“Good luck, bro.”
Brett strode down the blue tiled hallway, thinking about the chief of cardiology position. Dr. Collins had held onto the position for twenty-five years. For the past few years, Collins had been biding his time, getting ready to retire. He had let things in the cardiology department slide. He never battled for new equipment or upgrades to the cath lab. Brett had found that frustrating, but the mediocre Collins was Lockett’s golfing buddy, and he had the support of the governing board of trustees and the medical staff.
You kiss my ass and I’ll kiss yours.
In the hallway, he passed a couple of lab techs. “Hey, Hot Rod,” they greeted him by his nickname. “TGIF!”
“You got that right,” Brett replied. Who didn’t love Fridays? Nothing like a Friday to put a little spring in your step. He usually hung out at the Thunderbird Bar and Grill on Friday nights where the beer was cold and the girls pretty. He had invested a wad of cash into the Thunderbird and it was paying off nicely.
What could he say but that life was good and it just kept getting better?
As he approached the elevators at the end of the hall, the doors to one of the cars slid open and he made a dash for it. He almost ran into Mrs. Rutherford, the hospital’s stodgy dietitian, as she stepped out of the elevator.
“Doctor Harris, aren’t you energetic this morning?”
“It’s Friday, Mrs. Rutherford.” Brett rushed into the elevator car as the doors started to close. Hospital elevator cars were built to accommodate stretchers and medical equipment so they were roomy enough.
He nodded at an elderly Asian couple who were standing near the door. He stepped to the left where the control panel was located and pressed the number seven. The executive offices and meeting rooms were all on the top floor of the hospital. Then he settled in the corner beside the control panel for the ride up.
That’s when he noticed the hot chick standing in the right rear corner of the elevator. Long hair, the color of gold dust, rippled over her shoulders and formed an S-curve along her cheek. She wore a short burgundy jacket with embroidered lapels over a silky top, snug jeans, and brown suede riding boots with stacked heels.
She looked like she had just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad. All cool and classy. Like she belonged at a polo match or on a sailboat or in his bed, he thought with a grin. She held a couple of large white pastry boxes from the hospital cafeteria.
He reflexively checked her hands. Delicate clear nails and no wedding band or engagement ring. He grinned. Maybe it was his lucky day.
The elevator stopped on the second floor and the couple got off. While the elevator was stopped, Brett took the opportunity to move to the rear of the elevator so he and the Ralph Lauren model stood in opposite corners.
She looked directly at him and smiled. Her face went perfectly with her lean body and stylish clothes. Full lips painted a soft mauve color, a perfectly straight nose, and bold blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires as she pinned him with a gaze that would have fired up the pistons in any man.
She was fine and he was available. So there you go.
“I’ve heard we’re going to have great weather this weekend,” he said, throwing a little bait her way. He tapped the elevator railing. For the first time ever, he wished the elevator would move a little slower.
She batted those baby blues at him. “There’s a storm coming.”
He had watched the weather report on TV before he left his house. Sunny autumn weekend, high in the seventies, no rain. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, I’m fairly certain of it,” she insisted. She had a breathy voice with a slight lilt. She didn’t sound local. Her accent was more cosmopolitan without any accent like a newscaster.
She flashed him a tempestuous smile. “I love storms. Thunder and lightning can be very sexy at night.”
Whoa. Damn. He raked back his dark hair. The elevator passed the fourth floor. With his motor running, he cut his eyes toward her and she didn’t shy away from direct eye contact. She gave him a once-over as if she were sizing him up. Then she wet her lips. Kind of like she was silently saying: I’m great at oral sex.
I love bad girls! If he had been a Christmas tree, every light on him would have been glowing. Where had she been all his life?
The elevator passed the fifth floor. There was no time, so he decided to go for it.
He had not been born humble.
“I’m going to be at the Thunderbird tonight. If you’re out that way, stop by. I’d love to have some company.” He didn’t make a big deal of it. Subtlety had its merits, but inside his pulse had dialed up a few notches.
“You’re totally Type A,” the Ralph Lauren model said as she shifted her hands on the boxes she held.
“Type A?”
“Assertive.”
He nodded. Yeah, he was assertive. He didn’t lack confidence.
“Ambitious,” she added.
“Definitely.” If he hadn’t been ambitious, he would not be where he was today. Ambition fueled him. He cut his eyes toward her and hoped the next attribute would be attractive.
“Asshole,” she said as the elevator came to a halt on the seventh floor with a familiar bump. For the first time, he realized she had ridden all the way to the top floor with him. She moved from her position in the corner and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Brett could see the flecks of violet in her blue eyes and he caught the soft scent of her breezy cologne.
He blinked. Something seemed familiar about her. Then again, not.
“Some people say I’m an asshole.” When he thought he was being jerked around, the Trinity Road in him came out. He let his gaze linger on her face. “But if you got to know me, you wouldn’t think that.”
“I do know you,” she said as the elevator doors slid open. “And I do think that.”
Then she was on the move, heading down the carpeted hallways toward the executive suites. Bewildered, he stepped off the elevator. He watched her trot ahead of him. Long legs and nice ass.
He caught up with her. “What do you mean you know me?” He was certain they had never met. He had never been so drunk that he couldn’t recall who he’d picked up and he couldn’t imagine not remembering her.
“Coach Vanderford’s biology lab.” The Ralph Lauren model stopped in the quiet carpeted hallway. The top floor only housed medical staff offices, conference rooms, the medical library and a rarely-used observatory.
“Coach Vanderford?” Mentally, he had to sweep the cobwebs from memories buried for years. Coach Vanderford had been one of his high school science teachers. “You’re talking Lafayette High?”
“You were always such a smartass, Brett.”
“I was a teenager,” he countered. Teenagers were cocky. They had an attitude. “There were a few guys a lot worse than me.”
“Not to Natalie Layton.”
His face screwed up as if he’d just taken a dose of quinine. Natalie Layton. The senator’s daughter. Platinum blonde hair cut short like Tinkerbelle’s. Mega-watt smile. The stuff of wet dreams. Voted Cutest Girl and Class Favorite. Always hanging onto her jock boyfriend or riding on a parade float in a lavish gown. Everyone had loved her but him.
He had nearly crapped when Coach Vanderford had handed out lab partner assignments and he got stuck with Natalie. If all that was required had been cuteness and charm, Natalie could have aced it, but if it required any effort and intelligence, you could forget it. She kept her head in the clouds.
While he was working his ass off, maintaining a 4.0 grade average so he could get a full scholarship and go to college, she spent half her time in class staring out the windows in some sort of fantasy world. Or drawing pictures instead of taking notes.
He had resented everything about her, including the fact that a boy from Trinity Road had no chance with a girl like her.
“When it came to Natalie Layton, I just didn’t suck up to her like everyone else did and I didn’t bow down because of who she was. I said exactly what I tho
ught and I guess I was blunt. Were you one of her friends?” Everyone had claimed to be her friend.
“It’s me, Brett. Slacker,” she said, nudging his memory again.
Slacker? That was the nickname he’d given Natalie when she was his worthless lab partner. What’s your ambition in life, Slacker? Trophy wife? If daydreaming made you smart, Slacker, you’d be the next Einstein. Hey, Slacker, maybe you can become a professional float rider.
“Natalie?” His eyes widened as the realization dawned on him. “You’re Natalie?”
“In the flesh.”
He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that the woman who stood before him was the same girl he’d known in high school. She had made some sort of unbelievable transformation. Her voice, her hair, her manner, and even her face seemed different.
He knew that teenagers changed as they matured into adults and he hadn’t seen Natalie since graduation, but he had seen some of their former classmates. They didn’t look exactly like they had in school, neither did he, but he recognized them.
He would have never known Natalie. Not in a million years.
“Surprise.” She followed up the word with a broad smile and he saw a remnant of the trademark smile that had garnered her the adoration of their classmates.
“You were playing me in the elevator.” If he could kick his own ass, he would.
From beneath thick lashes, her eyes flashed. “Who knew you’d be so easy?”
He shrugged and spouted out a polite lie. “Good to see you again. Sorry, I can’t stick around.” He took his leave. “I’m going to be late for a meeting.”
He headed for the short hallway that led to the executive conference room and he was at the oak door of the conference room before he realized she was behind him. “What are you doing?” he asked in an irate voice.
“Bringing breakfast,” she said, indicating the two carry-out boxes she held. “Dr. Sheldon is married to my grandmother’s sister and Harry Layton is my uncle.”
Brett stared at her. Could this get any more bizarre?
“Why don’t you get the door?” she suggested. “My hands are full.”
He pushed the door silently across the thick carpet of the conference room. Landscape paintings hung on the walls and recessed ceiling lights illuminated the room where decisions that affected the hospital and healthcare were made. A long dark cherry table stood in the center of the room. Fresh flowers filled a gold vase and matching executive chairs on rollers lined either side of the gleaming table. The room smelled of leather and power. And two of the most powerful men in Brett’s universe stood beside the table.
Dr. Neal Sheldon and Harry Layton.
Dr. Neal Sheldon was in his mid-seventies. Tall and silver-haired, Sheldon’s regal appearance and calm demeanor had served him well as chief of staff. Considered a brilliant neurologist, he had worked on several research projects and had published in a number of medical journals. Everyone, including Brett, respected Sheldon and deferred to his wisdom. Sheldon was Gandalf in a white lab coat.
In contrast to Sheldon’s Gandalf was Harry Layton, the hobbit. Harry was a short, squat fellow with a belly as round as his face. In his fifties, Harry’s balding head was hidden beneath a Tennessee Volunteers ball cap. In fact, Harry looked like a walking billboard for the UT sports. A diehard fan, he sported an orange and white Vols polo shirt and an orange UT windbreaker over gray slacks.
Despite looking like a hobbit in orange and white, Harry was probably the sharpest, most powerful businessman in Lafayette Falls. He came from old money and he had made tons more money. The Layton family had long been one of the cornerstones of Lafayette Falls society and the Layton name was spread on businesses all over town. Harry was also the president of the hospital board of trustees. If Harry wanted it done, it got done. No questions asked.
“Doctor Harris.” Sheldon greeted him. Always a man of deportment and reservation, Sheldon offered his hand to Brett. “I am glad you could join us this morning.” If there was ever such a thing as a high road, Sheldon had been on it all his life.
“Good to see you, Doc,” Harry said. Unlike Sheldon, Harry embodied easy-going Southern charm. With a laugh and a slap on the back, Harry was the good ole boy who would smile as he cut the competition’s throat. “Let me get you a cup of coffee.”
Brett thanked him in a quiet voice while wondering what the hell was going on. Harry Layton just didn’t routinely attend medical staff meetings, nor did he volunteer to get you coffee.
Natalie had placed the white pastry boxes on the table and opened them. While Harry was at the credenza, filling a cup with coffee, Sheldon helped himself to a couple of blueberry bran muffins and took a seat at the head of the table.
“What do you think about the team this year?” Harry asked. Brett had graduated from UT Medical School so he and Harry shared the same alma mater, which was a good thing because Harry had a special place in his heart for another alumnus.
He and Harry talked UT football for a couple of minutes. They shared a few laughs and male bonding before Harry said, “Let’s have a seat.”
Natalie had taken a chair a couple of places down from the head of the table where Sheldon sat. Harry took the empty chair between Sheldon and Natalie. Brett sat in the chair on the other side of the table, opposite Harry and Natalie.
“Everybody, help yourself,” Harry said, pointing to the pastries. He used a plastic fork to spear a cheese Danish. “Natalie, honey, don’t you want something?”
“Thanks, but I ate before I left the house. I couldn’t resist Clara’s biscuits.”
Harry sighed. “Aunt Clara has a gift.”
Growing edgy, Brett decided he would have a donut with his coffee. He was struggling to feel normal in a surreal situation.
As he reached in the box, Natalie said, “They didn’t have any banana pudding.”
He glanced up at her deadpan face. “Too bad.” He dumped the donut on a paper plate. Obviously she remembered the cafeteria food fight.
He had actually started it by managing to fling a chunk of hotdog across the aisle and down her blouse. It was a lucky shot and watching her fish it out of her bra had been hysterical.
Then she had walked over to his table where he sat with two of his buddies, both grinning, and a new girlfriend who had her hand over her face. The cafeteria was quiet. All eyes on Natalie. She put the piece of hotdog on his plate
“I think you lost this.”
“No, Slacker, I didn’t lose it.” Yes, he could be a sarcastic asshole.
“Well, Brett,” she leaned in close. Way too close for his comfort. “I didn’t lose this either.” She snatched up the bowl of banana pudding that was on his tray and dumped it, bowl and all, on top of his head.
He swore as a piece of banana slid down his forehead and on the other side of the cafeteria, Josiah, the tallest player on the basketball team, stood up and yelled, “Food fight!”
Chaos and a two-week detention had followed.
“I know you must be wondering why I called this meeting,” Sheldon said and Brett shook off the recollection of washing dried banana pudding out of his hair. He’d never eaten it again.
Natalie dug her smartphone out of her shoulder bag as if she had no interest in the meeting. Brett couldn’t help but wonder why she was present. She had no connection to the hospital or the medical staff except for the two men who controlled everything at the hospital and were her relatives. Of course. It was a good thing she had come from a rich family. Otherwise she could have ended up in a trailer park.
Sheldon said, “As you know, Doctor Collins plans to retire next month and that is going to leave the chief of cardiology position open.”
At the mention of the chief of cardiology position, all thoughts of Natalie Layton left his mind. Just like an arrow heading for a bulls-eye, his focus narrowed to the one thing he wanted with every ounce of his being. His chest hitched. Did he dare hope?
Harry sat back in the leather chair, fingers la
ced across his belly. “We think you’d be a good candidate for that position.” He gave Brett one of his good ole boy nods.
“You’re one of our brightest young doctors,” Sheldon continued. “I have never found any fault in your practice of medicine or your ethics. I have no problem recommending you for the position.”
Brett’s heart pounded. He could actually visualize the ventricles pumping wildly. Finally, he managed to speak. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
A lump formed in his throat as he thought of his uncle, Mark Harris, who spent the better part of his life working under the hood of a car. “You’re smart, boy,” he had said. “You can be anything you want to be. You make something of yourself.”
Brett swallowed. “To serve as chief of cardiology, well, that would be everything. That would mean everything to me.”
Harry leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. “So the position is something you want to take on?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I will be fully committed to the job.” There were so many upgrades he wanted to make, plus he wanted to grow the department. Buy new state-of-the-art equipment where they could provide advanced procedures and testing that would reduce the mortality rate.
“I promise you that you won’t regret endorsing me. I’ll make improvements in the quality of care, the design of the cardiac care unit, and our diagnosing capabilities. I will see to it that we have an outstanding cardiology department in this hospital.”
Harry and Sheldon exchanged nods while Brett struggled to temper his ecstasy with reality. “I’ve had my differences with Richard Lockett as you both know. There may be a hurdle when it comes to him.”
“Doctor.” Harry leaned forward as he spoke, “you are looking at the only two men who matter. The administration has to answer to the board and Lockett knows where his bread is buttered.” Harry shrugged. “If I say I want you to be the next chief of cardiology, he’ll fall in line or else.”
One Week in Your Arms Page 24