Hotshot Doc Read online

  Hotshot Doc

  R.S. Grey

  HOTSHOT DOC

  Copyright © 2018 R.S. Grey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: R.S. Grey 2018

  [email protected]

  Editing: Editing by C. Marie

  Proofreading: JaVa Editing, Red Leaf Proofing

  Cover Design: R.S. Grey

  Contents

  Hotshot Doc

  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

  Epilogue - TWO YEARS LATER

  Excerpt

  Anything You Can Do

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Stay connected with R.S. Grey

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  BAILEY

  I wonder what other people my age are doing at this very moment.

  Scrolling through Tinder?

  Hitting the town with their squad?

  I don’t have a squad.

  I have a little sister. She’s squashed against me on the couch so we can both see my computer screen. Reruns of Grey’s Anatomy play out in high definition. Dr. McDreamy’s hair is thick and shiny. I want to run my finger across the screen, but I resist.

  On my face is green sludge. It’s supposed to be a homemade face mask. Josie whipped it up a few minutes ago and swore to me that when we wipe it off, we’ll look like movie stars. I’m pretty sure she’s wrong, and worse, she might have wasted our last avocado. I was going to slice it onto some rice and call that a well-balanced dinner. Looks like I’ll have to get creative.

  Two doctors start tearing off each other’s scrubs on my computer screen. They’re about to get it on, and I hold up my hand to cover Josie’s eyes.

  “You’re too young to be watching this.”

  It’s a joke. We’ve already watched a million episodes and at least half a million raunchy sex scenes.

  Josie swats my hand away and turns up the volume. Our living room is now filled with moans and groans. Maybe I’m not such a good guardian.

  “Are your friends at school allowed to watch shows like this?” I ask, suddenly racked with guilt. We should be watching nature documentaries on PBS, penguins waddling around on snow accompanied by the soothing sound of Morgan Freeman’s voice.

  “Are you kidding?” she asks, not taking her eyes off the screen. “People at my school are doing stuff like this.”

  I’m horrified by the idea of fourteen-year-olds partaking in any physical activity beyond holding hands.

  “Promise me you won’t touch a boy until you’re eighteen.”

  She rolls her eyes and holds up her pinky. I wrap my own around it, and just like that, we have a pact. I can breathe easier now.

  Once the credits roll, I stand up to wash my face, hoping at the very least this weird concoction hasn’t caused me to break out in an angry rash. I have work in the morning and I’d rather not be the laughing stock of the hospital.

  Josie trails after me and hogs half the sink.

  “Is it really like that? Are doctors all over each other in the on-call room?”

  “I’ve already told you—that stuff never happens.”

  I meet her gaze in the mirror and pass her the towel after I pat my face dry. No angry boils yet. That’s a good sign.

  “Right, okay, maybe not the really crazy stuff, but I bet you’ve caught people making out in the supply closet once or twice.”

  “Never.”

  “What about having sex in the locker room?”

  “No.”

  “Stolen glances in the operating room?” she asks, her tone growing desperate.

  “Josie, Grey’s Anatomy is a television show—scripted drama, pretend love. Don’t read too much into it.”

  She sighs, deeply annoyed. “What about the surgeons?” She drops the towel and turns toward me. Her hands grip my arms and I can’t break free. She’s surprisingly strong for someone so scrawny. “Are any of them even half as cute as Dr. McDreamy?”

  “Most of them are old men. Gray hair, mustaches, bellies like Santa Claus. You’ve seen my boss.”

  I pry her hands off me and then head to the kitchen. We’re low on pretty much everything, but I don’t get paid until Tuesday. Tuna fish sandwiches it is…again.

  “Ugh, seriously? No one is even remotely good-looking?!”

  I’m distracted because I’m currently in a fight with the can opener, so I don’t think before I answer her. “There is one…”

  She leaps across the kitchen, yanks the can of tuna out of my hand, and stares up at me with wide, expectant eyes. “Who?”

  “I don’t know his name.”

  Lie.

  “What does he look like?”

  “Tall. Brown hair.” I shrug.

  Devastatingly handsome is the key phrase I’m leaving out. Arrogant and jerk are another two words I’m better off not saying.

  I’m being evasive on purpose because my sister is a little precocious and a whole lot scary. Within three seconds, she has my computer open on the couch and is scrolling through the Staff tab on the hospital’s website. I know from late-night stalking that it’s organized alphabetically, which is why she yells from the other room, “What’s his last name?”

  I cough to cover up another lie. “I can’t recall.”

  “What department?”

  I pop two pieces of bread in the toaster and get out the mayonnaise, wondering how long it will take her to find him without my help.

  “BAILEY, what department?!”

  I continue ignoring her. Her fingers are really flying in there. The keys are probably popping off my laptop.

  The toast pops up just as I hear her audible intake of breath.

  “I FOUND HIM!”

  My stomach drops.

  “Dr. Matthew C. Russell!” She starts scrolling through his bio quickly. “Medical school at UT Southwestern. Residency at UCLA. Fellowship in complex spine and another in pediatric scoliosis, yada yada. Who cares?! I don’t know what half those words mean. Are there more pictures of him other than this headshot? Maybe ones from a beach vacation?”

  “I don’t know. That name doesn’t ring a bell. Dr. Russell, you said? That m
ight be him. Who cares.” I’m utilizing my very best acting skills to throw her off the scent. Then, I try a second method: distraction. “Your sandwich is ready!”

  She drags the laptop into the kitchen and takes a spot at the table across from me, a small smirk in place. I eat on my own, munching in silence. Meanwhile, Josie’s sandwich goes untouched. Her eyes are narrowed at the screen as she scrolls and types away. She’s a private detective desperate for a new lead. I half-expect her to whip out a magnifying glass and grow a mustache.

  “He doesn’t have any social media accounts, which is extremely annoying. I checked the UT Southwestern alumni page, but they don’t post pictures.”

  “Why does it matter? Eat your food.”

  She levels me with an annoyed glare, holding eye contact as she takes a massive bite of her sandwich, and then she gets back to the mission at hand with her cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk.

  I know why my sister has latched onto Dr. Russell like this. In the six years since I’ve taken guardianship of her, I haven’t been on many dates. I haven’t been interested in guys in general. Romance has taken the back seat in my life—no, worse: romance has become those aluminum cans trailing by strings behind my car. My lips have not felt human contact in so long I can’t quite remember how kissing works. Do you just stick your tongue in and go for it? Hopefully it’s like riding a bike or I’m screwed.

  Josie has been worried about me for a while.

  Just last week she told me she felt bad that I’ve had to give up so much of my life for her.

  Of course, I protested.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I love having you here. You know that.”

  “You’ve sacrificed a lot for me.”

  “Oh c’mon. No I haven’t.”

  “You don’t have any friends.”

  “I have Ms. Murphy next door.”

  “She’s an old coot who wears crystals around her neck.”

  “I don’t appreciate you calling my very best friend an old coot.”

  She doesn’t pause to laugh. “You had to quit college because of me.”

  “Big deal. I love the job I have now.”

  “And you never go out.”

  “Not true.”

  “The last time you went on a date, I was still a preteen.”

  “Surely that can’t be…”

  I didn’t finish my thought because she wasn’t kidding. It really has been that long.

  The truth is I have had to sacrifice a lot of things to take care of Josie. For all intents and purposes, I live the life of a single mom. My days are consumed with tasks like laundry, cooking, and cleaning. I have to make sure Josie is staying on top of her grades and getting to school on time while also not growing out of her jeans so quickly she has to walk down the halls at school in high-waters. I don’t go out to bars on Friday nights. I don’t give myself the opportunity to meet people. I work and I save every penny I earn so one day I’ll be able to afford a down payment on a house and move us out of this hovel we’ve squeezed into for the last few years.

  Still, lack of romantic relationships aside, it’s not a bad life. In fact, it’s a pretty great one.

  Josie just doesn’t see it that way.

  She turns the computer around so I’m forced to see the image of Dr. Russell she’s blown up to epic proportions. I refuse to give in to her demands to acknowledge his hotness. Instead, I go cross-eyed and stick out my tongue in the hopes of making her laugh.

  Her sigh tells me she thinks I’m deeply hopeless. “If you had an ounce of courage you would march up to this doctor and ask him out on a date tomorrow morning.”

  Ha ha ha. I laugh at that idea all the way through the rest of dinner, and while I do the dishes, and after as I drag a canvas bag filled with our dirty clothes to the laundromat down the street, and as I sit in front of those ancient machines watching them swirl around and around.

  Josie has no idea what she’s talking about.

  Dr. Russell doesn’t know I exist. We’ve never talked. He’s the youngest, most hotshot surgeon at the hospital, and he has a reputation for being the most aggressive, rude doctor in all the land.

  I’d be better off trying to pin down Dr. McDreamy than attempting to date him.

  Chapter 2

  MATT

  “I’d like to put in my two weeks’ notice.”

  I glance up from the mountain of paperwork on my desk to see Kirt, my brand-new surgical assistant, standing at the door of my office. He’s wringing out his hands. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.

  “Why?”

  His gaze jerks to me and his eyes widen in fear. “Why?”

  He didn’t think he’d have to explain himself. He’s about to lose his bowels on my carpet.

  I toss my pen onto my desk and lean back in my chair. This is the last thing I was expecting him to say. I thought we had a good thing going. I’ve only made him cry twice.

  “I know you’re a great surgeon.” My expression must harden because he amends his statement. “The best surgeon! Truly! It’s why I took this job. I figured if I stuck it out with you for a few months, you’d give me a good letter of recommendation for my next job. Honestly, I thought this was a Devil Wears Prada situation—”

  “A what?”

  His cheeks redden. “The Devil Wears Prada…the movie?” My face doesn’t change. “Sorry, my girlfriend made me watch it the other day and it really helped me put some things into perspective.” His hands start waving as he explains the plot. “There’s this terrible boss who basically terrorizes the whole office. The main character thinks if she toughs it out as her assistant long enough, she’ll be able to work anywhere she wants.”

  He’s too stupid to realize he’s just implied I’m a “terrible boss” who “terrorizes” people. If he wasn’t already quitting, I’d fire him.

  “Get to the point.”

  “Oh, well, yeah. The point is…I can’t do this. The stress of this job is more than I can handle. I have a stomach ulcer. I’ve started to develop nervous bowels.” I’m now more concerned than ever that he’s going to soil my carpet. “I’m not sleeping. My girlfriend gave me an ultimatum: either I leave New England Medical Center or she leaves me. I thought I’d be able to make it until the new year, but that’s still a few months away. So…” He pauses and glances down at the ground. “I’m giving my two weeks’ notice.”

  My secretary appears behind him, holding a file, which means my next patient is here: a seven-year-old girl named Fiona. In a few minutes, I’ll join her and her parents in the conference room for a consultation about a complex procedure that will relieve the pain and suffering she’s endured from being born with a severe curvature of her spine.

  I don’t have time for Kirt and his stomach ulcer.

  I stand to receive the file.

  “They’re already in the conference room,” she says with a no-nonsense tone.

  “Thank you, Patricia.”

  She straightens the glasses on the bridge of her nose and aims daggers at the back of Kirt’s head, which tells me she likely heard part of his speech and she didn’t like it. Unlike him, she’s loyal. She’s been working for me since I first started here.

  Kirt scrambles as I leave him standing there and head for the conference room. “Dr. Russell. Dr. Russell! You’ll still give me a good rec letter, right?” he shouts down the hallway. “I’ve been a good surgical assistant, haven’t I?!”

  I don’t answer him because I’m already flipping through Fiona’s file, reacquainting myself with the x-rays and CT scans I’ve been studying for the last few days. She’s been turned away from four other doctors. The curvature in her back is severe enough that the procedure would prove difficult even for the top pediatric spinal surgeons in the world. Fortunately for her and her parents, I’m one of them.

  I push the door open and see Fiona’s parents sitting at a table wearing expressions of fear and apprehension. Her mother has dark circles under her eyes. Her father
’s hand is clasped over his wife’s on top of the table and he squeezes twice in an act of reassurance as I walk in. Fiona sits beside her mom, tucked in the oversized leather chair, making a little doll dance on her lap. At first, she leans awkwardly against one of the chair’s armrests, but when she sees me, she tries and fails to sit up straight. A deep frown cuts across her chubby-cheeked face. Seeing that small struggle ensures I’ll go through with this procedure even if it kills me. She deserves to have someone fighting for her, and if Kirt is too much of a pansy to do it with me, I’ll find someone who will.

  I’ve been at New England Medical Center for five years now. When I first started, I’d just come off of not one, but two fellowships—one in complex spine and the other in pediatric scoliosis. Even after all that training, I had a lot to learn. Some would say I still do. Most of my colleagues think I’m naive to take the kind of cases I do. There are four other spine doctors in our department, and I’m the only one who specializes in peds. The rest of them—the ones sitting together at a table in the doctors’ lounge as I walk in for lunch—do routine adult spinal fusions, the kind of cases that take two hours, the kind that allow for a four-day work week and extra time on the golf course.

  They wave me down and I inwardly groan. I know what this is going to be about, and I don’t have the energy to deal with their boys’ club bullshit today.

  “Hear you’re losing another assistant, Matt,” Dr. Goddard says. In his late thirties, he’s the closest to me in age, but that’s where our similarities stop. He’s in surgery for the money and the reputation. He wears monogrammed polos. He drives a cherry red Porsche. His wife looks like an inflated sex doll.