Hotshot Doc Page 16

  I leap forward and hold up my hands. “It’s not like that.”

  She’s skeptical.

  “Did he force himself onto you or put you in a situation where you weren’t comfortable?”

  Well, that Prius console was digging into my ribs while we were making out yesterday.

  “No. NO.” I shake my head vehemently. “Nothing like that. It was completely consensual—enjoyable, even.”

  She drops the forms onto her desk and arches a brow, clearly confused by my presence in her office.

  I decide to explain what happened over the weekend, albeit giving an abridged version. Though I’d rather not, I even reluctantly mention the make-out session in his car, though I keep it PG.

  When I’m done, her eyes narrow and I notice the heavy bags, the disheveled hair. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.

  “So…you’re just here to let me know you two consensually kissed and it was ‘enjoyable’?” She speaks slowly, as if talking to a toddler.

  I sigh. Good. She gets it. “Exactly. Just in case it’s against the company guidelines, or some kind of rule outlined in the employee handbook, that sort of thing.”

  “It’s not.”

  Oh.

  Huh.

  She stuffs the forms back into the filing cabinet and slams it shut.

  Oddly enough, I’m disappointed that she’s not going to forbid the relationship. “Is there any way you could double-check for me?”

  Her eyes cut to the mountain of paperwork on her desk. Her computer pings with three new incoming emails. A woman skids to a stop in her doorway, breathing heavily, and announces that two nurses are at each other’s throats on floor three.

  She groans and moves to round her desk so she can take care of the situation.

  I try to block her from passing by me. “So there’s nothing you can give me? No angry orange form? No warning on my employee chart?” I chuckle like, Ha ha, help a sister out here. But no. She leaves and I’m left to stand in that HR office contemplating the twisting feeling in my gut.

  I’m only now realizing I wanted our relationship to be against the rules. I couldn’t sleep last night because I kept reliving Matt’s kiss, every excruciatingly perfect detail of it, and that’s not okay. I liked my life before the kiss. I only had to worry about being good at my job and taking care of Josie. I don’t like these feelings stirring inside of me, the queasy sensation, the fear of what could happen if we get too carried away. I don’t have the luxury of a quick fling. My life is complicated enough as is.

  Dammit.

  I need one of those forms. Talk about a perfect buffer, a clean break. I could have given Matt a beautifully eloquent speech about valuing my position here too much to break the rules, but this HR lady gave me nothing. Not even a stern talking to.

  I decide I have to take matters into my own hands.

  Matt is in his office when I go searching for him. We have a case in a few hours and he’s probably about to round with his resident, but this shouldn’t take too long.

  He’s sitting behind his desk looking like Dr. Matthew Russell, foremost spinal surgeon, Hotty McHotpants. I think he got a haircut yesterday. His dark locks are trimmed short on the sides, thicker and fashionably mussed on top. They want to curl so badly, but they’re not long enough. He’s wearing his white coat. Underneath, his shirt is pale blue—a shade darker than his eyes. He shaved this morning, which means there’s nothing between me and that perfectly smooth jaw.

  His focus is on a file spread open on his desk. The side of his finger drags back and forth along his bottom lip as he reads.

  I remind myself why I’m here and tell myself to get it together. Then, before his image can hypnotize me all over again, I knock loudly on his door and clear my throat as I step inside.

  He glances up and his welcoming smile is like an arrow to my heart. I even stutter to a stop as if it were a physical blow.

  He casually assesses me from head to toe before returning to the file.

  “Morning Bailey.”

  His tone is warm and I wish his white coat were baggier. That stupid tailor of his really knows what he’s doing. Would it kill him to let out the seams a little bit? Give a girl a break.

  It occurs to me that I’m standing silent, talking to myself in my head, and he’s waiting for some explanation as to why I’m in his office at this time of morning.

  I clear my throat again and shake out the piece of paper in my hand.

  “Yes, hello, Dr. Russell. I apologize for the interruption. I just needed to give this to you.”

  Good. My tone says I’m all business, and he catches the hint. Kind of.

  His sly smirk says otherwise as he holds out his hand to accept the paper.

  “You’ll see that it’s a contract,” I explain.

  His brows spike with interest and he stifles a grin. Dammit. Why does he look so amused by this? I’m serving him with papers!

  “Just to sum it up for you, it’s a legal document that states very plainly that we cannot date.”

  He nods. “I see that. ‘Heretofore there shall be no touching or kissing of any kind.’”

  Okay, yes—I Googled legalese on my phone.

  He continues, “‘Henceforth, Dr. Russell shall refrain from any suggestive smiles or flirting.’” He nods solemnly as if taking it very seriously. “Oh, I see. Henceforth. In that case…”

  “Yes, and then it goes on to say—”

  “‘The plaintiff, Bailey Jennings, shall refrain from appearing or acting irresistible so as to not tempt Dr. Russell.’”

  I’m not sure what plaintiff actually means, but I needed a fancy word there.

  “The document came straight from HR,” I explain.

  He wipes away his smirk. “Ah yes, it does sound like Linda.”

  I throw up my fists as if cursing the gods. “Ugh, if only there were some other way.”

  “Bailey.” His voice takes on a serious tone and his eyes are earnest and sincere. Warning bells ring in my head. “You didn’t have to do this. If you don’t want to pursue anything with me then—”

  “Good morning, Dr. Russell!” the resident sing-songs behind me. “I have your coffee right here, and don’t worry, I didn’t add any creamer to it this time.”

  Yes! What impeccable timing. I could kiss the man. Matt has to put a pin in whatever he was about to tell me. Good—I don’t want to know. I want to pretend he’s just a surgeon and I’m just his assistant, nothing more. In fact, I have work to do.

  I make a move to slip out of the room. “See you in the OR!”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  I glance back up and watch as Matt scribbles across the signature line of the contract then holds it out for me to take. I step forward and his gaze never wavers. When I try to pry it out of his hand, he doesn’t let go. He indicates for me to lean closer so he can tell me something.

  I have no choice. I have to lean down or risk him speaking loudly enough for the resident to hear.

  “I don’t regret Sunday and you shouldn’t either.”

  HELLO! DOES HE KNOW HOW TO WHISPER?

  I force out a hearty, fake laugh and shake my head. “Oh, Dr. Russell, you’re so funny. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have fun on your rounds!”

  Then I break out into a nice, brisk jog and I don’t stop until I’m tucked safely inside the employee break room. As soon as I have time, that contract is getting laminated. Twice. If my heart is reacting like this from a few innocuous words, imagine how I’d feel if he tried to kiss me again?!

  I get busy with preparing for our surgery, jumping into work with my full attention. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been in an operating room, when really, it’s only been two days. I make sure I prep everything to the best of my ability, and since I have a few minutes to kill before we get started, I review the case again so I absolutely know it by heart. There will be no crying, no spilled instruments, and no reason for Matt to shout at me today.

/>   I half-expect him to continue the little charade from his office when he steps into the operating room later. In fact, I’m shaking with anticipation. I chance a quick peek up into the gallery and there have to be at least forty people shoved in there like sardines, excited to watch their version of Michael Jordan operate today. I hope he doesn’t say anything to me that they might overhear. I take my job seriously and don’t want my abilities in the operating room to be overshadowed by salacious gossip about whether he and I are getting it on—especially considering we aren’t, in fact, getting it on.

  At least not yet.

  Oh my god STOP THINKING ABOUT GETTING IT ON.

  When he pushes through the swinging door, I go perfectly still, though internally, my thoughts are more erratic than ever. YOU HAD YOUR MOUTH ON THAT MAN. YOU MOANED, YOU TUGGED HIS HAIR, YOU—

  His eyes sweep across the room and crash straight into me. I catch a hint of mischief behind his gaze, but it’s gone before I really get a good look. He finishes checking in with his staff and I’m left holding up his gown and waiting for him to step toward me.

  His mask and headlamp are in place. I can only see a sliver of his face and fortunately, it’s the same for me. I like that I get to hide behind the mask on days like this when my emotions are brewing right at the surface.

  “And how about you, Bailey? Is everything set?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  Then he addresses the room. “All right then. Our patient today is Hunter Larson. Ten years old. He was diagnosed with adolescent idiopathic scoliosis. He has a curve in his spine we’re going to try to correct with a posterior fusion. I’ll be placing rods and pedical screws from C5 to L4. Does everyone agree?”

  His eyes lock with mine. I swallow and then speak up along with everyone else.

  “Agreed.”

  He nods and steps up to the operating table. “Then let’s get started.”

  When I say Dr. Russell is focused during the surgery, I mean it. We don’t talk about a single thing that doesn’t pertain to the patient, an instrument, or medicine. He executes a fusion that could make first-year residents fall to their knees and weep. His every move is meticulous and thoughtful. On top of that, there’s no shouting, no snide comments on his end if I’m not as quick as he thinks I should be. He even stays to help me close so we scrub out at the same time. I swear to God, people stand and slow clap in the gallery as he exits the OR. That’s how good he was.

  I’m a little in awe of him, even now. We’re alone, scrubbing out side by side. I feel like I’m standing next to a celebrity. I tell myself to stop stealing glances at his forearms. They’re nothing special. I repeat: NOTHING SPECIAL.

  “You did well today,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice has the same effect as a finger running down my spine.

  I smile. “Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

  I peer at him from beneath my lashes. He’s smirking, but his attention is down on his hands as he rinses them under the faucet. “I’m trying something new: letting my assistants and nurses know I appreciate their hard work.”

  My eyes widen. “Color me shocked.”

  He finishes, grabs a towel, and rests his hip against the sink so he can assess me while he dries his hands. “Okay, now that we’re done with that, I have a question.”

  Oh no.

  I scrub extra hard, cheeks flooding with color. “What?”

  Where’s that blasted resident now?!

  “Did that contract say anything about us being friends?”

  My stomach flutters. “Oh, well…yes. That was in addendum two. I—I mean, Linda thinks that would be okay.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. I don’t think he knows what to do with me.

  “You’re something else, Bailey.”

  I nibble on my bottom lip, trying to fight back a smile.

  “Just for the record…” I finish washing my hands and he hands me a fresh towel. “I don’t regret Sunday either. It’s just…”

  He holds up his hands as if he gets it. “Hey, no need to explain. The contract did a pretty good job of that.” Then he holds out his hand. “Friends?”

  I have to accept—any woman in her right mind would accept that outstretched hand—but the moment we touch, my gut clenches. It’s like we’re right back in his car, tearing at each other’s clothes, lost in lust. It feels so intense just to have his palm against mine my knees nearly buckle. I forget he’s waiting for me to speak until the dimple pops beside his mouth. He feels what I’m feeling. He knows there’s no way we’re just friends, which is exactly why he’s proposing the idea in the first place. This is a game to him, just like the contract was a game to me.

  His eyes say, I know you want me to kiss you, but I’ll bide my time and play along.

  I thought I was taking care of the situation by serving him with those papers. I thought it would give me the buffer I was so desperately seeking, but now I know it’s too little too late.

  Dr. Russell wants me, and there’s a pretty good chance he’s going to get me.

  Chapter 19

  MATT

  I shouldn’t have signed that damn contract. It was fake—obviously. Legally binding documents don’t usually start with the phrase To whom it may concern. Nonetheless, it’s still important. Bailey obviously freaked out after our kiss. I get it. It’s not as if I’ve been flirting and courting her for weeks. There was a steep transition between us going from distant coworkers to lust-filled lunatics making out in my car, me tearing at her clothes like a bear. Just because I’m ready for more doesn’t necessarily mean she is.

  I want to make sure she doesn’t feel pressured. I want to respect her wishes and give her the space she’s clearly after. The trouble is, I’m not sure I can. Before we kissed, I might have written Bailey off as a passing fancy—a beautiful woman, yes, but not necessarily someone I should get involved with—but now, it’s different. How am I supposed to forget what it felt like to have her kiss me like she was dying for it, like she couldn’t get enough?

  I catch her watching me in the operating room, the furtive glances she thinks I don’t notice. When our eyes lock, her cheeks flood with color. When my hand accidentally brushes against hers as she passes me an instrument, she acts like I just whispered a sweet nothing in her ear.

  She’s a mess. After our surgery on Monday, she bolts as soon as possible. There’s no chance to pull her aside or have a private moment.

  On Wednesday, she comes to find me in the doctors’ lounge. She’s standing in the doorway, wringing out her hands and catching the notice of a few of my colleagues, not necessarily for the right reasons. She’s still in her navy scrubs and though she isn’t trying to be, she’s adorable. Blonde ponytail. High cheekbones. Dark lashes. When she catches sight of me, she smiles, and now she’s not just adorable, she’s drop-dead gorgeous.

  I wish she had to wear my name embroidered on her scrubs in size 48 font.

  “You can come in, you know,” I say as I approach. “No one will shout at you.”

  She laughs but stays perfectly poised right where she is. I’m not sure she believes me. “Yeah, right. This place might as well have a red carpet leading up to it and a bouncer by the door.” Her eyes widen over my shoulder. “Oh my god, is that a chocolate fountain in the corner?”

  I turn and sure enough, it is. I’m slightly embarrassed.

  “Jesus,” she says under her breath. “Do you guys get your lunches catered every day?”

  I shrug. “It’s easier that way. None of us have time to brownbag it.”

  She snorts and shakes her head. “You know the vending machine in our lounge doesn’t even accept dollar bills anymore? We have to go get change from the gas station down the street if we want a candy bar.”

  I smirk. “Did you come up here to campaign for a new vending machine?”

  “No.” She rolls her eyes then glances down at my plate. “Come on. Is that Boston cream pie?”

  “It is. Want some?”
br />   “No, I really shouldn’t…okay, maybe just a bite.”

  I hand her the plate. “Here, take it. I’ll get another slice. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  She dips her pinky in the cream and brings it to her mouth to get a taste. It’s innocuous, casual, and yet I’m staring at her lips as they pucker around her finger with such intensity it’s a wonder they don’t go up in flames.

  “Matt?”

  “What?”

  “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “Not at all.”

  She groans playfully. “I was asking if it would be okay if I knocked off a little early on Friday? I need to take Josie to a doctor’s appointment.”

  I frown and shake away my errant thoughts. “Of course. I’ll have someone fill in if my surgery runs long. What’s wrong with Josie?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just a wellness visit.”

  “Good. Okay. Do you need a ride? You can use my car.”

  She seems taken aback by the offer. “No. Her doctor isn’t far from our house, a ten-minute bus ride, tops.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  She’s looking up at me as if I just offered to give her the shirt off my back.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  She’s smiling now, full-fledged, dimpled, I-know-something smile.

  “Do you offer your car to all your employees?”

  I wave away her insinuation. “Sure. It’s nothing. Patricia drives it all the time.”

  She cracks up. We’re still hovering in the doorway to the lounge and there are doctors trying to get past us, but they can fuck off because I haven’t had an honest-to-God conversation with this woman in three days and I signed a stupid contract that forbids me from kissing her, but in this moment, that’s all I want to do. I want to tug on that ponytail until her head tilts back and her chin tips up. She’d have to go up on her tiptoes a little, but I’d bend down and make it easy for her. It’d be better than the last one, I know it. I wouldn’t have the constraints of a small car working against me.