Читать книгу Dr. Daddy - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 5

“It can’t be as bad as all that, Zoey.”

Zoey Holland glanced up from the baby girl in her arms and nodded her head fiercely at the baby’s mother. When she did so, she felt a tug on her hair and realized the infant clutched a generous handful of the straight, fiery red tresses in her tiny fist. She gently tugged her hair free and tossed it over one shoulder.

“Oh, it’s definitely as bad as all that, Sylvie,” she said adamantly. “The guy’s a complete ogre, and he won’t be happy until he has my head on a spit and my butt in a sling. Ask Livy.”

Sylvie Buchanan turned to her sister for verification, arching a quizzical blond brow in question. Olivia McGuane nodded in agreement with Zoey.

“He really does seem to have it in for Zoey for some reason,” she said, trying to dodge her own toddler as she zigzagged across Sylvie’s expansive, ultramodern kitchen. The trio were meeting for their monthly Sunday brunch, at Sylvie’s house for the first time since she had brought Genevieve home from the hospital three months ago. “Be careful, Simon,” she admonished her twenty-two-month-old as he flew by. “And watch out for the plants. Auntie Sylvie and Uncle Chase aren’t nearly as untidy as Mommy and Daddy are. They won’t be as understanding if you make a mess.”

Sylvie emitted a sound of disbelief. “You mean Uncle Chase isn’t as untidy. He still hasn’t gotten over how messy everything seems to become once babies arrive—including the babies themselves—and he’s still convinced there’s some way to keep this house clean every minute of the day. Of course, just because I married the guy doesn’t mean I’ve mended my ways, either. Gennie and I are both driving him crazy.” She leaned over Zoey’s shoulder and chucked Genevieve under the chin. “Aren’t we, sweetheart?”

The baby gurgled and ducked her head in response to the tickle, reminding Zoey of a turtle. “Looks like she’s going to have Chase’s green eyes and your blond hair,” she said of the infant. “Nice combination.”

“Yeah, how come Gennie got hair right away and it took Simon more than a year?” Livy demanded.

All three women looked over at the dark-haired little boy who squatted in front of the air vent in that odd, flat-footed way of children, peering intently into it. The air rushing out tousled the thick, dark curls he’d inherited from his mother.

“That’s just the way babies are,” Sylvie said. “Besides, once his hair started coming in, it took off like a bunch of weeds. You’ve got no cause to complain.”

“Yeah, so much for his future doing late-night bald-guy commercials on TV,” Zoey said wistfully. “You could have made a fortune.”

“Thanks, but I like him just the way he is,” Olivia told her.

“But we digress,” Sylvie said, turning to Zoey again. “You were talking about this new doctor at Seton General, Dr. Fate.”

Zoey chuckled as she placed Genevieve back in the baby carrier situated at the center of the kitchen table. “That’s Dr. Tate,” she corrected her friend. “Please, don’t suggest it was destiny that I be tortured by the guy. That makes it sound like I’ll be stuck with him forever.”

Dr. Jonas Tate had shown up on the scene six months ago at Seton General, where Zoey and Olivia both worked as nurses in the maternity ward—Zoey in the nursery and Olivia in obstetrics. He had come to the South Jersey hospital from a prestigious private hospital on the west coast, where he had been the head of cardiology. Everyone at Seton had heard how he’d completed his residency with flying colors at Johns Hopkins twelve years ago, had received his M.D. with highest honors from Harvard before that and had fulfilled his premed undergraduate courses with near-perfect scores at Columbia before that.

He was, as Zoey had heard through the hospital grapevine on many, many occasions, an amazingly gifted physician. Now he was also on the board of Seton General, an administrator of stellar reputation and limitless ability. He was loved and respected by everyone.

Everyone except Zoey Holland.

Oh, she respected his education and his position at the hospital, of course. And she had even liked him well enough when he’d first come aboard, had liked his casual good looks and the pleasant smiles he seemed to have for everyone. But she hadn’t had much to do with him then, and somewhere along the line he’d begun to change. Lately, it seemed as if every time she turned around, she was going toe-to-toe with him on something, everything from the hospital’s policy on maternity leave to whether or not they were ordering enough sterile swabs. And always, always, she was forced to back down. Because no matter what else he might be—a jerk, a creep, a misogynist and a major thorn in her side—he was also unfortunately her boss.

“So what’s his problem?” Sylvie asked.

“You got me,” Zoey told her, honestly mystified. “All I know is that it seems like every chance he gets, he’s breathing down my neck about something.”

Olivia grinned. “Then again,” she said suggestively, “there are a lot of nurses who would be perfectly happy to find Dr. Tate breathing down their necks. Not to mention their blouses. Preferably in a dark linen closet in the middle of the third shift.”

Zoey expelled a rush of air in an unmistakably rude sound. “Well, not me. The guy’s nothing but a jerk. He’s arrogant, abrupt, rude, egocentric, bad tempered, sexist, pigheaded—”

“And has the nicest brandy-colored eyes you’ve ever seen,” Olivia completed with a wistful sigh, turning to Sylvie. “Not to mention those dark curls. I just love men with dark curls, don’t you?” she added with an affectionate glance at her son. “They’re just so adorable.”

“I like dark hair,” Sylvie agreed with a nod.

Zoey looked at Olivia as if her head had just exploded. “You have got to be kidding, Livy. Jonas Tate? Adorable?”

“Hey, it’s not my butt he’s chewing off at every turn,” Olivia said. “He’s always been perfectly polite—if a little cool and distant at times—to me.”

Zoey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “The man is never polite, cool or distant to me, although as much distance as possible would be welcome. He has a more heated personality than anyone I’ve ever met. And as for polite... Hey, wait a minute,” she added when she reconsidered her friend’s statement. “Are you trying to imply that it’s my fault I’m at the top of his hit list?”

Olivia shrugged, obviously thinking hard before voicing her reply. “Not so much your fault,” she said slowly. “But I think his bad moods might just possibly be a direct result of your presence.”

Now Zoey was really confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that some personalities don’t jibe with others, you know?”

Sylvie nodded her understanding. “I know what you mean. That’s exactly how Chase and I were for a while. We had almost nothing in common—except for Gennie, of course—and there were times when he just absolutely drove me nuts. But,” she added with a serene smile, “we worked through all that. Now everything’s peaches.”

“Well, things will never be peaches in my life as long as I have to deal with Dr. Jonas Tate,” Zoey said decisively. “There’s just something about that man....”

“Don’t sweat it,” Sylvie told her. “Listen, I’m going to give you the sagest, most profound bit of bartender advice in my ample arsenal, advice that has never failed me or any of my customers before.”

Zoey didn’t try to hide her skepticism, but asked anyway, “And what’s that?”

“Just go with the flow, Zoey.”

Zoey glanced from Sylvie to Olivia and back again. “Go with the flow,” she repeated blandly, enunciating each word clearly lest she had misunderstood one of them.

Sylvie nodded. “You’d be amazed at how many of us inadvertently create our own problems by battling against the very things we should be accepting. Look at Livy and me and the problems we had with Daniel and Chase. She and I are two prime examples.” She looked down at the baby dropping off to sleep in her carrier and smiled. “Just relax and let nature take its course, Zoey. You and Dr. Fate will work things out.”

“Dr. Tate,” Zoey corrected her friend again. Sylvie waved her hand negligently and bent to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Tate, fate,” she said quietly. “Whatever.”