Hotshot Doc(51)

“All right. What form do you need?” She tugs the top drawer open. “Sexual harassment? Hostile work environment?”

“Form?”

She pulls out a slew of them: orange, green, blue, red, purple—one for any and every offense under the sun. Oh god.

I leap forward and hold up my hands. “It’s not like that.”

She’s skeptical.

“Did he force himself onto you or put you in a situation where you weren’t comfortable?”

Well, that Prius console was digging into my ribs while we were making out yesterday.

“No. NO.” I shake my head vehemently. “Nothing like that. It was completely consensual—enjoyable, even.”

She drops the forms onto her desk and arches a brow, clearly confused by my presence in her office.

I decide to explain what happened over the weekend, albeit giving an abridged version. Though I’d rather not, I even reluctantly mention the make-out session in his car, though I keep it PG.

When I’m done, her eyes narrow and I notice the heavy bags, the disheveled hair. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.

“So…you’re just here to let me know you two consensually kissed and it was ‘enjoyable’?” She speaks slowly, as if talking to a toddler.

I sigh. Good. She gets it. “Exactly. Just in case it’s against the company guidelines, or some kind of rule outlined in the employee handbook, that sort of thing.”

“It’s not.”

Oh.

Huh.

She stuffs the forms back into the filing cabinet and slams it shut.

Oddly enough, I’m disappointed that she’s not going to forbid the relationship. “Is there any way you could double-check for me?”

Her eyes cut to the mountain of paperwork on her desk. Her computer pings with three new incoming emails. A woman skids to a stop in her doorway, breathing heavily, and announces that two nurses are at each other’s throats on floor three.

She groans and moves to round her desk so she can take care of the situation.

I try to block her from passing by me. “So there’s nothing you can give me? No angry orange form? No warning on my employee chart?” I chuckle like, Ha ha, help a sister out here. But no. She leaves and I’m left to stand in that HR office contemplating the twisting feeling in my gut.

I’m only now realizing I wanted our relationship to be against the rules. I couldn’t sleep last night because I kept reliving Matt’s kiss, every excruciatingly perfect detail of it, and that’s not okay. I liked my life before the kiss. I only had to worry about being good at my job and taking care of Josie. I don’t like these feelings stirring inside of me, the queasy sensation, the fear of what could happen if we get too carried away. I don’t have the luxury of a quick fling. My life is complicated enough as is.

Dammit.

I need one of those forms. Talk about a perfect buffer, a clean break. I could have given Matt a beautifully eloquent speech about valuing my position here too much to break the rules, but this HR lady gave me nothing. Not even a stern talking to.

I decide I have to take matters into my own hands.





Matt is in his office when I go searching for him. We have a case in a few hours and he’s probably about to round with his resident, but this shouldn’t take too long.

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.’”