Hotshot Doc Page 11

  I think she whispers, “Scary,” but I’m not sure I hear her right.

  I take a left then pull into a lot and now we’re outside my tailor’s shop. I need to get out, but it’s still storming and I can’t just leave her in here after that speech. I put the car in park and turn to face her.

  She’s staring straight ahead though I know she can’t see a thing with the rain beating down on the windshield.

  “Okay. All right.” I clear my throat. “It’s come to my attention that I might be the problem.”

  She throws her head back and laughs and laughs and laughs. Her blonde hair spills down her back. Her long dark lashes fan out across her pronounced cheekbones. I sit perfectly still watching her, hands clenched because for some inane reason, I have the urge to reach out and touch her, to brush the freckles across the bridge of her nose, to run the pad of my finger along her bottom lip—the one currently stretched into a smile at my expense.

  Jesus, the power she wields.

  Finally, she gathers herself and turns to me, tears of laughter collected along the bottom rows of her lashes. “‘I might be the problem.’ Uh, ya think?” Her words drip with sarcasm.

  I shake my head and force myself to look away. Damn the rain. I need to get out of this car.

  “Wait here. I won’t be long.”

  I don’t bother with an umbrella as I dart outside and into the shop. I have my suit in hand a few minutes later, glad the tailor took the time to wrap the garment bag in plastic to ensure it stayed dry. I, however, did not. I’m a wet dog when I slam my door and turn to hang the suit up in my back seat.

  “You’re soaked,” Bailey says, stating the obvious.

  She must have composed herself while I was inside because there’s no hint of laughter in her eyes anymore. Her golden brown gaze skims across me quickly and I glance in the rearview mirror to see what she sees. Soaked hair falling across my forehead, annoyed scowl paired with a grimace—I look like an emotional vampire. With a grunt, I shrug out of my suit jacket and toss it in the back before rolling my sleeves up to my elbows. My white button-up is just as wet as my jacket, but with the heat blasting in the car, it should dry out soon enough.

  “What’s your address?” I ask bluntly.

  “I’d like to finish our conversation.”

  “No. You see, I picked up my suit and now I’m going to take you home. That’s how this works.”

  Her hand reaches out to touch my forearm, and it’s delicate and warm and porcelain white. I stare down at it, half-expecting her to jerk it away, but she doesn’t.

  “I shouldn’t have laughed when you admitted you might be the problem.”

  Oh, I get it. She thinks she wounded my pride, like I’m a fragile, temperamental creature.

  I hate that I might be.

  “If you want me to continue working for you, you’re going to have to talk to me.”

  “I don’t give two shits if you stay.” I’m annoyed that she thinks she has me figured out. With a gentle touch and a sweet tone, she thinks she’ll crack open my shell and I’ll spill some deep dark secrets to her.

  Her hand squeezes my arm painfully and then she tosses it away, crosses her arms, and stares out the passenger window. “8745 Oak Drive. Take me home. Now.”

  I’m at a crossroads. I want to come out on top, preserve what’s left of my dignity, and get Bailey the hell out of my car, but then I think of how annoying it will be to walk into work on Monday and admit to Patricia and Kendra that Bailey quit because I couldn’t put my ego aside.

  “Take. Me. Home,” she says again, each word bitten out.

  “I’ll never be the nice guy in the operating room,” I say suddenly, words spilling out of me before I’ve even decided I want to say them. “I won’t put on a Beach Boys playlist and joke around. With pediatric scoliosis surgery, you aren’t making the spine straight again. You’re taking a spine that operates like a slinky and turning it into a rock. It’s a preventive measure, not a cure. There’s no definitive reason why this happens to some people and not to others. Through no fault of their own, my patients are given a life sentence of pain and suffering.”

  She doesn’t budge, so I continue talking to the back of her head.

  “I’m passionate about what I do, and sometimes that carries over into how I treat my staff.”

  “Not everyone. Just me,” she clarifies.

  “I hold you to a higher standard.”

  She snorts and shakes her head. I want to yank her ponytail and force her to turn around and look at me. I want her to meet my gaze and see for herself that I’m trying as hard as I can. I can’t touch her while I’m this worked up, though. So, instead, I focus on the storm brewing outside her window and try to ignore the painful tightening in my chest. This is hard for me. I don’t like to dwell in the dark underbelly of my job, but she dragged me here, and she doesn’t get to turn back now.

  “Tell me, have you ever held a child’s life in your hands, Bailey?” My voice is cold and unfeeling. “Have you ever had to walk into a waiting room after a ten-hour surgery, look a mother in the eyes, and explain to her that there’s nothing more you can do for her child? That if you keep trying, you’ll shred her daughter’s spine? That she won’t be able to walk no matter how many surgeries or rounds of physical therapy she endures?

  “Have you ever had a ten-year-old code on your table? Ever accidently nicked a nerve and nearly paralyzed someone? You think I’m a cold bastard. You want me to be polite and gentle with you. You want me to pat your head and give you a gold star for doing your job. I won’t.” I pause briefly. “Grow up.”

  Chapter 13

  BAILEY

  If I could roll out of Dr. Russell’s car on the highway without sustaining any major injuries, I would. As it is, I sit beside him silently, shaking with untold emotions until we pull up in front of my house. There are no words exchanged as I reach into the back seat for my backpack and brace it against my chest so it doesn’t get completely drenched. We don’t look at each other. We barely breathe. I clutch the door handle, consider thanking him for driving me home or apologizing for whatever it was that just happened, but in the end, I say nothing before I dart out into the rain. I’m running because it’s raining, but I’m also running because I want to get away from him as fast as I possibly can.

  I push open the front door to our house with too much force and slam it closed behind me even harder, peeking past the window shade in time to see him peel away. I watch him go and my heart pounds in my chest like a stampede of wild horses.

  “You’re not going to believe it!” Josie shouts behind me.

  I jump out of my skin and whirl around to see her holding up the laptop we share. The messenger app is open and when I step closer, I see that she’s been having a conversation with Cooper without me knowing.

  Shit. I haven’t checked our texts all day.

  “Josie!”

  She waves her hand to cut me off. “Yes, okay, technically I’ve been texting him without your explicit permission, but he’s back in town and he invited you on a date tomorrow!”

  My stomach fills with dread. “Please tell me you—”

  “Told him yes?! Duh! And you aren’t going to believe it! You’re going to a wedding!”

  Her eyes—the same light brown shade as mine—fill with stars as if a wedding is on par with the Oscars.

  Oh my god. How many times am I going to feel panicky and weepy in one day? I can’t believe she did this. Sure, Cooper is nice, but I’m not sure I would have agreed to go on a date with him, and definitely not to a wedding!

  I grab the computer and scroll furiously through the texts, trying to catch up. Their conversation is innocuous and kind of boring. They talk about the weather (So cold, right? Brrr!) and his flight back from Cincinnati (The guy next to me is snoring so loud!). Josie uses way more emojis than I would. Pretty much every sentence is dotted with three or four. Jesus, if I were him, I would never text me back, but Cooper isn’t deterred.

/>   Unfortunately.

  There, at the bottom, I see with my own eyes that he did invite me to be his date for a wedding, and Josie stupidly accepted on my behalf—with four hearts-in-my-eyes smiley faces. I look like a desperate weirdo.

  Worse, Cooper goes on to explain that it won’t be a big, fun, eat-cake-and-blend-into-the-wall sort of affair.

  I jerk my attention back to her. “It’s his cousin’s wedding! That means his entire family will be there!”

  Her brows scrunch together like she doesn’t see the problem.

  “He said it would be small,” she argues. “See there? ‘Just fifty people or so, nothing too crazy’.”

  “That’s worse, Josie! It means there’s no way I can just fly under the radar!”

  “Ooooh, yeah.” She nods, lip starting to quiver. “Now I see your point.”

  I drop the computer onto the couch and start pacing. On a good day, this would stress me out. Today, I can barely stop from pulling my hair out.

  “How do we undo this?”

  “We don’t!” she says, trying to cut into my path and grab ahold of my shoulders, but I don’t let her. I need to keep moving or I might spontaneously combust. “He’s really nice and you said yourself you thought he was cute! So it’s kind of an awkward first date—so what? It could be really fun!”

  I stop suddenly, drop my hands to my knees, and force down the urge to throw up.

  Her hand hits my lower back. “Do you want me to get you out of it?”

  “Yes! Please!”

  She groans. “You were supposed to say no! It’s too late. I accepted the date on your behalf and now he’s all excited. Are you really going to let the poor guy go to a wedding by himself? Only losers do that!”

  This is a mess, and unfortunately, it’s not entirely Josie’s fault. I’m the idiot who asked her to start messaging him in the first place. I look up at her and she’s standing before me, blonde hair tied up in a bun, cheeks stained red with embarrassment. She’s wringing out her hands and trying very hard not to cry.

  “I don’t have a dress, Josie.” I sigh with defeat.

  “The thrift shop a few streets over is still open for another two hours,” she says softly, the edge of her mouth curving with the start of a smile.

  “And what about…”

  I trail off, realizing I don’t actually have another excuse.

  She rushes forward and wraps her arms around my middle. “We’ll get you a dress! I’ll do your hair and makeup. I’ve been practicing on myself all day.” Well that explains the heavy eyeshadow; I thought it was a little much for a weekday afternoon. “You’ll look like Cinderella going to the ball!”

  References like that remind me that in some ways, Josie is still so young. She wants to believe in fairy tales so badly, and I know I have no choice. I’ll go to the wedding even if the experience leaves me permanently scarred.

  The next day, I sit dutifully in front of our bathroom mirror while my sister does my hair. I have a face full of fancy makeup I could have never done myself. My eyes have never seemed so bright thanks to the combination of eyeshadows she’s painstakingly applied over the last hour. It’s subtle and pretty. I should feel like a million bucks, but I feel nothing beyond the knot of tension in the pit of my stomach.

  “Why does it seem like you don’t trust me?” she says, waving the curling iron over my head haphazardly. I cower to avoid getting burned. Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’re about to sear my forehead. “I’ve been practicing these curls for weeks and you’re going to look amazing!”

  I try to relax my features, but it’s no use. I’ve felt anxious ever since Dr. Russell dropped me off yesterday. I barely slept. I kept replaying his words, and I’ve come to two conclusions. One, he was right. I have no idea the kind of stress he deals with all day, every day. I can put my head down and focus on work a little more, but—two, he also has to admit fault. He can’t keep using me as a punching bag.

  I have no clue what I’ll do come Monday morning. Should I address what happened in the car and apologize for my part of it? And if he’s unwilling to change, do I want to keep working for him?

  Josie thinks I’m quiet and anxious because of the wedding. That’s why she’s taking extra care with my hair and makeup. It looks really good. Her obsession with beauty videos on YouTube has clearly paid off.

  “There!” She sets down the curling iron. “Now we just need to brush out the curls so they look soft, like you’re an Old Hollywood movie star!”

  I have exactly enough energy to give her a feeble thumbs-up.

  Dress shopping yesterday took a lot out of me. The thrift shop we walked to in the rain is in a nicer area of town so it was filled with designer castoffs. I thought we’d just go in and grab the first thing we saw, but Josie turned it into a mini fashion show. In the end, after a lot of suffering on my part, she settled on a formfitting ice blue cocktail dress with an elegant floral lace overlay. The long sleeves cling to my arms all the way to my wrists, and the flowy skirt hits halfway down my thighs. An open back adds a touch of sexiness without seeming indecent.

  I’ll be absolutely freezing if the wedding is outside.

  She puts the finishing touches on my hair then steps back with a proud smile. “Gorgeous.” I smile at my reflection more for her sake than my own. My heart’s not in it tonight, no matter how hard I try. “Too bad we couldn’t afford a new coat. Your pink one doesn’t go with this at all.”

  She’s right. It’s too casual, but it’s all I have at the moment.

  “I’ll take it off right when we get inside,” I promise her. “Don’t worry, I won’t ruin all your hard work.”

  The doorbell rings a few minutes later while I’m in the bathroom alone, giving myself a pep talk that centers more on trying to put Dr. Russell out of my mind than it does on my impending date. I close my eyes and see his dark, wet hair, the way his damp shirt clung to his biceps when he got back into the car, his large hands gripping the steering wheel as he drove me home in silence, and the disdain in his voice when he told me to grow up.

  If I concentrate, I swear I can still smell him. His car held the same intoxicating scent as his office, but in the smaller space, it was magnified. The scent clings to my memory like those drops of rain were clinging to him.

  “Bailey! Are you ready?” Josie shouts from the living room. “Cooper’s here!”

  I blink my eyes open and meet my gaze in the mirror, trying on a weak, awkward smile before shaking my head and giving up. “Yes! Coming!”

  Cooper is waiting for me by the door, and I’m surprised to see how handsome he looks. It’s been weeks since we met in the bar, and Smooth Tony’s was hazy and dark. My memory didn’t quite do him justice. His hair is a dark, ashy blond, thick and styled well. His suit is navy blue, and his light blue tie is clipped in place with a slice of silver metal. He’s put together and debonair in a way that makes me feel like a child in comparison.

  His eyes glide down me and apparently I merit his approval, even with my pink coat, because he smiles wide and steps forward to kiss my cheek.

  “You look great. When you told me you were wearing blue, I wanted to match.”

  I’m slightly confused until I realize Josie must have texted him a hint about my outfit. I slice my gaze to her and she winks before shooing us out the door.

  “Don’t hurry home! I have everything I need. I’m going to bury myself in Netflix and popcorn.”

  “Don’t stay up too late,” I warn.

  She laughs. “Of course. In bed by 10:00, you got it. Hey, it was nice to meet you, Cooper!”

  “You too, Josie.”

  He smiles back at her and I’m not surprised to see genuine affection in his eyes. Josie wins everyone over. She could walk into peace negotiations in the Middle East and have that situation buttoned up in no time.

  “Your sister looks like you,” he notes as he leads me down the driveway toward a shiny black BMW purring at the curb.

  I hum.

/>   “She’s sweet.”

  “Don’t let her guise fool you. She’s sly,” I warn with a shake of my head.

  As he opens my door and takes my hand to help me step off the curb, Cooper informs me we’re running a little late.

  I’m immediately worried. “How late are we talking?”

  “Oh, just a few minutes. Nothing to worry about.”

  He’s lying of course. Once I insist upon seeing the invitation, I realize we’re extremely late, only a few minutes shy of the bride making her descent down the aisle. Hell, there’s a chance we’ll walk in right as the preacher asks if anyone objects.

  “My flight back from Cincinnati was delayed. Everyone will understand,” he promises after we park. He takes my hand and leads me toward the small church.

  I hate being late. I especially hate being late to an event like this, and my worst fears are realized when Cooper opens the door to the chapel and every person in attendance turns in their pews to look back at us. Eyes blink expectantly. A small child asks if we’re the ones getting married. And yes, it really does feel like we’re the bride and groom making our way toward the altar. My cheeks burn. I want to yank my hand out of his, spin around, and walk right back outside, but of course, I can’t. I swallow and glance down to the floor, willing the color to drain from my face. It’s no use. I’m Rudolph.

  The situation doesn’t bother Cooper in the least. I peer up to see that he’s smiling wide, waving and patting shoulders as we walk down the aisle at an annoyingly leisurely pace. He’s Prince Harry waving at his people.

  I want to sit in the back, in the first pew we pass.

  “What about here?” I say quickly, tugging him to the left. Bride’s side, groom’s side, floor, pew—who the hell cares. I just want to sit!

  “My family’s up front. It looks like they saved us seats.”

  Oh good. Next, he’ll tell me we’re actually going to stand up at the altar during the ceremony. You’ve officiated a wedding before, right?

  I can’t make eye contact with anyone we pass because not only am I late, I’m also walking into a small, intimate wedding on the arm of a guy I barely know. Hell, I don’t even know his last name. Everyone is definitely judging me from head to toe, and now I wish I’d ditched my puffy jacket back in the foyer when Cooper offered to hang it up, but I didn’t want to delay us further.