Hotshot Doc(54)

I smirk. “Did you come up here to campaign for a new vending machine?”

“No.” She rolls her eyes then glances down at my plate. “Come on. Is that Boston cream pie?”

“It is. Want some?”

“No, I really shouldn’t…okay, maybe just a bite.”

I hand her the plate. “Here, take it. I’ll get another slice. What did you want to talk to me about?”

She dips her pinky in the cream and brings it to her mouth to get a taste. It’s innocuous, casual, and yet I’m staring at her lips as they pucker around her finger with such intensity it’s a wonder they don’t go up in flames.

“Matt?”

“What?”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Not at all.”

She groans playfully. “I was asking if it would be okay if I knocked off a little early on Friday? I need to take Josie to a doctor’s appointment.”

I frown and shake away my errant thoughts. “Of course. I’ll have someone fill in if my surgery runs long. What’s wrong with Josie?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just a wellness visit.”

“Good. Okay. Do you need a ride? You can use my car.”

She seems taken aback by the offer. “No. Her doctor isn’t far from our house, a ten-minute bus ride, tops.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

She’s looking up at me as if I just offered to give her the shirt off my back.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

She’s smiling now, full-fledged, dimpled, I-know-something smile.

“Do you offer your car to all your employees?”

I wave away her insinuation. “Sure. It’s nothing. Patricia drives it all the time.”

She cracks up. We’re still hovering in the doorway to the lounge and there are doctors trying to get past us, but they can fuck off because I haven’t had an honest-to-God conversation with this woman in three days and I signed a stupid contract that forbids me from kissing her, but in this moment, that’s all I want to do. I want to tug on that ponytail until her head tilts back and her chin tips up. She’d have to go up on her tiptoes a little, but I’d bend down and make it easy for her. It’d be better than the last one, I know it. I wouldn’t have the constraints of a small car working against me.

Her knowing smile wipes clean. Her eyes widen. Her lips part. Oh yes, Bailey. I signed that stupid contract, but that doesn’t erase these feelings. You’re wetting your bottom lip because you’re thinking the same thing I am. You’re desperate for it and I wish you could see the shade of pink on your cheeks right now.

“Thank you for understanding, Dr. Russell.”

I laugh and shake my head. I’m Dr. Russell again, like a name change will keep me at arm’s length.

“Is that all?” I ask, brow arched.

She shakes her head no then nods yes, turns, looks back. “Yes. Okay. Thank you for the dessert. I’m going to go now.”

She starts walking.

I tip forward, leaning out of the lounge. “The elevator is that way, Bailey.”

She does an about-face. “Right. I knew that. I’m just going to…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence before she promptly bolts. I laugh and turn back to finish my lunch.

She won’t last another week.





We finish up the surgery on Friday on time so Bailey doesn’t miss Josie’s doctor’s appointment. I offer her my car again, but she insists she doesn’t need it. It’s snowing outside, not a blizzard, but enough that I don’t like the idea of her and her sister waiting at a bus stop.

I check the weather on my computer in my office, scowling when I see the little image of snowflakes falling from clouds every hour for the rest of the day.

I curse and it must be pretty loud because Patricia pokes her head into my office. “What is it?”

“Do we not pay Bailey enough? Why can’t she get a damn car?”

“What are you talking about?”

She’s confused, for obvious reasons.

I sigh and try to get back to my paperwork so I can get out of the office at a decent time. This is slightly hilarious on my part. I pretend like I want to hurry up and finish so I can leave and enjoy my life, but this is my life. In the last few years, I’ve spent more time in this office than I have at my house. I ignore that cold hard truth and forcefully open the file on my desk.

For the next hour, I work for fleeting moments between checking the weather, looking at my phone, glancing out the window, and then chiding myself for being distracted. At this rate, I won’t finish my work until Monday.

The office clears out. Patricia scolds me for staying late on her way out, and yet here I sit, throwing my toy basketball up in the air and catching it over and over again. It’s helping me think. Also, it’s keeping my hands occupied. For some insane reason, I have the urge to pick up the phone and call Bailey. Her cell phone number is in her file, which is still housed in my desk drawer. I wrote it down on a sticky note and stuck it to the edge of my computer screen. It’s taunting me.

I want to check in and see if she got home okay.

The phone call would be short, just a few seconds really.

I reach for my phone and dial her number before I think better of it.