Hotshot Doc Page 4

  A hush falls around me.

  My gut clenches as if I’m watching an Olympic athlete enter the arena. Everyone in the gallery and everyone in the operating room is laser-focused on him. His presence is larger than life. He’s larger than life. It’s not necessarily because of his size, though he is tall and broad-shouldered. It’s more in the way he carries himself, the defiant tilt of his chin.

  With his surgical mask and protective glasses on, his chiseled jaw, intriguing mouth, and piercing blue gaze are all out of sight. If I’m honest, though, I could close my eyes and easily visualize them.

  A nurse rushes over with a sterile towel so he can dry his hands off. Then she holds up a gown so he can push his arms through. It’s tied behind his back and his gloves are carefully added next. It’s funny, really—with all the surgical gear on, he should look like an amorphous blob, but in reality, he’s as formidable as I’ve ever seen him.

  It’s the hair. Just like with Dr. McDreamy, a lot of his power lies in those short, slightly curly brown locks. Their allure cannot be dulled by that light blue scrub cap.

  The beginning of every surgery always starts with a roll call—or as we call it, a time-out. It’s a way to ensure everyone in the room is on the same page and surgeons don’t accidentally operate on the wrong limb—or worse, the wrong person. Scary, but…it happens.

  The neuromonitoring tech sitting at a computer in the corner of the room checks in, then the circulating nurse and the device rep. They continue to go around, and I try to imagine myself standing there beside him, proudly proclaiming to be Bailey Jennings, Dr. Russell’s surgical assistant, and a shiver runs down my spine. I’m not convinced I’m up to the task.

  Today, he has a resident beside him at the operating table. Kirt’s two weeks has expired and apparently Dr. Russell has yet to find a replacement.

  The anesthesiologist stands up and speaks confidently. “We’re doing a general with an endotracheal tube. Antibiotics have been administered. We have two units of blood available.”

  Then all eyes fall back on Dr. Russell as it’s his turn to address the room. His booming voice easily reaches us in the gallery and, like everything else, it inspires awe. Also, if I’m honest, a teensy bit of fear.

  “Our patient is Jeffrey Lewis. Eleven years old. He’s here today for a hemivertebra excision. He also has hardware placed in L3 and L4 from a previous procedure. We’ll be removing and replacing that hardware. Does everyone agree?”

  They do.

  The anesthesiologist declares the surgical start time. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, Dr. Russell is handed a ten blade. It glints under the bright lights of the operating room. He takes a deep breath and then, determinedly, he begins. Scalpel meets skin.

  For the next few hours, I don’t move a muscle. I don’t fidget. I doubt I take a single deep breath. People filter in and out of the gallery, but I pay them no attention.

  Someone new fills the seat behind me and leans over my shoulder.

  “How long has he been at it?”

  I don’t take my eyes away from Dr. Russell as I reply, “Three hours, last time I checked.”

  Now, it’s probably been four, five, ten—who knows?

  “What’s taking him so long? It should have been a simple excision, right?”

  “The patient had failing hardware and Dr. Russell’s having a hell of a time getting it out.”

  “Who’s that guy in the corner looking like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown?”

  “The device rep for Newton Corp. The one gloating across the room is here with the new hardware from SpineTech.”

  It’s a complete disaster. Everyone in the operating room holds their breath. Long, tense minutes pass as we listen to Dr. Russell shred the device rep from Newton for endangering his patient.

  The rep tries in vain to defend himself. “The engineers are the ones in control of the design flaws.”

  I inwardly groan. He’s better off keeping his mouth shut. At this point, he should break out in tears and plead for forgiveness. Although, maybe not, as Dr. Russell doesn’t seem like the type of guy who handles grown men weeping very well.

  “Do you not also work for the company?” Dr. Russell barks as he adjusts his stance and asks the nurse to angle his light source so he has a better view of the surgical field. He continues to struggle to remove all the broken fragments of the malfunctioning hardware from the patient’s spine while the rep blubbers on. I want to jump to my feet, press the gallery’s intercom button, and shout at him to shut up. He’s only digging himself into a bigger hole. Soon, he’ll have himself six feet under.

  “Even with its faults, the patient was interested in the system—”

  “The patient is also interested in fucking fire trucks!” Dr. Russell booms. “And don’t you try to pin it on the parents either. These devices were banned by the FDA two years ago and they never should have been on the market in the first place. Your company knew they were faulty.” Then he turns to the resident assisting him and asks for suction.

  I sit there completely speechless, not quite sure why I have the urge to run down and scrub in so I can assist.

  I’ve never endured a surgery with Dr. Lopez that was half this traumatic. Every person in that operating room is fidgeting and nervous, careful to keep Dr. Russell’s anger from shifting onto them.

  I’m on the edge of my seat. Even though I’m as annoyed with the Newton rep as he is, I don’t agree with how Dr. Russell is handling it. His temper is fierce. I can see how he would be a nightmare to work with, and yet I stay until the final stitch, until Dr. Russell turns from the operating table, yanks his gown and gloves off, and slams his hand against the swinging door. The patient gets wheeled out of the room and I’m still sitting there, alone in the gallery, awestruck.

  Dr. Lopez’s retirement party is tonight. NEMC went all out and rented a ballroom at a fancy hotel. They’re going to open the dinner buffet soon, and I’ve already surreptitiously scoped it out. I have a plan of attack: I’m getting the truffle mac n cheese and the mashed potatoes.

  In the meantime, waiters are passing around tiny decadent appetizers. I accept one of everything and wonder if I made a mistake wearing a dress with no pockets. If I could do it inconspicuously, I’d tuck a few of these bacon-wrapped dates in my purse for Josie. We’ve been subsisting on the bare minimum lately since I still haven’t found another position. My meager savings might have to support us for a few weeks, though I really hope it doesn’t come to that.

  I push the thought aside. All I’ve been doing is worrying and applying for jobs and counting every penny that leaves my pocket. Tonight, I’m going to have fun! I’m going to pluck one of these coconut shrimps from a passing tray, let it melt in my mouth, and pretend life is going to work out. Okay, wow. That is good. I’ve really got to cram one of those down my bra for Josie. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.

  I turn to catch the waiter before he gets too far. “Sir—”

  “Kiddo!” Dr. Lopez grins and steps between me and my end goal: pilfering every last shrimp on that silver tray.

  “Oh, hey, Dr. Lopez.” I try not to sound as dejected as I feel as the waiter disappears into the crowd. “I didn’t realize you’d arrived.”

  He chuckles and knocks me gently on the shoulder. “You don’t have to look so sad. You’ll find another boss like me one day.”

  That’s not why I was sad, but now it’s why I’m sad.

  “At least we still have one last surgery in the morning,” I say with a half-hearted smile.

  “I’ll even let you pick the playlist.”

  Oh jeez. Tears are welling up in the corners of my eyes. I’d use my crumpled napkin to dab them away but it’s covered in shrimp juice.

  “Let’s change the subject or we’ll both be crying.” He chuckles. “Have I already told you that you clean up nice? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you in anything but scrubs—and your hair’s down.”

  At work, it’s all hi
gh ponytails and scrub city. Tonight, I probably look like a different human. Thanks to Josie, my eyeshadow is smoky and blended flawlessly like I’m a YouTube beauty influencer. I feel good.

  “You look sharp too, Dr. Lopez.”

  It’s weird seeing everyone from the practice in their street clothes, albeit nice street clothes. The invitation demanded we dress up, so I had to pull something out of the back of my closet, a cocktail dress I purchased a few years back for a college formal. It’s black and simple, and thankfully, timeless. Unfortunately, it’s slightly tighter in the chest area than it used to be, but hopefully it’s not completely indecent. Josie’s eyes widened when she saw me as I was leaving the house.

  “WHOA! Who knew you were so hot?!”

  “It’s not too much?” I asked, trying to tug down the hemline.

  “Are you kidding? If I had boobs like that, I’d never wear clothes.”

  “It’s scary because I don’t even think you’re kidding. Also, I didn’t have these when I was your age either. There’s still hope for you.”

  Now, of course, I feel weird thinking about my boobs while in a conversation with my soon-to-be-retired boss, but that’s just life.

  “I’d like to introduce you to Dr. Russell tonight when he gets here.”

  “He’s not here yet?” I ask the question innocently enough even though I know damn well he’s not here. I stationed myself by the door when I first arrived for two reasons. One, because I think that’s where the buffet line will start, and two, because I wanted to see Dr. Russell as soon as he arrived.

  I’m still waiting.

  I’m worried he won’t show up. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to make cheesy company parties a priority, even for a colleague like Dr. Russell.

  “No, but he told me he’d be here.”

  “I watched him operate this morning,” I mention, sounding way more cavalier than I feel.

  His brow arches with interest. “And?”

  “And it was a really intense surgery. It took a few hours longer than it should have because of faulty hardware. Everyone in the OR was peeing their pants.”

  He shrugs as if that’s nothing to worry about. “I heard the surgery was a success.”

  “It was but…maybe I have enough stress in my life without going to work for someone like him.”

  “Maybe so.” He looks away, claps the back of a guy passing by, and then nods hello to another guest. “Like I said, floor two is still an option.”

  I roll my eyes. “C’mon, be serious.”

  His eyes glance back to me and he shakes his head. “I am being serious. Believe in yourself. You’re exactly the kind of surgical assistant Dr. Russell needs—and look here, he’s walking in right behind you.”

  My stomach drops.

  My eyes widen, and even though I want to, I can’t make myself turn around.

  A chill runs down my spine knowing he’s behind me. My hand tightens around my balled-up napkin. This feels more ominous than it should. He’s just a surgeon, I remind myself. Just a man! You’ve seen men before!

  I slowly venture a glance over my left shoulder, fully prepared to be knocked off my feet by the sight of him, but nope. Jesus. I was not prepared enough.

  Midnight suit. Midnight hair. Tall, built frame. Dr. Russell is standing at the threshold of the ballroom, scanning the crowd coolly and deciding if anyone or anything is worth his notice. I wonder if I’d make the cut if Dr. Lopez didn’t take it upon himself to draw his attention. He raises his arm and waves it back and forth, flagging his colleague down. “Dr. Russell!”

  His blue gaze cuts to us and my gut clenches. It’s fitting that his eyes are the color of ice. I bat at my arm for an imaginary jacket I can pull closed around myself. It’s a reflex. For some reason, I want to cower. If I could get away with it, I’d step behind Dr. Lopez. Instead, I lift my chin and steel myself against the arctic blast of his approach.

  “You’re late,” Dr. Lopez teases.

  Dr. Russell shrugs, his eyes still scanning. He still hasn’t really looked at me. “Paperwork called.”

  “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss dinner.”

  “Good. I didn’t eat lunch and I’m starving.”

  Then I realize why he was scanning the room: he was looking for food. A waitress passes and he stops her, taking two little puffed pastries. Meanwhile, the waitress’ eyes widen. Her tongue wets her bottom lip. It’s all probably subconscious on her part. I want to lean in close and tell her I get it. Boy, do I get it. He’s taken the time to shave, and there’s beauty in the sharp contours of his jaw. I think if I ran my finger across it, it’d feel as smooth as silk.

  “I was worried you’d miss my party,” Dr. Lopez quips.

  The edge of Dr. Russell’s mouth tips up and the waitress finally realizes her presence here is no longer necessary. She reluctantly moves on.

  “How could I? You had Patricia leave about forty notes on my desk reminding me.”

  They talk without me. Dr. Russell doesn’t seem to notice me standing there, but that doesn’t stop me from studying him. We’ve never had a reason to be this close. I’ve seen him from across conference rooms. I’ve seen the back of his tall figure as he disappeared down a hallway. Once, I nearly bumped into him getting onto the elevator at work. He was too preoccupied reading a file, so I was the one who had to sidestep and veer out of his way. There was no apology, no acknowledgment from him. I had to suppress the urge to utter a bitter, Excuse me!

  This proximity is new and heady. After watching him operate this morning, I’ve come to admire (or fear) him even more.

  “That’s because I’ve been eager for you to meet Bailey.”

  Shit.

  That’s me!

  Dr. Lopez’s hand hits my shoulder and he pushes me gently in Dr. Russell’s direction like I’m an offering. Dr. Russell’s eyes finally fall on me, and I’m assessed with a look of cool indifference. Blue eyes meet mine for only a moment. He doesn’t even do a once-over. The expression on his face is unreadable and austere. I might as well be gum on the bottom of his shoe.

  “She’s the surgical assistant I’ve been raving about,” Dr. Lopez says, looking down at me proudly.

  My cheeks flush and I extend a hand. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Russell.”

  He accepts my handshake and for a few seconds, my palm is completely enveloped by the warmth of his grasp. I’m shaking the hand that operated flawlessly this morning. This is the hand that changed that little boy’s life. This is the hand that inspires awe in so many.

  My breath catches in my throat as I try to keep my wits about me. Wow, I think he and I might be having a real moment…then another waiter passes and Dr. Russell drops my hand and steps toward her so he can ask for a water. Welp, scratch that.

  Then, silence.

  I’m aware that this is where conversation should take place. Dr. Russell ought to ask questions in the hopes of getting to know me: where I’m from, how long I’ve been working at NEMC, if I’d be willing to accept a job with him.

  Instead, crickets.

  Dr. Lopez clears his throat.

  “Bailey had the chance to watch your surgery this morning.”

  His eyes narrow at something over Dr. Lopez’s shoulder. “What a fucking mess. I’ve permanently banned Newton reps from my OR.”

  “And the patient?” I ask. “How is he doing?”

  A glimmer of surprise hits Dr. Russell’s pale eyes, and when he glances back toward me, it feels like he’s actually seeing me for the first time. “He’s fine, recovering quickly, but then that’s the good thing about kids—their bodies are resilient.”

  This is something, an actual conversation, but it’s over before it even begins when Dr. Goddard walks up behind Dr. Russell and grasps his shoulders tightly, trying to shake him off balance.

  “Matty boy, I didn’t think we’d see you here tonight. No drink?”

  Dr. Russell shakes him off and rolls out his neck. If he had them, his hackles would be raised.


  Dr. Goddard doesn’t seem to care that none of us are happy to have him here. He reaches out and rudely tugs on the arm of a passing waiter. “Get my pal a Jack and Coke, will you?”

  The waiter nods. “Right away, sir.”

  Dr. Goddard turns back to us, his slimy gaze landing on me. What I’m sure he assumes is a seductive smile unfurls across his mouth. “And who is this delicate creature?”

  Delicate creature?

  What. The. Hell.

  I lift my chin and narrow my gaze. “Bailey Jennings. I’m a surgical assistant at the hospital.”

  His eyes widen with recognition and then he does a slow perusal of my dress. Dammit, I knew it was too tight. Appreciation colors his eyes as he finally makes his way back to my face. “Pity that position on my team didn’t end up working out, though maybe I could shuffle some things around…”

  The end of his sentence is left unsaid: now that I realize I’d like to sleep with you.

  The waiter scurries back over with a Jack and Coke and the water Dr. Russell originally requested. He accepts both with a thank you, keeps the water, and drops the Jack and Coke on a nearby cocktail table. A little bit of the drink laps over the edge.

  “Aw, c’mon. We were going to make a toast for our pal here,” Dr. Goddard groans.

  Dr. Russell tucks his hand in his pocket and sips his water with all the confidence in the world. “I don’t drink the night before surgeries.”

  Dr. Goddard throws me a teasing wink. “My colleague here is such a bore, but I assure you, I’m no bore. What do you think, Bailey? Still looking for a new position?”

  His words make it clear that the position is in fact underneath him.

  If I were closer, I’d oh-so-subtly dig my heel into his foot.

  I’m about to tell him I’d rather clean toilets at a truck stop for a living but Dr. Lopez clears his throat and steps forward, nearly cutting off Dr. Goddard’s view of me. “Actually, Bailey here is going to be working with Dr. Russell starting on Monday.”

  “I’m going to—”