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  SPECIAL DELIVERY

  a Hollywood Hills novellini

  By Traci Hohenstein

  SPECIAL DELIVERY

  a Hollywood Hills novellini

  Traci Hohenstein

  Copyright © 2011

  All Rights Reserved.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Layout provided by Everything Indie

  http://www.everything-indie.com

  To Anna Satterfield

  – my sister, my friend

  Special thanks to Michelle Couch, Stephanie Roessler, Jeroen ten Berge, Kay Keppler, and Nicholas Ambrose for their help on this novel.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Excerpt of SPLIT DECISION

  Read More Traci Hohenstein

  Bonus Excerpt from Sibel Hodge

  THE BABY TRAP

  Prologue

  My Body Clock

  Chapter 1

  “Get it out! Get it out of me, now!”

  I could hear the screaming all the way down the hall. I pushed the door open to Room 422 just in time to hear—

  “If you don’t get Dr. Love in here right now to get this thing out of me, I swear I’ll reach down there and pull it out myself!”

  “Good evening, everyone,” I said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. The maternity nurse, Julie, looked relieved to see me.

  “She’s ten centimeters dilated, been pushing for the last hour and half, and the head is crowning,” Julie updated me.

  I stood at the bedside of my patient, Bethany Burke. Bethany is a famous comedienne with her own reality TV show. She’s also my patient, delivering her first child.

  The words coming out of her mouth now, however, weren’t so funny.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Bethany asked between panting. “I want…this baby…out of me….now!”

  I smiled and pushed a piece of hair out of her eyes.

  “Bethany, you’ll finally get to meet your baby in just a few minutes.”

  I glanced over at her husband, Taylor, who was nervously pacing next to her bed. Her assistant, Camille, sat nearby, texting furiously on her Blackberry. They barely acknowledged my presence.

  I quickly examined Bethany—she was crowning and ready to deliver. Julie had alerted the nursery and they rolled in a crib and stood by to wait.

  Taking my seat at the foot of the bed, I coached her on. “Okay now, Bethany, big push!”

  “Ahhhh!” Bethany screamed while bearing down.

  The baby’s head popped out. “Okay, Bethany a couple more of those pushes and we’re done.”

  This is the part of my job that I love the most. Delivering babies. Bringing precious life into the world. And being a doctor in LA—a doctor to the famous—definitely has its perks. My clients are movie stars, soap opera actresses, pop singers, supermodels, and wives of the Hollywood’s elite. That’s fun, and I have to admit, glamorous. But all the drama that goes along with it—I just tolerate.

  Finally, at eight minutes to midnight, Bethany Burke delivered her baby.

  “It’s a girl!” I exclaimed, while the baby wailed at the top of her lungs. She definitely has her mother’s mouth, I thought, as I handed the surgical scissors to her husband, Taylor, to cut the cord.

  Suddenly, the door swung open and two men walked into the room carrying black leather bags and train cases. Camille popped up out of her chair. “Just in time. Let’s get started, guys. She needs some sprucing up pronto.”

  I turned to Julie in confusion.

  “Bethany’s film crew is here. They’re filming for her show,” she explained.

  As the nurses cleaned up the baby, Bethany’s team of makeup and hair stylists cleaned up the star. I watched in amazement as the makeup guy wiped the sweat off Bethany’s forehead, while the hair guy sprayed something powdery in her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail.

  “Ummmhuh.” I cleared my throat to get Bethany’s attention. “You still have to deliver the placenta.”

  “What?” Bethany said, as the camera man poked his head into the doorway to see if he could come in.

  “You aren’t done,” I said. I explained everything else we had to do, including putting in stitches.

  “How long will that take?” Camille asked, fluffing up her own hair.

  Julie rolled her eyes at me. This delivery had turned into a three-ring circus.

  “About an hour.”

  “Okay. Not a prob,” Camille said. “We’ll film the delivery of the placenta thingy and then we can edit to look like the actual delivery.” She looked at Bethany for approval.

  Bethany just nodded her head.

  The nurse handed the baby to Bethany. She kissed her daughter on the forehead and then handed the baby off to her husband. “Here honey. I don’t want to mess up my makeup.”

  We all—makeup crew, hair crew, and medical crew—finished up at the same time. After eighteen hours of labor, Bethany looked better than I did. I have to get the name of her stylist.

  Chapter 2

  My career started when I joined the family practice in Hollywood, California, a few years ago. My dad, Frank Love, had delivered Hollywood babies for over forty years, until my mom forced him to retire. They now live in Palm Springs and play golf almost every day.

  When I was young, my dad took me on house calls. I witnessed my first birth when I was eight. Where most kids would’ve been grossed out, I was mesmerized. By the time I was twelve, I was assisting my dad during home births. I was the only first year med student who had practical training in obstetrics. When I finished my residency, it was only natural that I’d join my dad’s practice – Hollywood Healthcare for Women – catering to the Hollywood elite.

  My dad was tinkled pink. My mom, Adonia, not so much. She thinks I work too hard – and I do. She thinks I need to get a husband and settle down and have kids – and I don’t. Yeah, I’m staring thirty-five in the face and my biological clock is ticking so loudly my ears are ringing, but I haven’t found Mr. Right.

  Before I got the call to deliver Bethany’s baby, I’d been having a nice dinner with my father, who had driven down from Palm Springs. It was my first night back from a well-deserved vacation to Mexico. I was feeling rested and relaxed. That didn’t last long. Dad sprang unexpected news on me.

  “Hope
, I’ve decided to hire a doctor to help out at the clinic.”

  I almost choked on the prawn I had just shoved in my mouth. Even though my dad was technically retired, he was still a partner in the business. Our business has grown in leaps and bounds in the past year, and we’d discuss the possibility of hiring another doctor and expanding the business, but I didn’t know my dad wanted to move this fast.

  “What are you talking about? What doctor?”

  “The one we’ve been talking about hiring for the past couple of months.”

  “We were just talking. I didn’t think you were ready now. I told you I could handle the practice and would let you know when I needed help.”

  “Hope, honey, it’s time for you to start having a life.”

  “Did Mom put you up to this?” I was fuming. “I know our business has grown since you retired, but I can handle it.”

  “I know you can honey, but wasn’t it nice to be able to get away for a while? Recharge your batteries. With a new doctor on call to help you, you can do that more often.” My dad took a sip of his wine. “Besides, the time is right to start that fertility clinic we’ve been talking about and this doctor has that experience.”

  I realized that this vacation to Mexico, the one that my parents had paid for and insisted that I take, had been a ruse to get me out of the office so they could hire someone new. This was not acceptable to me.

  “So, who is this doctor that I didn’t get a chance to interview?”

  “I was going to wait until you were back, but he had several job offers and I needed to make a decision. It happened quickly.” My dad took another long sip of his wine. “His name is Bradley Whitford. He graduated from Tulane, went to med school at LSU, and did his residency at UAB. He’s a brilliant doctor.”

  “Hummph.” I pushed my plate away. “I’ll be the judge of that. Some of our patients won’t be too thrilled at having a new doctor around. You know how high maintenance these ladies are.”

  “I think you’ll find Dr. Whitford is well-qualified to handle our patients. He’s also very charismatic. A southern gentleman and all that.” My dad ran his hand through his thick, silvery hair. Several women had sneaked glances at him during dinner. He was still very handsome at sixty-something.

  “I still can’t believe you hired him without consulting me first. This is supposed to be a partnership. I still have a say in what goes on with the clinic.”

  My father reached over and patted my hand. “Of course you do Hope. But every time I tried to discuss hiring a new doctor, you just pushed the idea aside. If you would just give Dr. Whitford a chance? I would love for us to move forward with the fertility clinic and with his extensive training in fertility treatments; I think we can offer a valuable service to our existing clients.”

  I let out a deep sigh. “When does he start?”

  “He’ll meet you at the office tomorrow at four o’clock. Then he’s going back to Alabama to get ready for the move. He officially starts in two weeks.”

  Lovely. Just then my cell phone had rung and I’d left to deliver Bethany’s baby. My dad was probably happy that the conversation was interrupted. But it was long from over.

  Chapter 3

  I woke up to severe anxiety. I wasn’t looking forward to meeting this new doctor, and I also had a full day of patients. I hadn’t gotten home from the hospital until two a.m. and I was exhausted. By the time the alarm went off, I’d had only three hours of sleep.

  Strong coffee, that was the ticket—but I’d forgotten to go to the grocery store again. My cupboards were bare and my refrigerator contained only a half-gallon of organic milk and a couple of cereal bars. Opening my Coach day-planner, I wrote “hire new housekeeper” on my list of things to do today. My last housekeeper retired about three months ago and I hadn’t found the time to find another one.

  I walked into my closet and picked out a pair of black Banana Republic slacks and paired them with a hot pink Tori Burch shirt. Even though I wore a boring white doctor’s jacket over my clothes, I liked to dress well underneath. I’d inherited my mother’s sense of fashion.

  Dressing quickly so I’d have enough time to stop by Starbucks and pick up a caramel macchiato and blueberry muffin, I tamed my long, unruly dark hair with grooming gel and used a flat iron until it was shiny and silky. With a swipe of mascara and a coat of lip gloss, I was out in the door. I hopped into my black Porsche Cayenne, my first gift to myself after starting at the family practice, and headed out.

  Hollywood Healthcare for Women was a busy practice – I normally saw thirty patients a day – and I breezed into the back entrance to avoid anyone already sitting in the waiting room. I was the best of the best, the crème de la crème, and I wanted to uphold the high reputation that my dad started over forty years ago – and improve on it.

  “Good morning, Dr. Love,” my assistant, Heather said, as I walked into the office, juggling my coffee, bakery bag, and briefcase. “We’ve got a busy day today with a couple new patients.”

  I sat down at my desk, popped a piece of blueberry muffin into my mouth, and opened the first file that she handed me.

  “Gemma Malone.” I read the name aloud on the file. “What was that movie she just won an Academy Award for?”

  “Captured, I think,” Heather said dumping more files on my desk. “She’s just here for her yearly exam.”

  “Who else do we have?”

  “Katrina Kelwen,” Heather said in almost a whisper.

  “Oh, no. Not again,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought she moved to New York and we transferred her file there.”

  Katrina Kelwen was a supermodel who now had her own reality show. (Everybody was getting a reality show these days. Maybe I should look into that.) She’d been married three times and had twin daughters and a son. And she was hell-on-wheels. The last time I saw Katrina, she thought she was pregnant again, this time by a well-known – and married – music executive. She’d had a complete meltdown in my office. When we got word from her assistant that she was moving to New York, we all celebrated.

  “Word is, her reality show was cancelled and she’s back in Hollywood trying to revive her career. She’s your first patient. And just wait till you see her.”

  “What is it this time?”

  “Let’s just say she’s been up to her old tricks.”

  I took a deep breath. “Any other surprises I should be aware of?”

  “Not a surprise, but the new doctor your dad hired is coming in this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I heard. I had dinner with dad last night and he sprung it on me.” I sighed. “I wished you would’ve called and told me.”

  Heather shrugged. “I just found out about it myself. But I did Google him.” She looked mischievously at me. “He’s gorgeous.”

  “Really?” I made a mental note to Google Bradley Whitford myself during my lunch break. But first things first. I had to get ready for a busy morning of seeing patients, then a lunch date with my best girlfriend, Venus.

  “Let’s get this party started,” I said, finishing off my coffee.

  Before I walked into exam room two, I stopped in the private restroom and did my ritual before seeing patients. I freshened up my breath with some mouthwash, swiped on light pink lip gloss, and pulled my long hair back into a stylish ponytail.

  I looked myself over. Working with perfect bodies all day long gave me a bit of a complex. I wasn’t by any means drop-dead gorgeous like most of my patients were, but I could hold my own. I’ve been told that I’m pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. My father was Greek and my mother Italian, so I’m blessed with beautiful, thick hair and an olive complexion. At thirty-four, I didn’t think I needed Botox or plastic surgery yet, but I wouldn’t count it out when the first wrinkles showed up.

  I headed to the exam room and took a deep breath before knocking softly on the door. I could imagine Katrina on the other side in her cotton gown, sitting on the exam room table, flipping through one of the gossip mags that we al
ways keep in the exam rooms.

  I heard a faint “come in” and opened the door.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Katrina was sitting on the exam table with her hands around her huge belly.

  “Hi, Dr. Love.”

  “Hello, Katrina. Looks like you’ve been busy.”

  She looked down sheepishly at her huge stomach.

  “Yes, I have. Number four on its way. But this time he put a ring on it.” She flashed a huge yellow diamond on her ring finger.

  “Congratulations! Have you seen a doctor since you became pregnant?”

  “Yes, the one in New York you sent me to.”

  I made a note to have one of the nurses call that doctor to get her files transferred back.

  “How far along are you?”

  “Dr. Bancroft said about seven months, but I’m not sure if that’s right.”

  Heather was behind us setting up the instruments and I looked up just in time to see her roll her eyes.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because…um, the timing, it’s off a bit.”

  I checked her chart to see what the first day of her last period was. There was a question mark by December 30th.

  “Ok, I’ll give you a full exam today and an ultrasound. What have you been up to?” I liked to make small talk while examining patients, to calm their nerves and help relax them.

  “Hmmm, well, I got kicked off my own reality show when they found out I was pregnant. They didn’t want a pregnant supermodel who broke up a marriage to be the host of a teenage model search.”

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” I asked, while sitting down on a stool.

  “Crash.”

  “Crash?” I’ve never heard of him. I looked over at Heather and she shrugged her shoulders.

  “Yeah. He’s a rapper. Only goes by Crash. His real name is Luther Wilson, but Crash is his stage name.”

  “Okay. Lie back and just relax. Let’s see how you’re doing.”