Читать книгу Expecting The Doctor's Baby - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 9

“What did you do wrong, Samantha?”

Sam fidgeted from one spiked heel to the other as she stood in front of her father’s desk. She’d been summoned to his office at Mercy Medical Center to defend herself. It didn’t matter that she was a grown woman, she felt like that motherless six-year-old again.

“I promise you I did nothing to undermine the relationship, Dad.”

Unless she’d violated some unwritten Arnold Ryan moral code because she wasn’t woman enough to make her fiancé want her more than that woman she’d caught him boinking. Unlike Mitch Tenney, who had said out loud and with great determination and conviction that he did want her.

The memory sent a shiver of lust skidding through her, which was worse than stupid because he’d meant he wanted her to be his relationship coach. And he only said that because he thought she was an inexperienced pushover who would give him credit for the time without making him do any of the work. Because he was too close to the mark for comfort, she’d stubborned up and refused his request. He hadn’t been a happy client when he’d left her office yesterday.

Her father cleared his throat. Loudly. “Samantha? Are you paying attention to me?”

Sam started. “Of course, Dad.”

Arnold Ryan was the hospital’s administrator and chief executive officer. In his late fifties, he was still strikingly handsome, tall and fit, with ice-blue eyes and silver-streaked black hair. The man who’d run out on her mother before Sam was old enough to remember had never been more than a sperm donor. The one sitting behind his desk in the office where he managed the largest hospital corporation in Las Vegas was the only father she’d ever known. She was still trying her best to make him proud of her. That’s why she’d come running on her lunch hour.

“I had to find out from Jax that the two of you are no longer engaged to be married. And haven’t been for several weeks.”

Subtext: once again she’d messed up. It was too much to hope she could avoid this scene. How to put a positive spin on procrastinating. “You’re involved with union negotiations, Dad, and I didn’t want to distract you. I was waiting for the right time.”

“When a decision is bad, there is no right time. He’s an up-and-comer in the hospital corporation. You could do worse. What is the problem, Samantha? Why did you break off the engagement?”

How did she phrase this to avoid telling him that Jax Warner, the man her father had enthusiastically endorsed, was not the man of her dreams? “It was a mutual, amicable decision,” she said.

“That tells me absolutely nothing.” Her father rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers as he nailed her with a look.

She plucked nonexistent lint from her navy blue skirt, then tugged the hem of the matching jacket to smooth the line. Since he’d handpicked the man, there was no way she’d tell him the whole truth. Somehow he would twist it around and make it her fault.

What she needed was a distraction, something positive to take his mind off the broken engagement. “I can tell you that my company snagged the hospital’s employee counseling contract.”

He glanced up and irony mixed with disdain in his expression. “I had nothing to do with that decision.”

“Of course not,” she protested. “That’s not what I was implying. The triumph is all the sweeter because Marshall Management Consultants obtained it entirely on merit.”

“I was against designating any funds for something so frivolous, but the director of human resources felt it was important to salvage employees in a personnel-scarce market.”

“It’s a good decision, Dad. We can help—”

“Oh?” One jet-black eyebrow rose as a sardonic expression suffused his face. “Face it, Samantha. You couldn’t save your engagement. It’s time you got a real job.” He pointed at her. “Or, better yet, do a better job. Be a relationship coach. Apologize for whatever you did to Jax. I’m certain he’ll forgive you and the wedding will be back on.”

Shoots and scores, Sam thought. Sometimes she forgot that lectures were best endured silently. Any attempt at conversation simply tacked on an opportunity for him to make her feel more inadequate. Thirty minutes later, after her father reminded her again of the time he would pick her up for the hospital’s fund-raiser on Saturday at Caesar’s Palace, she left the office.

“There should be an expectation of fidelity in an engagement,” she muttered, marching down the hall in a haze of anger. “What am I, thirteen? He should not quit his day job to be a matchmaker. Dr. Phil couldn’t salvage that jerk—”

“Sam—”

Some part of her brain registered the familiar, deep voice, but a larger part was still focused on her hostility. “How is this my fault? What is this? The Middle Ages—”

“Hey, Sunshine. Who rained on your parade?”

She stopped and turned. Mitch Tenney stood just behind her in the hall, leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms folded over an impressively broad chest. Stubble darkened his jaw in the sexiest possible way and the spark of humor in his eyes enhanced the effect. Not to mention that he certainly knew how to fill out a pair of blue scrubs. How could that be? They were shapeless cotton with a drawstring in the pants—glorified pajamas—but he made them look good. The sight of Mercy Medical’s resident troublemaker sent a jolt through her like she’d never felt from Jax the jerk.

“Mitch. What are you doing here?”

“I work here.”

She smacked her forehead. “Right. The pajamas were a clue.”

“Pajamas?” One corner of his mouth curved up.

“I meant scrubs.” If only the earth would open and swallow her whole.

“What’s your excuse?” he asked. “For being here, I mean.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Okay. But a word to the wise. If you’re not careful, trash-talking in the hall will get you sent to the principal’s office for detention.”

If he was one of the bad boys she’d get to hang out with it would be worth the risk. As opposed to the unacceptable risk of counseling him. Her reaction just now was proof that her female instincts were firing on all cylinders. She was far too attracted, which cancelled out her objectivity, making it impossible for her to work with him.

“Thanks for the advice. See you around.” She started to walk away.

“Wait.”

She sighed and turned back. “What?”

“Have lunch with me.” He cocked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m on my way to the doctors’ dining room.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Have you already eaten?”

She’d eaten crow in her father’s office, but that’s not what he meant. “I’ll grab a bite on the way back to the office.”

“I’m buying,” he offered.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but doctors don’t pay. Hence the name, doctors’ dining room. Free food is a perk. I don’t belong.”

She settled the strap of her purse more securely on her shoulder, wincing at how pathetic that sounded. But he knew nothing about her and had no reason to paint her words with the pity brush.

“I can get you in. If you’re with me no one will question you.” He angled his head in that direction. “The food is pretty good.”

“It doesn’t feel right—” For so many reasons, not the least of which was professional.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to throw caution to the wind and break the rules?”

Not until now, she thought. “It never works for a girl like me. We always get caught.”

“Live dangerously.”

Just standing here this close to him felt dangerous. Sam didn’t want to think about the fallout of sharing a meal with him. “Mitch, I really don’t think I should—”

He held up his hand. “Before you finish that statement, you should know that I don’t take no for an answer.”

Was he talking about lunch? Or her refusal to be his counselor? Because if that was what he meant, he was doomed to disappointment.

“Sometimes we don’t have a choice,” she said.

“Maybe. But now isn’t one of those times. Have lunch with me, Sam.” He grinned, then took her arm and guided her down the hall. “Another happy by-product of being with me is that no one can accuse you of talking to yourself.”

He really didn’t take no for an answer, she thought, letting him lead her into the dining room. The smell of food assaulted her and made her stomach growl. She’d entered the inner sanctum.

“So this is where they feed the medical gods,” she said.

“Pretty impressive, huh?”

She looked around at groupings of tables covered with white cloths, matching napkins and tweed chairs scattered throughout the room. There was a steam table for hot food and a cold one filled with greens, fruits and creamy-based salads. Waiters in white jackets delivered drinks to several people, then cleared used plates.

Sam glanced up at him. “I’ve been to the cafeteria and we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

“Stick with me, Sunshine. I’ll take you to all the good places.”

Following Mitch’s example she picked up a tray, plate and utensils then chose small portions of seafood, salad, fruit and a sugar cookie for dessert. On second thought, she picked up another one because she needed the comfort food after seeing her father. The room was still nearly empty but Mitch headed for a quiet spot in the far corner and she followed him.

After settling, the waiter walked over and took their drink orders—coffee for him, iced tea for her. When the liquids were delivered, they ate in silence for a few moments. Because of a deeply ingrained personal aversion to long silences, Sam felt the need to fill this one.

“So you’re working today?” she asked.

“What was your first clue?”

“The fact that you’re here, for one. And dressed in scrubs. That’s two clues. Have you been busy?”

“You mean have I offended anyone today?” he asked.

“I actually didn’t mean that, but…Have you?”

He shook his head. “It’s clear, however, that someone offended you.”

“What was your first clue?” She put down her fork and picked up a cookie.

“Besides looking like you wanted to rip someone’s head off?” He sipped his coffee. Black. “So, who’s the jerk?”

“I have to pick one?” she asked.

His eyebrows rose as he set his cup back on the saucer. “A plethora of jerks? You are having a bad day. Tell me about it.”

There was no reason not to and it would fill that pesky silence. “For starters there’s my fiancé—ex-fiancé,” she amended.

“What did he do to become an ex?”

“I found him in bed with someone he wasn’t engaged to.” She chewed thoughtfully. “Although they were engaged in—Never mind.”

“That definitely qualifies him for jerk status.”

“Not according to my father. Stepfather, actually,” she clarified.

“Did you tell him the jerk cheated on you?”

She picked up cookie number two. “Not exactly.”

“What exactly did you tell him?”

“That we had a mutual parting of the ways.” She saw his skeptical expression and hurriedly added, “It was just easier than the truth. I didn’t want to make Dad feel bad. He introduced us and thought we’d be the perfect couple.”

“And what did Arnie say?” he asked, the sarcastic tone hinting at his less than positive opinion of her father.

“He said that I should try to patch things up. After that he indicated that if I was any good at what I do, I could salvage the relationship. For thirty minutes I silently listened to how inadequate I am. How I should get a real job. Something I’m good at. If I can’t do that, then finding a man to marry me—make that take care of me—would be the best solution.”

“That would imply you’re a problem.”

She shrugged. “It’s just that he doesn’t have a lot of respect for my profession or just about anything else I do, for that matter.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Mitch stared at her.

“If only.”

And now that her pity party was over she wanted the invitation back. It wasn’t her habit to talk to a relative stranger, not to mention a client of her firm, about her personal problems. She could only blame anger and a healthy dose of nerves for spilling her guts like that. Mitch Tenney made her nervous in a stomach-fluttering, weak-knees kind of way. And he used silence like a scalpel to open her up. She’d felt an obsessive need to put words in the void and said whatever came to mind. Since she’d just seen her father, all that stuff came out of her mouth.

Mitch’s fork clattered on the plate and he stared at her. “I’m waiting for the part where you told the arrogant ass to take a flying leap. And I mean Arnie, not the ex.”

“You’d be waiting for a long time.” She sighed.

“You didn’t say anything.”

How could she explain this to a man who was so straightforward he said what was on his mind and let the chips fall anywhere? “My father isn’t perfect.”

“You can say that again.” He stared at her. “It seems to me you dodged a bullet with the ex and father jerk should be doing the dance of joy instead of calling you on the carpet.”

Her heart did a fluttery, pounding thing in her chest. He barely knew her, yet he was on her side. It was new; it was nice. But Mitch was reacting to what she’d told him in anger. It wasn’t the whole truth.

“Arnold Ryan is the only father I’ve ever known. He adopted me and, after my mother died, he raised me with his own children. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. He’s my family and he’s been good to me.”

“Define good to you. Because from where I’m sitting putting down your profession and ordering you to apologize to a cheater who doesn’t deserve you doesn’t sound like good.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds—”

“Way wrong?”

Yes, but she wouldn’t admit that. “My father said what he did because he wants what’s best for me,” she explained.

“Put-downs, recriminations and bad advice?” Mitch met her gaze. “How’s that working for you?”

When he said it like that, not so well. It made her a hypocrite who coached others to confront conflict in a productive way when she couldn’t follow the same advice. It made her a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do kind of person.

It made her a doormat. A man like Mitch had no use for a doormat. There was no reason on earth she should care whether or not he had a use for her, but she did.

“Mitch? Are you paying attention?”

He looked up from the doodles on his legal pad and found his partners’ attention fixed on him. Dr. Jake Andrews and Dr. Cal Westen were his best friends. The three of them had done their residency in trauma medicine at the county hospital in Las Vegas. Rumor had it they were known as the axis of attraction as well as the trifecta of heart trauma.

After completing training, they decided to open the group and contract with Mercy Medical Center to provide trauma specialists for the E.R. In this small office they had a clerical staff for billing and conducted monthly status meetings. This was one of those and his presence had been mandatory, but no one had said anything about paying attention.

“Sorry. My mind was wandering.” He’d been distracted by a pair of brown eyes that were several units low on optimism.

“Listen up.” Six-foot-tall, dark-haired, gray-eyed Jake had taken on the business side of the practice and fell into the role of leader. “You’re on the agenda.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Cal folded his arms on the table. His sandy hair and blue eyes gave him a boyish look. It attracted women in droves, the ones who didn’t know about or were misguided enough to believe they could change his love-’ em-and-leave-’em style. “You got the memo about today’s topics. You’re on it.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Cal held up his hand. “This isn’t a barroom brawl we’re taking into the alley. It’s a medical practice.”

“What’s your point?” Mitch asked.

“I’ll get to it. When it’s time.”

“I think it’s time now.” Mitch sat up straight and looked across the mahogany table at his partners. This felt a lot like an ambush.

Jake met his gaze for several moments, then finally nodded. “No reason we can’t take it out of order. Let’s talk about what’s going on with you.”

“I’m doing great.”

“I meant the mandated counseling,” Jake clarified.

“About that,” Mitch said. “Can we discuss why you guys threw me under the bus and jumped in bed with that HR guy at the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Cal said. “We can start with why you reprimanded a nurse simply for doing her job.”

“If that were the case,” Mitch said, “I probably wouldn’t have said anything.”

“You got on her case for not hanging an IV fast enough,” Cal said. “Her complaint states that the E.R. was nuts and she was following her training to triage doctor’s orders.”

“The problem was it never got done and someone who came in for help fell through the cracks,” Mitch defended. “I don’t write orders unless they’re important and if I write it, I want it done.”

“The incident is under review with the E.R. director and human resources. If she files a grievance with the union, in addition to patient complaints about your abusive attitude, there will be hell to pay.”

“That’s part of my specialty,” Mitch said.

He’d shaken hands with the devil more than once. It held no fear for him.

Cal shook his head in exasperation. “That’s just one of a laundry list from the hospital staff. Now let’s talk about how you told off a doctor.”

Mitch remembered the incident. The guy blew off his patient’s symptoms during an office appointment forcing an E.R. visit that made the situation more traumatic than it should have been. “He didn’t do his job.”

“It’s not your job to make that judgment—especially in front of the patient.” Jake’s voice was lower than normal, meaning he was ticked off. “There are numerous ways to handle something like that.”

Sam had said something similar. He liked it better coming from her. “I didn’t think it could wait.”

“The bottom line is that you didn’t think,” Jake snapped. “This guy is threatening to go to the medical executive committee. If he pushes for a peer review we could be in a world of hurt.”

“If it goes that far I’ll get to tell my side. There won’t be a problem,” Mitch soothed.

“Look, Mitch,” Cal said, his tone conciliatory, “we just have to do damage control. Your counseling is part of it. You need to be tolerant—”

“Not happening. I never understand losing a patient.” Mitch had seen too much of stupidity, indifference and playing the game. Too much life thrown away. He’d had it up to here with keeping his mouth shut. “I call that a waste.”

“We all feel that way,” Jake said. “But Mercy Medical is expanding. They’re getting ready to break ground on a new campus with a level-two trauma center. Our contract is up soon. We need to renegotiate and we’re talking a lot of money. This is the worst possible time for an incident. You have to demonstrate a willingness to learn how to play nice with others.”

The only person he’d met that he wanted to play nice with was Sam Ryan, and she’d refused to play at all.

“How’s the relationship counseling going?” Cal asked, a little too close to the mark.

“I think it’s a waste of time.”

“Good attitude,” Jake said.

Mitch shrugged. “I’m not in to that touchy/feely stuff.”

“Your style is more shoot-from-the-hip,” Jake agreed. “Consider this people skills triage.”

“And what if I don’t?” Mitch asked.

Cal’s blue eyes were troubled. “We won’t let you take down the whole practice.”

“You’re going to throw me out?” Mitch said.

“Let’s not go there.” Jake held up his hands, gesturing for peace. “Marshall Management Consultants comes highly recommended. You did keep the appointment?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“It’s too soon to say.” Mitch leaned back in his chair.

He didn’t want to get their hopes up because he was pretty sure no one could help him. He had the history to back up that assessment. He hadn’t been a good brother, son, or husband. The opportunity to be a father had been ripped away from him without his say so and he’d never had the chance to try. He was only good at saying what was on his mind and being an E.R. doc.

“But I’ll do my time,” he agreed.

“Fair enough.” Cal looked down at the notes in front of him. “Next item on the agenda—”

Mitch half listened to more specifics on expansion and hiring while the rest of his concentration was taken up with Sam Ryan. Doing his time would be more pleasant if he could spend it with her. When she’d said they wouldn’t be a good fit, his thoughts had gone to where they were horizontal on the handiest flat surface and fitting together the way God intended a man and woman to fit. Running into her at the hospital earlier today had convinced him that his first impression had been dead on.

She was like sunshine on a cloudy day. When it’s cold outside, she’s the month of May. If Jake and Cal could hear his thoughts, they’d start humming the tune. But it was true.

In his opinion, her excuse for refusing to work with him was nothing more than spin for the fact that she didn’t like him. There was a lot of that going around and he had a file full of grievances to prove it.

Except that didn’t hold water considering the way she’d opened up to him about the run-in with her father. Would she have done that if she hated his guts? More to the point, why had he requested her counseling services in the first place?

Because he liked baiting her. He liked how her full mouth compressed when she was annoyed. He liked the way her brown eyes warmed when she was pleased. And he especially liked when she asked him if he’d offended anyone today. The prospect of working with her was more exciting than he would have thought when he’d been forced into it. When life gives you lemons, and all that…

“So Mitch will be representing us at the black-tie fund-raiser for the hospital,” Cal said, interrupting his thoughts.

Mitch heard his name, fund-raiser and black tie—all of which got his attention. “Say again.”

Cal grinned. “We paid twenty-five hundred dollars for the privilege of attending a fund-raising event put on by Mercy Medical Center at Caesar’s Palace. You drew the short straw.”

“Since when?” Mitch demanded.

“For one thing, it’s your punishment for shooting your mouth off too many times,” Jake answered. “And it’s what you get for not paying attention just now.”

That part was all Sam Ryan’s fault, he thought. If he’d come up with a strategy to convince her to work with him, the punishment would have been worth it. All he’d gotten was monkey suit duty.

He’d have to bring up the matter the next time he saw her. And there would be a next time.