Hotshot Doc(25)

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 the 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.”