Romancing the M.D.

by Maureen Smith

  “Not at all,” Tamara said easily. “I’ve often wondered how Morris was doing. It’d be nice to see him again.”

  Her mother grinned. “He’s looking good, baby. Real good.”

  Tamara chuckled, sipping her cold soda. “I’m not surprised. He was one of the cutest boys at school.”

  “The smartest, too.” Nostalgia softened Vonda’s expression. “You two were such an adorable couple. I remember how Morris used to come over after school sometimes to study with you. I never had to worry about leaving you alone together, because you were both so studious and focused on your books. Acing your calculus exam was more important to you than getting inside each other’s drawers.”

  “That’s what you think.” At her mother’s shocked look, Tamara laughed. “Just kidding, Ma. We never abused your trust like that.”

  Vonda harrumphed. “I didn’t think so. I raised you better than that, and Morris was such a sweet, respectful young man. I really liked him.”

  Tamara gave her a wry look. “Let’s not forget that he’s also the same one who broke up with me after I was named valedictorian over him.”

  “He did, didn’t he?” Vonda pursed her lips for a moment, then shook her head. “It takes a very special man not to be intimidated by a strong, brilliant woman with a higher IQ. You’re a force to be reckoned with, darling. Any man you eventually marry will have to be very successful in his own right so he won’t feel threatened by you.”

  For no discernible reason, Tamara thought of Victor, who’d graduated at the top of his class from Stanford and seemed destined to make his mark in the field of cardiothoracic surgery. For all his faults—and he had plenty—Tamara knew that he would never feel threatened by a smart, accomplished woman. He was more than secure in his manhood, and would view someone like her as his equal.

  Not that we’re ever going to be in a relationship, she quickly told herself.

  “So how are things going at work?” her mother asked, twirling strands of linguini around her fork before taking a bite. “What’s the latest on the lawsuit?”

  Tamara grimaced at the reminder of the hospital’s brewing scandal. “They’ve hired someone from New York to handle the lawsuit—some hotshot lawyer named Maxwell Wade,” she explained, though she and her colleagues had been instructed not to discuss the case with outsiders. But this was her mother, whom she’d always confided in. And details of the lawsuit had already been leaked to the media anyway.

  “It sounds like your employer is going to need the best legal counsel money can buy,” Vonda remarked.

  Tamara nodded grimly. “They are.”

  After graduating from Dartmouth, she’d been so excited to return home to Alexandria to begin her residency at Hopewell General, a prestigious hospital that catered to the nation’s power elite. But Hopewell’s stellar reputation had recently come under fire after one of Tamara’s fellow interns, Terrence Matthews, had been shown the door when he was caught stealing drugs from the hospital’s pharmacy. Unfortunately, Terrence was a member of one of Virginia’s wealthiest families, who’d retaliated against the hospital by withdrawing their financial support and filing a lawsuit. The public relations fallout and pending litigation had cast a pall over Hopewell General, putting everyone—from administrators to orderlies—on edge.

  “The Matthews family is one of our biggest benefactors,” Tamara continued, poking disinterestedly at her tender scallops. “Losing their financial contributions could really cripple the hospital. They’ve already halted construction on a wing that’s been undergoing renovations for months.”

  Vonda frowned with concern. “What about your research grant? How will that be affected?”

  Tamara sighed heavily. “I don’t know yet. The hospital’s funding committee is supposed to be meeting tomorrow to decide the fate of several projects, including the research grant. So I should know something by the end of the week.”

  Her mother reached across the table and patted her hand. “Think positive.”

  Tamara nodded, even as Victor’s deep voice drifted through her mind. Think positive, he’d told her last night when they were searching for an unlocked room in the deserted ward. Since leaving the hospital that morning, she’d been trying to put the whole experience out of her mind. But she couldn’t. Waking up in the arms of her nemesis shouldn’t have felt so damn right. But it had, and she was afraid to examine why.

  “No wonder you haven’t been yourself today,” her mother observed, watching as Tamara absently swirled her fork through a puddle of lemon cream sauce. “Ever since you arrived for lunch, you’ve seemed preoccupied with something.”

  Or someone, Tamara mused grimly.

  “But your mood makes sense now,” Vonda continued. “You’re worried about losing the research grant.”

  “Well, technically,” Tamara said ruefully, “I can’t lose something I haven’t received yet.”

  Vonda smiled indulgently. “I’m sure you’re going to get the grant.”

  “I don’t know, Ma. Victor has as good a shot as I do. His research related to cardiac arrhythmia surgery is pretty amazing. Potentially groundbreaking, in fact.”

  Vonda’s sculpted brows lifted in surprise. “Are my ears deceiving me? Did you just say something complimentary about Dr. Aguilar?”

  Tamara shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’ve said nice things about him before.”

  Vonda snorted. “Calling him an ‘egomaniac,’ a ‘narcissistic asshole,’ and a ‘blue-eyed devil’ doesn’t exactly qualify as nice.”

  Tamara grinned sheepishly. “Okay, then. Let me go on record as saying that he’s also a brilliant doctor, one that I admire and respect immensely.”

  Her mother stared at her for so long, Tamara was tempted to fidget in her chair the way she’d done as a child whenever she was caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

  As she watched uncomfortably, a slow, knowing smile spread across her mother’s face. “Did something happen between you and Dr. Aguilar?”

  Tamara’s face flamed. “Of course not,” she said quickly. Perhaps too quickly.

  Vonda’s eyes narrowed shrewdly on her face. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” It was true. Technically, nothing had happened between her and Victor—unless you counted talking the night away and waking up practically wrapped around each other. Her belly quivered wantonly at the memory of Victor’s hand on her butt, his heavy erection pressed against her inner thigh. She’d tried to dismiss his hard-on by telling herself that he was merely experiencing nocturnal penile tumescence, aka the “morning wood” phenomenon familiar to most guys. But as she’d stood there facing Victor across the bed—trying not to notice how outrageously sexy he looked with his lids at half-mast, hair rumpled, jaw darkened with stubble—she’d been knocked breathless by the sudden realization that he wanted her.

  And the feeling was unequivocally mutual.

  Her mother studied her another moment, then reached for her margarita and took a long, deliberate sip.

  Tamara waited.

  Setting down her glass, Vonda said quietly, “Just be careful. You don’t want to jeopardize everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

  “I know,” Tamara murmured. “Believe me, I have no intention of becoming involved with Victor Aguilar.”

  Her mother gave her a gentle, intuitive smile. “Sounds to me like you already are.”

  Shortly after Tamara and Victor reported to work that afternoon, they were approached by their supervisor, Dr. Shirley Balmer, who’d replaced Dr. De Winter as head resident. The attractive, forty-something woman bore such a strong resemblance to Angela Bassett that some of the interns often whispered lines from the actress’s movies behind her back.

  After ushering Tamara and Victor into the break room and closing the door behind them, Dr. Balmer demanded without preamble, “Whose idea was it to perform a thoracotomy on Bethany Dennison?”

  Tamara and Victor exchanged glances.

  “Why?” Tamara a
sked cautiously. “Is there a problem?”

  Balmer’s dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that, Dr. St. John. Don’t answer my question with a question.”

  “It was my idea,” Victor said.

  Balmer frowned, shaking her head at him. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “It was an emergency situation,” Victor explained. “The patient had gone into cardiac arrest, and a judgment call had to be made.”

  “By an attending physician, Dr. Aguilar. Not by an intern.”

  “We couldn’t find an attending,” Tamara spoke up.

  Balmer arched a dubious brow at her. “How hard did you look?”

  At Tamara’s hesitation, Victor interjected, “There wasn’t enough time to go hunting someone down. The patient was coding. If we didn’t act fast, she could have died.”

  “She also could have died as a result of a botched thoracotomy,” Balmer countered, dividing a reproachful glance between Victor and Tamara. “Do either of you have any idea how much of a risk you took yesterday? As first-year interns, you lack the training and experience to operate on patients without supervision. If that girl had died, the hospital could be facing one hell of a malpractice lawsuit, and God knows that’s the last thing we need right now.”

  Victor frowned at her. “Am I missing something here? Did we, or did we not, save Bethany Dennison’s life?”

  “No one is disputing that, Dr. Aguilar. And I can certainly appreciate the difficult dilemma you both faced, having to weigh the risk of losing a patient against your obligation to follow standard hospital procedure.”

  Balmer paused, then heaved a deep breath. “Look, I know how anxious the two of you are to complete your internship and get into the nitty-gritty of practicing medicine. You both graduated at the top of your medical classes, and you’re both overachievers. I sense your impatience every time you’re restricted to suturing patients, Dr. Aguilar. And I know, Dr. St. John, that the field of cardiothoracic surgery is dominated by men, so you’re eager to prove that you’ve got what it takes to hang with the boys. But you both need to understand that as exceptionally gifted as you may be, you still have plenty to learn about becoming surgeons. So just keep that in mind the next time you’re faced with making a life or death decision. Are we clear?”

  Tamara and Victor glanced at each other, then nodded dutifully. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Now get back to work.”

  As they moved toward the door, Dr. Balmer added, “Dr. Pederson, the attending physician who relieved you in the E.R. yesterday, was very impressed with the work you did on Bethany Dennison. He told me that some of his surgical peers have never even attempted an emergency resuscitative thoracotomy, much less succeeded at performing one. So congratulations to both of you. You’ve definitely gotten on the chief of surgery’s radar.”

  Tamara and Victor grinned broadly at each other before leaving the break room. Together they started down the hallway, enjoying a rare sense of camaraderie.

  It was short-lived.

  “Oh, before I forget,” Dr. Balmer called after them.

  They glanced back at her, still smiling.

  “I agree with Dr. Aguilar’s recommendation to administer Naphtomycin to Mrs. Gruener. So I went ahead and ordered the course of antibiotics this morning.” Balmer looked at Tamara, brow arched. “I assume that’s okay with you, Dr. St. John?”

  Tamara frowned. “Actually, I’m concerned that—”

  Balmer’s pager went off. After checking the display screen, she muttered, “Duty calls,” then turned and hurried off in the opposite direction.

  Tamara glared accusingly at Victor. “I can’t believe you went behind my back and talked to Dr. Balmer.”

  He scowled. “You didn’t leave me any other choice. You refused to see reason—”

  “Reason? Do you honestly think there’s anything reasonable about prescribing an unproven, potentially harmful drug to a seventy-five-year-old woman?”

  “I do.” Victor paused. “And, obviously, so does our supervisor.”

  Tamara’s temper flared. “For Mrs. Gruener’s sake, I hope to hell you’re both right.”

  And with that, she stalked off down the hall.

  Chapter 5

  Over the next three days, Tamara and Victor went to great pains to try to avoid each other. If Tamara entered the on-call room where Victor was napping on the bottom bunk bed, she turned and hurried back out the door. If Victor strode into the cafeteria and saw Tamara seated alone at a table, he acknowledged her presence with a brusque nod and kept walking. They were constantly on the move—examining patients, reviewing charts, dispensing prescriptions, rushing into emergencies to save the sick and dying. Yet they were part of a team, so try as they might, it was impossible for either of them to pretend the other didn’t exist.

  On Friday afternoon, they were summoned to the chief of staff’s office to learn the fate of the research grant they were both vying for. They sat stiffly beside each other as Dr. Dudley informed them that the hos pital’s grant committee had decided to put a freeze on all funding projects pending the outcome of the Matthews lawsuit.

  “I know you’re both disappointed,” Dr. Dudley said at the end of his spiel, “and I wish I had better news to share with you at this time. But, unfortunately, none of us could have foreseen the unsavory circumstances that would befall the hospital.”

  “Of course,” Tamara murmured, injecting an appropriate amount of deference into her voice. “We understand.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Victor said shortly.

  Both Tamara and Dr. Dudley stared at him in surprise.

  “I beg your pardon?” the chief of staff demanded imperiously.

  “With all due respect, sir,” Victor said, leaning forward in his chair as he pinned the older man with a direct gaze. “I don’t understand why funding for the research grant has to be postponed. I mean, I realize that this frivolous lawsuit has everyone shaking in their boots—”

  “Dr. Aguilar—”

  “—but let’s be honest here. This hospital rakes in millions a year in financial donations. We treat senators and media moguls and insanely rich philanthropists. Our mission statement boasts that we’re on the cutting edge of medicine. Dr. St. John and I are each working on important research that could save countless lives and bring even more prestige to this institute. But we can’t do it on a shoestring budget. We need more funding in order to continue our work. But I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that a bunch of bureaucrats fail to grasp that basic concept.”

  “Dr. Aguilar,” the chief of staff blustered indignantly, “you are way out of line! You may not agree with the committee’s decision, but you’ll damn well respect it. Furthermore, you and Dr. St. John are more than welcome to explore other funding sources. There are a number of organizations and societies—”

  “I know.” Victor’s cool, narrow smile reeked of belligerence. “I guess I was just hoping that the hospital would honor its commitment to always put patient care above bureaucracy, which is what we were all promised upon acceptance into the residency program. But I guess some promises aren’t worth keeping around here.”

  Face suffused with outrage, Dr. Dudley jabbed a warning finger at Victor. “Now you listen here—”

  Tamara jumped out of her chair. “Goodness, where has the time gone?” she exclaimed, making an exaggerated show of checking her watch. “I really hate to cut and run, Dr. Dudley, but Victor and I have another meeting to attend, and Dr. Balmer doesn’t tolerate tardiness. So—” she grabbed Victor’s rigid arm and tugged him to his feet “—we’re just going to go and leave you to your work. We know what a busy man you are.”

  “Yes, I am.” Dr. Dudley glared reproachfully at Victor, whose expression had turned downright surly. “You may be a gifted doctor, Aguilar, but you’ve got a hell of a lot to learn about organizational structure.”

  Before Victor could open his mouth to respond, Tamara smoothly interjected, “He’ll take that under advisement,
sir. Thank you.” And with that, she ush ered Victor out of the office, which was about as easy as dragging a wild stallion up a rocky gorge.

  Once they left the outer reception area occupied by Dr. Dudley’s assistant—whose mouth was agape— Victor shook off Tamara’s hold and stalked off down the corridor.

  She marched after him, seething with frustration. Reaching him at the elevator, she burst out incredulously, “Have you lost your damn mind? What the hell’s gotten into you, talking to Dudley like that?”

  “Vete al carajo,” Victor muttered darkly, stabbing the elevator button.

  “What? Did you just tell me to go to hell?”

  “Damn right I did,” he growled, rounding furiously on her. “And let’s get something straight right now. I’m not a damn child who needs to be censored. I meant every word I said to Dudley, so I don’t need you to intervene on my behalf!”

  “Are you serious? You should be thanking me!”

  “Thanking you!” he repeated, his thick brows slamming together over his flashing eyes. “What the hell should I thank you for?”

  “I just saved your ass in there! In case you’ve forgotten, Dr. Dudley is the chief of staff. After the way you just mouthed off to him, he could kick you out of the program!”

  Victor scowled. “Like you give a damn.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” Tamara shot back. “But if you want to torpedo your own career, I’d rather not be a witness to the spectacle!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Victor jeered sarcastically. “Did I offend your conformist sensibilities?”

  “Conformist?” Tamara sputtered in outrage.

  “You heard me. You never push back or rock the boat. You swallow whatever crap they feed you like the good little soldier you are.”

  “Just because—” Tamara was interrupted by a discreet chime that announced the arrival of an elevator. She and Victor stomped inside, squaring off across the confined space as she continued furiously, “Just because I don’t throw temper tantrums when I don’t get my way doesn’t mean I’m a conformist. I’m just as disappointed as you are that neither of us is getting the funds for the research grant, but I’m smart enough to know that antagonizing Dudley isn’t the way to go about—”