Читать книгу Doctor In The House - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 9

He didn’t look like an unholy terror.

Those had been Adam’s parting words to her, to take care because Ivan the Terrible lived up to his name and ate residents for breakfast. Adam had issued the warning a minute before she, Jennifer and he had gone their separate ways just inside the entrance of the hospital. Adam was heading for the pediatric ward while Jennifer’s residency was in cardiology.

Apparently, it didn’t matter that Adam and Jennifer were assigned to different disciplines that had, in essence, nothing to do with neurosurgery. All paths at the hospital seemed to cross Dr. Ivan Munro’s in some manner, shape or form. Everyone who worked at Blair Memorial knew about the man. His reputation preceded him, both as a surgeon and as a devourer of residents. Which was why, legend had it, he hadn’t been given any residents to mentor in the last few years.

But maybe that reputation was exaggerated, Bailey thought now as she turned in her chair to look toward the doorway.

The man didn’t seem scary at all.

As instructed, she had entered Dr. Bennett’s office at exactly eight o’clock sharp. She’d arrived nearly half an hour earlier and had spent the time circling the floor. Punctuality counted, but sometimes, she’d learned, showing up early acted against you if people weren’t prepared for you. So she had moved around on the first floor, never far from where she was ultimately supposed to be, all the while practicing every known remedy for stress she could think of. The last thing she wanted was to appear like some wild-eyed, overeager idiot who didn’t know her left hand from her right, much less a suture from a scalpel.

Trying not to look as if she were drawing in a sustaining lungful of air, Bailey took measure of the man who walked in, or rather, sauntered in as if he owned the office and the hospital that went with it.

Bailey desperately tried to be impartial. Nerves would bring cold hands, a dead giveaway. She didn’t want to seem too inferior on their first meeting.

Ivan the Terrible was tall, with an athletic build and wide shoulders. The cheekbones beneath what she estimated to be a day-old stubble were prominent. His hair was light brown and just this side of unruly. Munro’s hair looked as if he used his fingers for a comb and didn’t care who knew it.

The eyes were brown, almost black as they aimed at her. There was no other word for it. Aimed. As if he was debating whether or not to fire at point-blank range.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a line from a grade-B movie, “Be afraid. Be very afraid,” whispered along the perimeter of her brain. Warning her. Almost against her will, it caused her to brace her shoulders. Bailey had to remind herself to breathe in and out like a normal person.

Dr. Bennett had tried his level best to put her at ease and had almost succeeded. But an air of tension had entered with Munro. She wondered if the chief of staff was bracing himself, as well, bracing for some kind of disaster or explosion. Forewarned by everyone she encountered, she still didn’t really know what to expect.

“Ah, here he is now,” Harold Bennett announced needlessly. The smile on his lips was slightly forced, the look in his gray, kindly eyes held a warning as he looked at his chief neurosurgeon. “We were just talking about you, Dr. Munro.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Ivan replied dryly.

Harold cleared his throat, as if that would cover the less than friendly tone of voice Ivan had just displayed. “Dr. Munro, this is the young woman I was telling you about yesterday.”

Now his eyes dissected her. Bailey felt as if she were undergoing a scalpel-less autopsy right then and there. “Ah yes, the Stanford Special.”

He made her sound like something that was listed at the top of a third-rate diner menu. There was enough contempt in his voice to offend an entire delegation from the UN.

Summoning the bravado that her parents always claimed had been infused in her since the moment she first drew breath, Bailey put out her hand. “Hello. I’m Dr. Bailey DelMonico.”

Ivan made no effort to take the hand offered to him. Instead, he slid his long, lanky form bonelessly into the chair beside her. He proceeded to move the chair ever so slightly so that there was even more space between them. Ivan faced the chief of staff, but the words he spoke were addressed to her.

“You’re a doctor, DelMonico, when I say you’re a doctor,” he informed her coldly, sparing her only one steely glance to punctuate the end of his statement.

“I have a certificate from Johns Hopkins University that says differently.” Her tone was nonconfrontational and matter-of-fact. She was determined not to let Ivan the Terrible see that her insides felt like jelly. And she was just as determined not to be crushed into the ground like an insignificant bug at their first meeting.

Ivan didn’t bother sparing her a second glance. “Shall I tell her where she can put that certificate, or do you want that pleasure?”

Harold stifled a sigh. He knew this was all for show, to frighten off the young woman. He couldn’t very well discipline his chief neurosurgeon in front of a new resident, but neither did he want her madly running for the hills.

So instead, he smiled warmly at Bailey and shook his head like a weary father settling yet another squabble between his children. “I’m afraid that Dr. Munro is a little unorthodox,” he told her, then tried to sound as positive as he could as he added, “But I promise you that you’ll learn a great deal from him.”

It wasn’t hard to see that the man’s eyes were requesting her understanding. She appreciated that. Bailey smiled as she nodded. “Probably a lot of words I never heard before,” she allowed.

She thought she saw amusement flit across Dr. Bennett’s face and it heartened her. She’d gained an ally.

“Now, until I say differently, Dr. Munro is going to take over your education. Dr. Munro—” he fixed Ivan with a steely gaze that had been known to send lesser doctors running for their antacids but, as always, seemed to have no effect on the chief neurosurgeon “—I want you to award her every consideration. From now on, Dr. DelMonico is to be your shadow, your sponge and your assistant.” He emphasized the last word as his eyes locked with Ivan’s. “Do I make myself clear?”

For his part, Ivan seemed completely unfazed. He merely nodded, his eyes and expression unreadable. “Perfectly.”

“And if there’s any problem,” Harold continued, looking from the young woman to his chief sore spot, “I want to be informed of it immediately.” The sentence was no sooner out of his mouth than he saw Ivan raising his hand. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to guess exactly what the man was going to say. “After you give this arrangement at least several weeks to begin to work itself out.” Harold pushed his chair back from his desk and rose, signaling that the meeting was at an end. “Now, if you have the time, Dr. Munro, I would appreciate it if you showed our newest resident around Blair Memorial.”

To his credit, the chief of staff didn’t even flinch when Ivan shot a dagger in his direction.

“It’ll have to be another time,” Ivan replied. “My schedule’s full today.”

“That’s fine,” Bailey cut in quickly, refusing to be the source of a clash of wills between the two men. “I’ve already familiarized myself with the hospital layout, Dr. Bennett.”

“Oh?”

“My two roommates are residents here. I had them take me around during their off hours.”

Ivan smirked. “Enterprising little thing, isn’t she?” The words were only marginally addressed to the chief of staff.

His hand was on the doorknob. Bailey sprang to her feet, her chair making a scraping noise as she moved it back, then quickly joined the neurosurgeon before he could leave the office.

For his part, Ivan waited for her, nodded at the chief of staff and looked for all the world as if he had every intention of going along with the assignment that had been given him.

Optimist though he was, Harold Bennett knew better than to believe his eyes. A leopard did not change its spots and Ivan the Terrible was not about to become Ivan the Good because it was asked of him.

But he had seen something in the young woman’s eyes, something that gave him hope that Ivan had met, if not his match, at least someone who was not about to topple over like a loosely packed sandcastle the moment the first disgruntled words erupted out of Ivan’s mouth.

Ivan held the door open for her, allowing the young woman to leave first. He was male enough to notice that she was even better looking than her tiny photograph indicated and arrogant enough to feel that it had no bearing on anything as far as he was concerned.

Closing the door behind him, Ivan leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Just so you know, I’m going to be your worst nightmare.”

She gave him only the merest of looks as she appeared to consider the statement. “Funny, you don’t look like a burning cross on the front lawn.” And then she glanced up overhead at the ceiling. “I guess it must be the lighting.”