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  “She’s what?”

  We speak simultaneously, and then Dr. Russell snaps his attention to me, his eyes filled with accusation as if I was the one who just announced we’d be working together.

  My mouth drops open. “I—no. I’m not sure—”

  Dr. Lopez is quick to continue. “The minor details haven’t been quite hammered out. It’s a new development. Dr. Goddard, would you mind coming with me? My wife has been asking about you all night and I know she’ll be sad if she doesn’t get to say hello.”

  Dr. Goddard lights up at the idea that someone actually requested his presence, and he’s all too glad to be led away.

  I’m left standing with Dr. Russell and cursing Dr. Lopez in my head.

  “I don’t know why he said that,” I say, fidgeting on my heels and wishing a waiter would pass by so I could grab a glass of champagne and drown myself in it.

  His dark brows are furrowed in confusion. “Have I unknowingly offered you a position?”

  “No. No.” I rub my hand up and down my forearm. “Dr. Lopez is just trying to ensure I find a new position before he leaves, and for some reason, he thinks we would work well together.”

  He grunts and looks away. “That’d be a first.”

  He’s no doubt referring to the scores of surgical assistants that have come before me.

  “Believe me, I’m not convinced it’s a good idea. Like Dr. Lopez said, I watched your surgery—you were brutal to that device rep.”

  “You think I should have let him off easier?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “The toxicology report showed my patient had lethal levels of cobalt in his blood. He was being poisoned by the very thing that was supposed to be healing him. You think I was brutal?”

  His eyes are two hot flames.

  I take a small step back.

  I didn’t know it was that bad. I didn’t know the hardware was poisoning him.

  “Brutal wasn’t the right word,” I admit, voice quivering.

  He shakes his head, clearly done with me. “Do me a favor and tell Dr. Lopez this won’t work out. You’ll need to find another surgeon to work for.”

  He turns and is about to walk away when I reach out and grab his arm to stop him. In an instant, my fear is doused with a nice, healthy dose of rage at the idea of him rejecting me. ME!

  I’d laugh if I weren’t seeing red.

  “Are you kidding? Do you realize I’m the best surgical assistant Dr. Lopez has ever had? You’d be lucky to have me working for you, and yes, maybe I misspoke a moment ago, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong. You ARE brutal, and you know it. You can’t keep a good team around you because you stomp around like you’re the second coming of Christ. I’ve had to listen to all your surgical assistants as they wallowed and wept, and I always thought they were embellishing just how terrible you are, but it turns out they were right.” I realize I’m still gripping his arm, and I jerk back as if he’s a hot stove. His suit jacket is rumpled from my hand, but he doesn’t care. His attention is riveted on me like it’s never been before. My tone turns hard and unyielding. “And don’t worry, I’ll tell Dr. Lopez this won’t work out, but come Monday morning when you walk into that operating room, you’re going to look to your left and wish you had a surgical assistant as good as me standing beside you.” I laugh and shake my head like he’s the biggest disappointment I’ve ever seen. “Have a good night, Dr. Russell.”

  Then I curve around and accidentally (on purpose) bump my shoulder into him before seeing myself out.

  “Hey, you,” I snap at a waiter on his phone just outside the door. “Are those the coconut shrimp?”

  He nods dumbly, eyes wide at being caught slacking on the job.

  “Give them to me.”

  “What?”

  He’s scared. He looks around for a manager, but it’s just us.

  “You heard me. Stuff them in my purse—now!”

  And that’s how I leave Dr. Lopez’s retirement party toting two dozen coconut shrimp. Josie and I devour every last one in our pajamas while Grey’s reruns play in succession.

  Chapter 6

  MATT

  No one has ever talked to me like Bailey did last night, not a colleague, not another attending at the hospital, and definitely not a surgical assistant. Admittedly, at first, I was blown away that she’d have the nerve to use that tone with me, but shock and embarrassment gave way to a healthy dose of interest, and oddly enough, a small dose of respect. I can’t get her speech out of my head. I should have paid more attention to her before she stormed out. I remember her being small compared to Dr. Lopez. I remember the feel of her delicate hand clenched on my bicep. Most importantly, I remember her sharp words.

  I always thought they were embellishing just how terrible you are, but it turns out they were right.

  She doesn’t lack boldness. I’ll give her that.

  The next morning, I find Patricia at her desk perusing a knitting magazine, and I ask her for Bailey’s employee file. She pauses, mid-page-flip, and then she stares up at me over the brim of her reading glasses.

  “What do you want it for?” she asks with barely concealed trepidation. “I like that girl. Don’t go making her quit.”

  I roll my eyes. “Just give it to me.”

  It’s rare that Patricia likes someone. If she feels the need to defend Bailey, it speaks volumes about her character.

  She grumbles a bit more and then reluctantly stands to retrieve the file from HR. When she brings it to my office a few minutes later, I have to tug hard to pry it from her hand.

  I thank her then lay the file open flat across my desk. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find—a dossier outlining her life? Details about her likes and dislikes? There are just a few pages. I learn her full name: Bailey Anne Jennings, and her age: 26. From what little I remember, she seemed younger last night.

  I scan over her address and suddenly feel like I’m stalking her, but in reality, any employer would do this. I want to know more about the person I’m considering hiring. Under education, it says she finished a few years of college before quitting and opting to complete a surgical assistant program. I flip to the last page and at the bottom, I notice there’s no one listed as her emergency contact. There are just a few letters scratched out like she began writing someone down before thinking better of it.

  That blank line is a shot to my cold, unfeeling heart.

  I flip the file closed and shove it aside. Sip my coffee, browse emails. Open it again, reread her address, and type it into Google Maps. She doesn’t live in a great area of town, but it’s not exactly the slums either. I delete my browsing history and snap at Patricia over the intercom to get me another cup of coffee. She tells me if I ever talk to her like that again, I’ll be getting a healthy dose of rat poison in my next cup of joe.

  I can’t meet her eyes when she brings it to me. I can’t explain this unnerving feeling. It’s like someone’s pressing their full weight down on my chest and making it hard to breathe.

  My resident arrives soon after and I shove Bailey’s file in the top drawer of my desk like I’m hiding a dirty secret. He brought me coffee, but I can’t drink it. I’ve already had one cup too many this morning and I feel jittery. I’ll have to take a piss midway through my surgery if I’m not careful.

  “Did you have a good night, Dr. Russell?” he asks with a cheerful pep in his step.

  “You’re not here to be my friend,” I say. “Did you review the case for today?”

  He’s visibly shaken at my outburst. I can see in his eyes that he wants to call me a prick, but he won’t. He doesn’t have the courage. Unlike Bailey.

  By the time I’m finished with my surgery, it’s lunchtime. My stomach is growling, but there’s something I need to take care of before I eat.

  I have a hard time finding the staff lounge. I assumed it was on the same floor as the doctors’ lounge, but it’s up on seven. I feel like an idiot for having wandered aimlessly for fifteen minutes.

  I can h
ear the noise and chatter from down the hall. The door is wide open, but I don’t step inside. I hover on the precipice and scan the room for her. Part of me wonders if I’ll even be able to pick her out from amongst the masses, and then I freeze.

  There.

  She’s sitting at the center table, surrounded by people. The popular girl. She’s smiling and dipping a baby carrot into peanut butter, which seems utterly disgusting to me. Someone nudges her in the side to get her attention and she glances up at me at the exact moment my face betrays my disapproval of her culinary choice. Baby carrots should be dipped in ranch and hummus, nothing else.

  Her eyes narrow. She thinks I’m looking disapprovingly at her, and well…I am.

  I nod my head toward the hallway, giving her an unspoken command: Come here.

  She doesn’t budge.

  I could go in, but there are rules against it. No doctors are allowed in the staff lounge, and no auxiliary staff are allowed in the doctors’ lounge. Rules are rules. If I step inside, I’m liable to get a soup can thrown at my head.

  A hush has fallen over the lounge as everyone’s gazes ping back and forth between us.

  Her eyes flicker to the side wall and I follow. Ah, yes: the devil picture. I smirk. I’d assumed Dr. Goddard was lying about it, but there I am, up on the bulletin board with devil horns and a tail. On top of my head someone’s written: Hotshot.

  It’s actually pretty funny.

  I look back over at her and speak loud and clear, ensuring everyone in the lounge hears me. “Bailey, I need to speak with you for a moment.”

  Someone has the gall to gasp.

  Finally, she sighs and stands up, leaving her lunch right where it is. She doesn’t think this is going to take long. I bet she thinks she’s going to call the shots like she tried to do last night. Adorable.

  She’s a tortoise as she makes her way toward me.

  “Sometime today would be nice.”

  Her pale brown eyes sear into me as she passes by, walks out into the hallway, and keeps right on going. She doesn’t stop until she’s a few yards away, and though I appreciate the fact that she’s putting distance between us and the prying ears in the lounge, I’m annoyed that it’s now me following her.

  Once she feels like she’s gone far enough, she turns back to me, crosses her arms, and tilts her chin up. “Whatever you want to say, do it quickly. I only have fifteen minutes left of my lunch break.”

  There she goes again with her demands. How did she manage to stay on Dr. Lopez’s team for years? She won’t last a week on mine.

  I step closer and stare down at her, quickly taking in the details I failed to notice last night. Young is the first word that comes to mind. She’s almost childlike, fresh-faced and freckled just across the bridge of her nose and the top of her defined cheekbones. She has a button nose and pink lips tugged into an angry line. Her light blonde hair is pulled up in a high ponytail. Soft unruly wisps frame her face. Menacing frown aside, she looks like she should be playing the lead in a children’s movie instead of standing in this hospital wearing scrubs.

  I’m curious.

  “Where do you even find scrubs that small?”

  She rears back, confused. I’ve never seen a shade of brown eyes quite like hers. They’re such a vivid color as she glares up at me like she’d like to sink a dagger into my heart. Ah right…the color of rage.

  “What?”

  I laugh as I rub my hand back and forth across my forehead. Am I sick? Dreaming? Having a psychotic break?

  “Did you interrupt my lunch just to ask me that?”

  I get it together and ask, “How long have you been with Dr. Lopez?”

  She crosses her arms and shifts her gaze over my shoulders, taking a second to collect herself. When she answers, her tone is sharp but cool. “Nearly four years.”

  “He speaks highly of you.”

  She shrugs. “We had a good thing going.”

  “Would you like to continue working in spine?”

  “Preferably.”

  “Have you ever assisted on a pediatric scoliosis case?”

  “No. Dr. Lopez only operates on adults, fusions mainly.”

  That’s exactly my concern.

  “Those take two or three hours max. My surgeries can last three times that long.”

  She forces herself to meet my eyes, and I’m shocked. A moment ago, she seemed ready to burst, but now she looks bored, almost as if she’s about to dismiss me. It’s a ruse. I wish I could press two fingers to the porcelain skin just below her neck and feel for her pulse. I bet it’s racing. There’s no way she’s as calm as she’s pretending to be.

  “I’m confused,” she says, her tone betraying nothing but curiosity. “Are you offering me a job or trying to warn me away?”

  That’s the question of the morning it seems. Half of me is convinced working with her would be a complete disaster. My job is stressful enough. Unfortunately, I’m also in need of a decent surgical assistant, someone up to the task.

  I think Bailey could be that person.

  I sigh and step back. “Your first case is Monday morning. Ask Patricia for the information and learn the steps of a pedicle subtraction osteotomy like a child’s life depends on it—because it does. I’m giving you one chance.”

  Then, I turn and walk away.

  It feels slightly unnerving turning my back on the enemy. I think she’s going to shout something at me in an effort to get the last word, but there’s nothing but silence as I head to the stairwell. I yank the heavy metal door open and disappear inside.

  I know without a shadow of a doubt she’ll be there on Monday morning.

  I smile as I take the stairs two at a time.

  I just got myself a shiny new surgical assistant.

  Chapter 7

  BAILEY

  I arrive at work on Monday bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. My hair and makeup look flawless. My scrubs are starched and fit to a T. My coffee thermos is in hand and I sip from it until I have just enough caffeine to keep me alert, but not so much that I’ll have to run to the bathroom every five seconds. I make the kind of first impression people dream about. Dr. Russell pulls me aside after surgery to commend me on my work ethic, and his eyes look especially blue. What’s that? He’s going to give me a little smooch to show me his appreciation? This is totally unexpected, but oddly…thrilling. I want this kiss. I might hate his guts, but I don’t hate his lips, or his face, or his hair.

  That arguing we did in the hallway on Friday was foreplay if I’ve ever felt it.

  I want this kiss so badly. I press up onto my tiptoes, and when that’s not enough, I wrap my hand around his neck and tug down, down, down, then I pucker up and hold on for dear life.

  Just before our lips meet, a loud pounding starts reverberating through the hospital hallway. I flinch and the dream disappears.

  Josie’s banging on my door. “Wake up, you idiot! You’re going to be late!”

  NO.

  NO!

  My eyes jerk open and I reach for my phone on the bedside table. It’s 7:27 AM.

  Dr. Russell’s surgery is scheduled for eight o’clock, sharp.

  I shove my blanket aside and leap out of bed.

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU WAKE ME UP?!”

  “Because I thought you were already at work! You’re never here at this time!”

  “Shit! Shit! Shiiiiiit!”

  I scramble.

  I want to weep and stamp my feet and curse the gods for this injustice, but I really just curse Dr. Russell. This is all his fault. He got into my head on Friday, scaring me about being prepared. Learn the steps of a pedicle subtraction osteotomy like a child’s life depends on it—because it does. Oh, okay, no pressure or anything!

  I had every step of the procedure memorized by Saturday night, but even still, I studied all day yesterday too. I stayed up late, reviewing the patient’s file and committing every detail to memory. The procedure is going to be difficult, ten times more so than anything I’ve d
one with Dr. Lopez. My nerves were getting to me, so I pushed through and kept studying until my sight went fuzzy and the lines of text on the page turned into inky blobs. I wanted to know the surgery forward and backward. I wanted to be able to identify every piece of hardware with my eyes closed.

  By the time I finally went to bed, it was well into the early morning hours, and now look at me—I’M GOING TO BE LATE! I hop around on one foot while I tug on my pants. I put my jeans on backward. Only half my hair makes it into my ponytail.

  I dart around for things I think I’ll need: keys, purse, phone, shoe. Where’s the other one?!

  This isn’t happening. This is another dream. I’ve never been late. I’m not a late person. In all my years working with Dr. Lopez, this has never happened. I’m so totally screwed.

  Josie chucks a wrapped-up muffin at my head as I run for the door. I catch it before it falls to the floor and stuff it in my purse.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll start looking into other jobs for you!” she shouts at my back, and instead of rolling my eyes and thinking, That Josie is going to send me to an early grave, I think, Great! That’d actually be wonderful because I am 110% going to need it. Even knowing I’ll be jobless soon, I decide to splurge on an Uber and skip the bus, knowing I don’t have time for public transportation today. I’m shaking and on the verge of tears as we hit traffic.

  Today of all days, the city streets are pure gridlock.

  “Maybe you could just hop up on the sidewalk for a mile or two? Just to get around this wreck?”

  The driver thinks I’m kidding and laughs heartily. I want to climb over the seat and shove him out of the way so I can get behind the wheel, Grand Theft Auto style.

  I wonder how many years in prison you get for hijacking someone’s car.

  My knees are bouncing like I’m ready to run, and I do as soon as the Uber pulls up to the hospital. I leap out of the back seat, dart through the lobby, run up the never-ending flights of stairs, and slide onto the fifth floor like I’m on ice. I’m so close to the finish line. I can see the operating room at the end of the hall, the one I should have started to prep about thirty minutes ago.