Hotshot Doc Read online

  “I’ll manage,” I reply sarcastically.

  We continue like that for a little while, taking the toy basketball game more seriously than we should, but we get like that with each other. I’m concentrating so hard on landing the perfect shot that I don’t really pay attention as he starts describing the girl he just picked up at the bar across the street.

  “—total babe. So you see, it wasn’t all bad. I’m actually glad you didn’t show. She’s sweet. Blonde, just like I prefer. A little short, but on her, it works. She put her name in my phone as Bailey, Girl from the Bar, like I wouldn’t remember her.”

  I jerk forward, throw, and end up missing the net by a good two feet as I turn to face him. “Wait—what’d you say she looked like again?”

  He frowns, confused by my sudden interest.

  “Blonde, perky, freckles.” He shrugs. “Not your type, don’t worry.”

  I grunt. “Yeah, you’d be correct in assessing that she’s not my type considering she works for me as of this morning.”

  “No way. Not this girl.”

  I roll my eyes. “Were her eyes a really light brown? Almost hazel?”

  “I don’t know. The bar was hazy.”

  “Did she have high cheekbones? Dimples when she smiled?”

  “Shit. Bailey? Blonde, happy-go-lucky Bailey works for you? What does she do? Is she a nurse?”

  “She’s my surgical assistant.”

  He cracks up. Eyes-closed, knee-slapped levels of laughter spill out of him.

  “No,” he says, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “No fucking way.”

  I thrust the ball against his chest. “Are you going to take your shot or what?”

  He tosses the basketball over the arm of the couch with total disregard for where it’ll end up. It pings off the wall, collides with my chair, and makes a final sad descent beside my trashcan. “Tell me exactly how that came to be because the last time I heard from you, you didn’t have a surgical assistant. According to you, no one could keep up.”

  “Dr. Lopez foisted her onto me.”

  He shakes his head and steps closer, pressing his hand against my chest. “No, no, no. Don’t bullshit me. You hired her.”

  I shrug and try to move around him but he blocks my path. I let him. I’ve got a few inches on him. I could easily go around, but I don’t want to make this seem like it’s more than it is, because in fact, it’s nothing. My little brother, the golden boy, tried to pick up Bailey. Big deal.

  “Why?”

  “She was in the right place at the right time. I was out a surgical assistant and she was out a surgeon. It works.”

  A slow, sly smile unravels across his face, and I have the sudden urge to hurt him.

  “Well, will it be awkward for you when we start dating?”

  I step back, brows furrowed as my annoyance morphs into something a little more sinister. “Dating? What do you mean? Didn’t you just meet her five minutes ago?”

  He shrugs and moves away. Suddenly he’s a sly punk running his hand along my desk, touching things that don’t belong to him. “Yeah, but we hit it off. There was this instant connection. You get it. You probably feel the same way when you get a new medical device, this sort of excitement down in your loins.”

  His eyebrows are wagging suggestively.

  “That’s really funny, Coop,” I tease, reaching out for his shoulder and squeezing it a little too tight. “I wonder if that doctor up in Cincinnati would be put off by a black eye?”

  His brows shoot up. “Black eye?” His tone is feigned innocence. “What? I thought we were just discussing my new lady friend and now suddenly you’re threatening bodily harm. This just isn’t like you, Matthew.”

  He never calls me Matthew. He thinks he’s onto something. It’ll be awkward to have to explain to my parents that I accidentally murdered their favorite son.

  “I’m warning you,” I say menacingly. “Drop it.”

  “Drop what, exactly? You’ll have to be specific since I’m clearly confused.”

  I let go of his shoulder and round my desk, starting to straighten up my shit so I can get the hell out of here. “You’re doing this because you want to rile me up. You want to punish me for making you sit at that bar. Well, it’s done. You did it. Now leave her out of it.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “No, actually that’s not it at all. I met a beautiful woman tonight and she gave me her number. I told you about it and instead of being happy for me, you went apeshit. Kind of interesting, don’t you think? Would you care if I dated Patricia?”

  I level him with a Don’t fuck with me glare.

  “You’re right.” He nods. “She’s too good for me. What about Kendra?”

  “Drop it, Coop.”

  “No, I need to know—do you not want me dating any of your employees or do you not want me dating Bailey?”

  “You’re being an asshole. Drop it.”

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. Fine. Lesson learned: anything having to do with Bailey, I’ll keep to myself.”

  I don’t let Cooper’s little game get to me. He’s my younger brother. He was put on this earth to torment me. He thinks he’s really got a good thing going, but honestly, it’s not much. Date Bailey. I don’t care.

  He texts me the next day with a screenshot of their conversation.

  Cooper: Hey! This is Cooper.

  Cooper: Oh, let me clarify: the guy from the bar, not your friend’s dog.

  Bailey: Ha! I was confused there for a second…thanks for clarifying. How are you?

  Cooper: Good, just landed in Cincinnati for work. It’s cold AF here.

  Then he sent a stupid-ass selfie of him standing outside with his hood pulled up and his teeth chattering. She replied a few hours later.

  Bailey: Oh my gosh! You poor thing.

  Cooper seemed to think that was promising.

  Aw she feels sorry for me. ;) was his exact text to me.

  My response: Apparently not considering how long it took her to reply to you. Odd since she doesn’t work on Tuesdays. What was her excuse?

  Cooper: Maybe she just isn’t a slave to her phone like the rest of society…

  I didn’t reply, opting instead to get back to work, but he texted again.

  Cooper: Just to be clear, of the two of us, I know way more about women than you do.

  Matt: All right.

  Cooper: I’ve had three successful long-term relationships. You’ve had one divorce.

  Matt: K

  My short replies must have been pissing him off because then he replied: In fact, I really feel like Bailey and I will hit it off. I’m going to ask her out on a date when I get back from Cincinnati.

  I didn’t reply.

  The following morning, I have my second surgery scheduled with Bailey. It’s up on the board for 8:00 AM, but when I arrive at six, she’s already there, leaning against the wall outside my office with a thermos of coffee in one hand and a Tupperware container in the other. I glance back and forth past my door, wondering if she’s confused.

  “Are you waiting for me?” I ask once I’m in earshot.

  She jerks forward and nods, her demeanor shifting from relaxed to professional just like that. “Yes. Hi. Good morning.”

  Her cheeks are flushed, nearly the same shade as her lips. Her jacket is still zipped up to her neck. I wonder where she parked to get that cold on her way into the hospital. Then the thought dissipates as the distinct aroma of baked goods distracts me. My mouth waters like I’m one of Pavlov’s dogs as I come to stand in front of her.

  My key is in hand, ready to be used.

  She doesn’t move. Her eyes scan up across my suit jacket, over my chest and neck, and then higher until her light brown eyes meet mine. She has to tip her head back quite a bit to meet my eyes, and maybe I was inspecting her as much as she was inspecting me because she asks, “Are you waiting for something?” and I swear her voice is a little breathy.

  I resist th
e urge to smirk. “You’re blocking my door. I can’t unlock it.”

  Her high cheekbones are doused with even more color and then she shifts quickly to get out of my way. “Oh god, sorry. Clearly, I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

  “What’s in there?” I ask, motioning to the Tupperware. “It smells good.”

  “This? Oh, well…” She holds it up, pauses, and then looks back at me as she shrugs. “It’s a bribe.”

  I finish unlocking the door then stand back and arch a brow in her direction. “A bribe?”

  She chews on the corner of her bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Yes. Banana bread. Patricia said it was your favorite, so I made some for you on my day off.”

  Huh.

  Interesting.

  She should have been texting with Cooper, but instead, she was baking for me.

  “Are you trying to make up for Monday?” I ask, no hint of humor in my tone.

  I open my door and step inside, leaving it ajar so she can follow me in if she wants to. She does.

  “Yes. Exactly.” She looks down at the container as if considering something and then glances back up, her gaze meeting mine. “I’m sorry for being late. There’s really no excuse, but you should know I’ve never been late before and I don’t intend on being late ever again. I figure an apology isn’t good enough, though, so my plan is to ply you with sweets.”

  Then, for emphasis, she cracks the lid.

  Damn, that smells good. Inside-of-a-bakery good. Grandma’s-kitchen good.

  My stomach growls.

  It occurs to me how different this exchange is from my previous encounters with surgical assistants. When Kirt stepped into my office, his knees shook. He avoided eye contact and hovered near the door as if to ensure a quick getaway. By contrast, Bailey seems confident—so confident, in fact, that she’s looking around the space, perusing it leisurely. She smiles at something and I follow her gaze to the toy basketball sitting by my couch. I forgot to put it back in my desk the other night.

  I start to rummage through a few files for no other reason than to have an excuse to look away from her. She’s not in her scrubs yet. Her jeans are cute. Her puffer jacket is pink. Her hair is golden blonde, angelic.

  Cooper was right: she’s not my usual type.

  The fact that I have to remind myself of that annoys me.

  “The bribe is unnecessary,” I declare suddenly, wanting to make things perfectly clear to her. Her brows furrow and I continue, “For you to work for me, for us to be a good team, I don’t need to like you. You don’t have to bake for me. Just show up on time and do a good job. How about that?”

  “But I want you to like me,” she says, sounding baffled at the idea that she has to explain herself.

  I shrug like it’s not a big deal. “If it helps, I don’t really like anyone who works here save for Patricia, and I think that’s actually just mutual respect.”

  “So for you, it’s better to respect someone than to like them?”

  I look up to see her head tilted to the side. She’s studying me with furrowed brows. This wisp of a girl is putting me under a microscope in my own office and I don’t like it.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  The edge of her mouth softens and then tilts up into an alluring smile. “So, there’s no hope for us? As friends?”

  She’s teasing me and right here, in this moment, there’s a hopeful feeling blooming in my chest. My cold dead heart might not be completely out of commission after all.

  Then, I do the only logical thing: I shove that feeling aside.

  “No. There’s no hope.”

  Not as friends, and not as anything more, though I feel stupid even having to clarify that to myself. I would never even consider Bailey attractive if Cooper hadn’t shifted her into the category for me. These errant thoughts are his fault.

  She nods, and I’m surprised to see she doesn’t look upset. In fact, she looks relieved. She snaps the lid back on the Tupperware. “Then I’ll just take this bread to the break room. No point in it going to waste. See you in surgery!”

  Then she saunters out.

  She leaves my office and takes my damn banana bread with her.

  Chapter 11

  BAILEY

  What a colossal waste of my time. I cringe thinking of how carefully I measured out those ingredients yesterday. I hovered near our ancient stove, face inches from the glass, sweat beading down my forehead from how much heat that sucker was putting off, just to ensure the loaf didn’t burn.

  Baking was my way of trying to gain control of the situation. I’d already memorized the procedural steps for today’s surgery and I was still a ball of anxiety. As proof: my alarm clock went off at 5:15 AM this morning. Then, my ancient clock radio started blaring pop music, and seconds later, my sister’s fist started pounding against my door.

  “HEY! Did you set my alarm?! The sun isn’t even up, you psycho. Let me sleep! I’m an adolescent! My brain is still growing!”

  I had no choice. I needed to be sure I didn’t oversleep again so I took every necessary precaution, including waking up my sister. My clothes were already laid out on the floor as if I’d been raptured right out of them the night before. My shoes were untied and ready to go. My toothbrush was pre-loaded. I was outside, shivering at my bus stop fifteen minutes after waking up.

  I was going to make a stellar second impression, and I was confident of this right up until I arrived outside of Dr. Russell’s office and found it empty. The hallway was quiet. I grew nervous. I stared down at my Tupperware, wondering if maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. What if he’s allergic to nuts?

  Oh right, I didn’t use any nuts.

  I was seconds away from bolting when I heard his deep, unwelcoming voice down the hall.

  “Are you waiting for me?”

  I glanced up and nearly swallowed my tongue. My gut clenched as I blinked a comical number of times, trying to comprehend how a robot could be so beautiful. He was wearing a navy suit that set off his dark, thick hair. His camel coat was tossed over his forearm. His hard jaw was locked tight as he assessed me suspiciously upon his approach.

  I suddenly felt silly and adolescent standing there waiting for him. I cursed my outfit, wishing I’d already changed into my scrubs. My tennis shoes were scuffed. His brown oxfords looked as if they’d been shined mere seconds before. My jacket had been purchased at a thrift store. His looked bespoke.

  He kept walking until he was standing right in front of me, and my neck craned back and back some more until that blue gaze knocked the air right out of my lungs. Oof.

  I haven’t been around many men like Dr. Russell in my life. Standing close to him in a quiet hallway was thrilling in the same way a death-defying rollercoaster is thrilling…maybe one that hasn’t been inspected in a while, made of rickety wood and squeaky iron bars. I was fairly sure I wouldn’t survive the ride, but something made me want to step right up anyway.

  He was studying me, too, and I wish I could have known what was going on in that microprocessor of his.

  “Are you waiting for something?” I asked.

  “You’re blocking my door. I can’t unlock it.”

  Mortification drenched me from head to toe. I wanted to toss the bread at him and sprint down the hall. I forced myself to try to save face as I followed him into his office, but that was a stupid idea. Oh, you’re already feeling nervous? Step into the lion’s den. The first thing I noticed was that the room smelled like him. I hadn’t realized he had a distinct scent until that moment—crisp and woodsy. I had a weird, sudden urge to rub myself across his leather couch in the hopes that it’d linger on me after I left.

  Scent aside, his office was a total mess, which I found oddly charming. There were no old food containers lying around, no trash overflowing the bin. Rather, it was messy in the way a well-loved kitchen is messy. Medical devices strewn about. Files stacked on his desk. His bookshelves were stuffed to the brim with medical texts, the overflow piled on the flo
or nearby. If I had a photographic memory, I would have memorized every spine.

  At least I had fun encroaching on his space because the rest of the experience sucked mucho. Let’s just say it wasn’t my best showing (I told him I was trying to bribe him!) and then he made matters worse by turning down said bribe on all fronts. No bread, no friendship, no nothing. Apparently, my banana bread wasn’t as tempting as I’d hoped it’d be. I really thought Dr. Russell would go for it. What sane gluten-eating American turns down homemade baked goods?

  I toss the banana bread onto the counter in the break room and resist the urge to stab it with a knife.

  “Oh! Did someone make banana bread?” Shelly asks from the doorway. She turns and shouts down the hall. “Hey, Larry, there’s banana bread in here!”

  Within minutes, coworkers are crowded around me like vultures. I watch them eat my bread, soaking in every emphatic moan and groan.

  “Bailey, this is something else,” Larry says with a little shimmy of his shoulders.

  Their praise is nice, but it’s not what I wanted. Dr. Russell should be licking his chops right now but instead he turned the tables around on me.

  I don’t need to like you.

  Who says that to someone?!

  A psychopath, that’s who. Everyone wants to be liked. Including him.

  I know it.

  I don’t see Dr. Russell again until he walks into the operating room. He confers with the anesthesiologist, checks in with the device rep, and then heads straight for me. I’m already holding up his gown, waiting for him, sterile gloves and mask in place. Every strand of my hair is tucked beneath my pink scrub cap—the one I didn’t have time to grab on Monday.

  He notices it and shakes his head as he steps into the gown.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  I don’t think he’s a fan of pink. He better pray he doesn’t have a princess-loving daughter someday.

  I reach in to tie the gown at his back. Just like the last time, it feels slightly more intimate than it should. It’s the proximity. I’m inches away from his butt, and though I’m not proud of myself, I do glance down. It’s great. Firm.