Hotshot Doc
Page 34
He’s sitting behind his desk looking like Dr. Matthew Russell, foremost spinal surgeon, Hotty McHotpants. I think he got a haircut yesterday. His dark locks are trimmed short on the sides, thicker and fashionably mussed on top. They want to curl so badly, but they’re not long enough. He’s wearing his white coat. Underneath, his shirt is pale blue—a shade darker than his eyes. He shaved this morning, which means there’s nothing between me and that perfectly smooth jaw.
His focus is on a file spread open on his desk. The side of his finger drags back and forth along his bottom lip as he reads.
I remind myself why I’m here and tell myself to get it together. Then, before his image can hypnotize me all over again, I knock loudly on his door and clear my throat as I step inside.
He glances up and his welcoming smile is like an arrow to my heart. I even stutter to a stop as if it were a physical blow.
He casually assesses me from head to toe before returning to the file.
“Morning Bailey.”
His tone is warm and I wish his white coat were baggier. That stupid tailor of his really knows what he’s doing. Would it kill him to let out the seams a little bit? Give a girl a break.
It occurs to me that I’m standing silent, talking to myself in my head, and he’s waiting for some explanation as to why I’m in his office at this time of morning.
I clear my throat again and shake out the piece of paper in my hand.
“Yes, hello, Dr. Russell. I apologize for the interruption. I just needed to give this to you.”
Good. My tone says I’m all business, and he catches the hint. Kind of.
His sly smirk says otherwise as he holds out his hand to accept the paper.
“You’ll see that it’s a contract,” I explain.
His brows spike with interest and he stifles a grin. Dammit. Why does he look so amused by this? I’m serving him with papers!
“Just to sum it up for you, it’s a legal document that states very plainly that we cannot date.”
He nods. “I see that. ‘Heretofore there shall be no touching or kissing of any kind.’”
Okay, yes—I Googled legalese on my phone.
He continues, “‘Henceforth, Dr. Russell shall refrain from any suggestive smiles or flirting.’” He nods solemnly as if taking it very seriously. “Oh, I see. Henceforth. In that case…”
“Yes, and then it goes on to say—”
“‘The plaintiff, Bailey Jennings, shall refrain from appearing or acting irresistible so as to not tempt Dr. Russell.’”
I’m not sure what plaintiff actually means, but I needed a fancy word there.
“The document came straight from HR,” I explain.
He wipes away his smirk. “Ah yes, it does sound like Linda.”
I throw up my fists as if cursing the gods. “Ugh, if only there were some other way.”
“Bailey.” His voice takes on a serious tone and his eyes are earnest and sincere. Warning bells ring in my head. “You didn’t have to do this. If you don’t want to pursue anything with me then—”
“Good morning, Dr. Russell!” the resident sing-songs behind me. “I have your coffee right here, and don’t worry, I didn’t add any creamer to it this time.”
Yes! What impeccable timing. I could kiss the man. Matt has to put a pin in whatever he was about to tell me. Good—I don’t want to know. I want to pretend he’s just a surgeon and I’m just his assistant, nothing more. In fact, I have work to do.
I make a move to slip out of the room. “See you in the OR!”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I glance back up and watch as Matt scribbles across the signature line of the contract then holds it out for me to take. I step forward and his gaze never wavers. When I try to pry it out of his hand, he doesn’t let go. He indicates for me to lean closer so he can tell me something.
I have no choice. I have to lean down or risk him speaking loudly enough for the resident to hear.
“I don’t regret Sunday and you shouldn’t either.”
HELLO! DOES HE KNOW HOW TO WHISPER?
I force out a hearty, fake laugh and shake my head. “Oh, Dr. Russell, you’re so funny. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have fun on your rounds!”
Then I break out into a nice, brisk jog and I don’t stop until I’m tucked safely inside the employee break room. As soon as I have time, that contract is getting laminated. Twice. If my heart is reacting like this from a few innocuous words, imagine how I’d feel if he tried to kiss me again?!
I get busy with preparing for our surgery, jumping into work with my full attention. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been in an operating room, when really, it’s only been two days. I make sure I prep everything to the best of my ability, and since I have a few minutes to kill before we get started, I review the case again so I absolutely know it by heart. There will be no crying, no spilled instruments, and no reason for Matt to shout at me today.
I half-expect him to continue the little charade from his office when he steps into the operating room later. In fact, I’m shaking with anticipation. I chance a quick peek up into the gallery and there have to be at least forty people shoved in there like sardines, excited to watch their version of Michael Jordan operate today. I hope he doesn’t say anything to me that they might overhear. I take my job seriously and don’t want my abilities in the operating room to be overshadowed by salacious gossip about whether he and I are getting it on—especially considering we aren’t, in fact, getting it on.
At least not yet.
Oh my god STOP THINKING ABOUT GETTING IT ON.
When he pushes through the swinging door, I go perfectly still, though internally, my thoughts are more erratic than ever. YOU HAD YOUR MOUTH ON THAT MAN. YOU MOANED, YOU TUGGED HIS HAIR, YOU—
His eyes sweep across the room and crash straight into me. I catch a hint of mischief behind his gaze, but it’s gone before I really get a good look. He finishes checking in with his staff and I’m left holding up his gown and waiting for him to step toward me.
His mask and headlamp are in place. I can only see a sliver of his face and fortunately, it’s the same for me. I like that I get to hide behind the mask on days like this when my emotions are brewing right at the surface.
“And how about you, Bailey? Is everything set?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Then he addresses the room. “All right then. Our patient today is Hunter Larson. Ten years old. He was diagnosed with adolescent idiopathic scoliosis. He has a curve in his spine we’re going to try to correct with a posterior fusion. I’ll be placing rods and pedical screws from C5 to L4. Does everyone agree?”
His eyes lock with mine. I swallow and then speak up along with everyone else.
“Agreed.”
He nods and steps up to the operating table. “Then let’s get started.”
When I say Dr. Russell is focused during the surgery, I mean it. We don’t talk about a single thing that doesn’t pertain to the patient, an instrument, or medicine. He executes a fusion that could make first-year residents fall to their knees and weep. His every move is meticulous and thoughtful. On top of that, there’s no shouting, no snide comments on his end if I’m not as quick as he thinks I should be. He even stays to help me close so we scrub out at the same time. I swear to God, people stand and slow clap in the gallery as he exits the OR. That’s how good he was.
I’m a little in awe of him, even now. We’re alone, scrubbing out side by side. I feel like I’m standing next to a celebrity. I tell myself to stop stealing glances at his forearms. They’re nothing special. I repeat: NOTHING SPECIAL.
“You did well today,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice has the same effect as a finger running down my spine.
I smile. “Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”
I peer at him from beneath my lashes. He’s smirking, but his attention is down on his hands as he rinses them under the faucet. “I’m trying something new: letting my assistants and nurses know I appreciate their hard work.”
My eyes widen. “Color me shocked.”
His focus is on a file spread open on his desk. The side of his finger drags back and forth along his bottom lip as he reads.
I remind myself why I’m here and tell myself to get it together. Then, before his image can hypnotize me all over again, I knock loudly on his door and clear my throat as I step inside.
He glances up and his welcoming smile is like an arrow to my heart. I even stutter to a stop as if it were a physical blow.
He casually assesses me from head to toe before returning to the file.
“Morning Bailey.”
His tone is warm and I wish his white coat were baggier. That stupid tailor of his really knows what he’s doing. Would it kill him to let out the seams a little bit? Give a girl a break.
It occurs to me that I’m standing silent, talking to myself in my head, and he’s waiting for some explanation as to why I’m in his office at this time of morning.
I clear my throat again and shake out the piece of paper in my hand.
“Yes, hello, Dr. Russell. I apologize for the interruption. I just needed to give this to you.”
Good. My tone says I’m all business, and he catches the hint. Kind of.
His sly smirk says otherwise as he holds out his hand to accept the paper.
“You’ll see that it’s a contract,” I explain.
His brows spike with interest and he stifles a grin. Dammit. Why does he look so amused by this? I’m serving him with papers!
“Just to sum it up for you, it’s a legal document that states very plainly that we cannot date.”
He nods. “I see that. ‘Heretofore there shall be no touching or kissing of any kind.’”
Okay, yes—I Googled legalese on my phone.
He continues, “‘Henceforth, Dr. Russell shall refrain from any suggestive smiles or flirting.’” He nods solemnly as if taking it very seriously. “Oh, I see. Henceforth. In that case…”
“Yes, and then it goes on to say—”
“‘The plaintiff, Bailey Jennings, shall refrain from appearing or acting irresistible so as to not tempt Dr. Russell.’”
I’m not sure what plaintiff actually means, but I needed a fancy word there.
“The document came straight from HR,” I explain.
He wipes away his smirk. “Ah yes, it does sound like Linda.”
I throw up my fists as if cursing the gods. “Ugh, if only there were some other way.”
“Bailey.” His voice takes on a serious tone and his eyes are earnest and sincere. Warning bells ring in my head. “You didn’t have to do this. If you don’t want to pursue anything with me then—”
“Good morning, Dr. Russell!” the resident sing-songs behind me. “I have your coffee right here, and don’t worry, I didn’t add any creamer to it this time.”
Yes! What impeccable timing. I could kiss the man. Matt has to put a pin in whatever he was about to tell me. Good—I don’t want to know. I want to pretend he’s just a surgeon and I’m just his assistant, nothing more. In fact, I have work to do.
I make a move to slip out of the room. “See you in the OR!”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I glance back up and watch as Matt scribbles across the signature line of the contract then holds it out for me to take. I step forward and his gaze never wavers. When I try to pry it out of his hand, he doesn’t let go. He indicates for me to lean closer so he can tell me something.
I have no choice. I have to lean down or risk him speaking loudly enough for the resident to hear.
“I don’t regret Sunday and you shouldn’t either.”
HELLO! DOES HE KNOW HOW TO WHISPER?
I force out a hearty, fake laugh and shake my head. “Oh, Dr. Russell, you’re so funny. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have fun on your rounds!”
Then I break out into a nice, brisk jog and I don’t stop until I’m tucked safely inside the employee break room. As soon as I have time, that contract is getting laminated. Twice. If my heart is reacting like this from a few innocuous words, imagine how I’d feel if he tried to kiss me again?!
I get busy with preparing for our surgery, jumping into work with my full attention. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been in an operating room, when really, it’s only been two days. I make sure I prep everything to the best of my ability, and since I have a few minutes to kill before we get started, I review the case again so I absolutely know it by heart. There will be no crying, no spilled instruments, and no reason for Matt to shout at me today.
I half-expect him to continue the little charade from his office when he steps into the operating room later. In fact, I’m shaking with anticipation. I chance a quick peek up into the gallery and there have to be at least forty people shoved in there like sardines, excited to watch their version of Michael Jordan operate today. I hope he doesn’t say anything to me that they might overhear. I take my job seriously and don’t want my abilities in the operating room to be overshadowed by salacious gossip about whether he and I are getting it on—especially considering we aren’t, in fact, getting it on.
At least not yet.
Oh my god STOP THINKING ABOUT GETTING IT ON.
When he pushes through the swinging door, I go perfectly still, though internally, my thoughts are more erratic than ever. YOU HAD YOUR MOUTH ON THAT MAN. YOU MOANED, YOU TUGGED HIS HAIR, YOU—
His eyes sweep across the room and crash straight into me. I catch a hint of mischief behind his gaze, but it’s gone before I really get a good look. He finishes checking in with his staff and I’m left holding up his gown and waiting for him to step toward me.
His mask and headlamp are in place. I can only see a sliver of his face and fortunately, it’s the same for me. I like that I get to hide behind the mask on days like this when my emotions are brewing right at the surface.
“And how about you, Bailey? Is everything set?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Then he addresses the room. “All right then. Our patient today is Hunter Larson. Ten years old. He was diagnosed with adolescent idiopathic scoliosis. He has a curve in his spine we’re going to try to correct with a posterior fusion. I’ll be placing rods and pedical screws from C5 to L4. Does everyone agree?”
His eyes lock with mine. I swallow and then speak up along with everyone else.
“Agreed.”
He nods and steps up to the operating table. “Then let’s get started.”
When I say Dr. Russell is focused during the surgery, I mean it. We don’t talk about a single thing that doesn’t pertain to the patient, an instrument, or medicine. He executes a fusion that could make first-year residents fall to their knees and weep. His every move is meticulous and thoughtful. On top of that, there’s no shouting, no snide comments on his end if I’m not as quick as he thinks I should be. He even stays to help me close so we scrub out at the same time. I swear to God, people stand and slow clap in the gallery as he exits the OR. That’s how good he was.
I’m a little in awe of him, even now. We’re alone, scrubbing out side by side. I feel like I’m standing next to a celebrity. I tell myself to stop stealing glances at his forearms. They’re nothing special. I repeat: NOTHING SPECIAL.
“You did well today,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice has the same effect as a finger running down my spine.
I smile. “Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”
I peer at him from beneath my lashes. He’s smirking, but his attention is down on his hands as he rinses them under the faucet. “I’m trying something new: letting my assistants and nurses know I appreciate their hard work.”
My eyes widen. “Color me shocked.”
