on the early symptoms of a heart attack. Your early response could save a loved one’s life. Isn’t that right, Dr. O’Donnell?”

      She stared into his deep blue-green eyes, noticing the amber ring around his pupils.

      He stared back.

      Finally, he answered, “Yes.”

      A single, monotone response. This was going to be one of those interviews.

      Pretty is as pretty does. Eva would gladly trade this eye candy before her for a glib, knowledgeable doctor of any physical description.

      Well, if she was going to have to muscle through this, she might as well get something out of it.

      Unapologetically, she would enjoy the view while he was here.

      She waved him into the visitor’s chair, noticing he hesitated before she seated herself. Good manners? Or a suspicious nature, not agreeing to anything until he’d made up his mind?

      For all Eva’s training and experience in the nuances of body language, she couldn’t be sure but highly suspected the latter.

      Very aware of the tightness of her dress without her lab coat to cover it, she positioned herself so the camera wouldn’t stare straight down her cleavage—which meant Dr. O’Donnell would have to.

      This set wasn’t designed for keeping a comfortable amount of personal space between the host and the guest. Instead, it was laid out to give the appearance of intimacy, hopefully translating into trust and confidence for the viewer.

      “Welcome to Ask the Doc, Dr. O’Donnell. Tell me, how many cases of heart attack in women do you see compared to men?”

      She left her question broad, knowing she could work with any answer he gave her. That’s what her producers attributed to the show’s success, her ability to think fast.

      She wished they’d take into consideration the three and a half years she’d spent at the busiest drug-abuse treatment clinic in New Orleans, working with walk-in patients. Talk about having to think fast on your feet …

      So far, the producers had sidestepped her suggestion for a hard-hitting drug-abuse segment, but Eva planned to insist, when her contract renegotiations came due, that a series on drug abuse be included that ranged from family recognition and prevention to consequences, treatment options and success rates for battling addiction.

      Too many people needed this information just like too many people shied away from it.

      Though, right now, she had a more immediate problem as Dr. O’Donnell shied away from the camera.

      After the night he’d had, Mark fought off his exhausted stupor. Searching for a boost of energy, he looked at the woman across from him, all hair and boobs and luscious lips ripe for—

      “Do you see many women coming into the E.R. knowing they’re having a heart attack?”

      This was her second question and he hadn’t even answered the first one yet.

      Come on, O’Donnell. Get your head in the game.

      “We don’t see as many women come in with suspected heart attacks as

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