by Lyz Kelley
With the news, the doctor didn’t move. If not for the fact his eyes turned a shade more cautious, she wouldn’t have known he’d heard Dr. Cowell.
A moment later, he slid his tall body into the nearest leather chair. He didn’t look at Dr. Cowell’s smudged glasses or Liam’s intrigued stare. He only looked at her, his thumb pounding the table in a rapid machine-gun motion.
The tension wasn’t good, especially because the success of the robotic program hinged on this guy’s skills. She breathed out the pride rattling the walls of her chest. “You were right in asking me to leave, Dr. Branston. I didn’t have proper identification. But had you taken the time to listen or allowed me to explain, we might have resolved the situation more amicably. Round-the-clock, trained volunteers are on call to assist this hospital. A hospital this size cannot exist without the support of the community. Every one of those persons deserves your respect.”
Dr. Branston didn’t move, but she got the impression he was sharpening his scalpels. “I get that. And, I admit the situation wasn’t handled diplomatically. It’s no excuse, but I had been on shift for over thirty-hours. I wanted to check on the baby, and then get home. I didn’t expect anyone to be there.” He laid his hand flat on the table stretching his fingers wide. “I only want what’s best for her. That’s why I scheduled this meeting with Dr. Cowell. She needs heart surgery and my contract indicates a state-of-the-art operating room should have been available upon my arrival. The last time I checked there was still construction plastic hanging across the door of my operating suite. I need the proper tools to do my job.” He looked toward Dr. Cowell. “Is there a new, firm date for when the room will be open for surgery?”
“Soon,” Liam said.
Branston leaned in. “Soon isn’t good enough,” Dr. Branston emphasized each word with precision. “I need to know when I can schedule surgery.”
“One of the Carver project managers is handling this effort. I’d be happy to have him schedule a meeting to provide you with a full update.”
Dr. Cowell considered the doctor. “I’m not sure what happened between you and Ms. Carver, but I have received another complaint from the nursing staff. Something about another procedure change request.”
Branston’s hand closed into a grapefruit-sized fist. “The nurses lack training. I was brought here to make this unit the best in the world. To do that, I need highly trained professionals,” he responded through semi-clenched teeth.
“Your probationary review is in less than thirty days. You need those nurses on your side if you’re going to make this unit work.” Dr. Cowell’s statement grabbed Dr. Branston’s attention.
“The operating room is designed to be a state-of-the art showcase with you at its core.” McKenzie added. “A lot of money has already been invested.” She waited until Branston’s gaze turned her way. “I’ve worked too hard to let this project fail because of a personnel issue.”
“Wait just a minute—”
Dr. Branston’s outburst stopped when Dr. Cowell placed a hand on the surgeon’s forearm. A glimmer of an idea waltzed across Dr. Cowell’s face. The way his eyes turned to her, the way his lips took on a conspiratorial curve, the way he leaned forward with intense purpose, caused her to put shields of steel in place. “McKenzie, if you want this project to succeed, I suggest you partner with Dr. Branston,” Dr. Cowell’s fingertips pressed together at chest level. “Help smooth things with the nursing staff.”
“I don’t need—” Branston began.
“—Absolutely not.” She looked back and forth between the two men like a spectator tracking a tennis match, her anxiety deepening.
Branston’s energy shifted, sending a turbulent vibe throughout the room.
Dr. Cowell removed his glasses and a cleaning cloth from his monogrammed coat pocket. He rubbed the glass surface methodically, deliberately, to control the conversation and her. “There aren’t many talented robotic surgeons out there, McKenzie. We brought Dr. Branston here from L.A. because those hands work miracles. He’s demonstrated that ten-times over.”
“He hasn’t been here long enough to influence the nurses, or be socialized,” McKenzie dismissed the idea. “There isn’t time to reverse his hard-ass reputation in less than thirty days.”
She glared at Branston to dispute her accusation.
“You have influence though. Pretending to be engaged might work.” Liam chimed in holding up his hand to indicate he wasn’t finished. “Think about it. If you and the good doctor pretend to be engaged, everyone in the hospital will hear about it, and they will instantly take a second look at the good doctor.” Liam doodled a square on his notepad, going over each line.
“What? No.” McKenzie’s exasperation doubled.
“It’s a good idea, Mac.” Liam’s strokes grew bolder and more emphasized. “Your job as a marketing specialist is to make people and companies look good. You raised millions for this project. People already know you and by extension will get to know Branston.”
“I agree.” Dr. Cowell added.
“Engaged? Now wait just a minute.” McKenzie almost shouted. She looked to Branston but he remained quiet. The heat from his anger could have burned a hole in the carpet.
“Together you would make a powerful pair.” Dr. Cowell continued to push.
“Influential.” Liam’s buttery-sweet statement made her want to glue a Post-It to his forehead with the word jerk written in bold, black letters. “Think about it, Mac. You need a date for the ball, and he needs an in with Dad. When I told Dad about the additional complaints yesterday, he told me to find a replacement surgeon.”
Branston’s jaw muscles pulsed. “You cancel my contract and you’ll owe me three years salary.” His massive size expanded without ever moving a muscle. His expression went blank with the exception of his eyes, which had gone pissed-off dark.
She tossed her pen on her organizer pad full of notes, appointments, and a to-do list. “Let’s all take a step back.” She took in a lungful of fresh air. “I’m not sure Dad’s going to buy this engagement thing.”
“He would if Dr. Cowell and I supported the match.” Liam’s smug expression made her want to reach for a disinfectant wipe.
Dr. Cowell peered at her over the rim of his bifocals, giving her a look that crushed her defenses. When she was three, he’d stitched her forehead after she fell headfirst into the coffee table. When she was five, he’d administered her kindergarten shots. When she was fourteen, he held her hand after she had her tonsils out.
“You’re not fighting fair. If you weren’t my godfather, you wouldn’t get away with this.” She scowled at both men. “I can’t say no to either of you.” She reached for an abandoned paper clip to contort and twist, giving her fidgety fingers something to do besides wringing their necks. “Okay, I’ll agree to this, only if Dr. Branston is willing.”
“What choice do I have?” He said with a tight jaw. “My job is to protect these children.”
“That’s everyone’s job.” She held up her hands against his objection. “I can smooth things with the nursing staff, up your profile with the hospital board, and make sure my dad changes his mind, but I need you to stop suggesting policy changes, at least in the short-term. When the charity ball and probationary period has ended we’ll come up with some reason we can part amicably. Liam breaks engagements all the time. Maybe he can come up with some plausible excuse.”
The atmosphere grew as thick and uncomfortable as New York in July. The room was so quiet the sound of a fly crashing against the window caused a distraction.
“I’ll help when the time is needed.” Liam jotted a few notes in his folio, shoved the pad into his briefcase, and stood. Her brother’s polite political mask, an expression she knew well, was locked in place. “Dr. Branston, I’ll have the project manager contact you shortly. Mac, let me know how you want to break the news to the family.” He turned to Dr. Cowell, and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.”
“I’ll
walk you out.” She stood and reached for her purse.
While she walked in step beside her brother down the corridor, “What the hell was that?”
“You tell me. Branston’s got you riled,” Liam said, breaking into her agitated contemplations.
“So?”
“Since when do men get you worked up? You like him.”
By him, she assumed her brother meant the blockhead with an ego bigger than Chinatown. “You saw him in there. He has a personality of a stone.”
Liam shifted his briefcase to the opposite hand. “Why don’t you ask him to lunch?”
Why do men always think food or alcohol or sex would solve the world’s problems? “My stomach’s already upset.”
He laughed and leaned in to kiss her forehead before glancing over her shoulder. “Here’s your opportunity. Go get ’em, Bug.”
“You need to stop calling me that. I don’t rip legs off spiders anymore. That’s mean.”
The elevator opened and only Liam stepped in. His mouth curved into his smug, younger-brother smiles. “Yah, but you still want to eye the good doctor with a magnifying glass, get up close and personal, now don’t you?”
No I don’t. The elevator door slid closed. Jerk. Brothers can be so irritating.
She turned and peered down the hall. Branston’s short, spiky brown hair, NFL-linebacker shoulders and neck, and long, sure steps screamed danger. Not the run-and-hide kind of danger, more the head-spinning type. For years she’d lived in a man’s world, comfortable being the only female in the conference room. She’d learned to play hard, outwitting most of the competition. With this guy, she’d be extra careful. His actions were stealthy, yet no less lethal.
“Would you care to join me for lunch so we can get started?” she asked.
Guarded, possibly confused, chocolate-brown eyes stared back. “Get started?”
“If we’re going to make this engagement thing work, we need at least to pretend knowing a little about each other. That means getting time on your calendar. I thought we’d tempt fate by eating in the cafeteria and discussing availability.”
“You might get food poisoning.”
Her unexpected laugh slipped through the tension. “You have a point.”
His responding smile made something in her abdomen twist, a feeling that was a millimeter from pleasure, yet wholly unsettling. She reached for the elevator button at the same time he did, bumping shoulders. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t step back. He didn’t move, only remained standing close, breathing her air, forcing her to draw in his spicy, all-male scent.
When the door opened, she bolted to the far corner. Her heart ran a mile in two seconds flat. He followed casually, moving to the opposite side, pressing the floor button before crossing his muscular arms. The air in the elevator compressed, overpowering her ability to assess her response. She’d expected to feel fear or anger or resentment, but not fascination.
Dr. Branston rocked back on the heels of his running shoes. “After you left the other night, I—”
“After you told me to take a hike for forgetting my badge,” she corrected, and then winced. “But that’s not the issue.”
“Actually, it is. In LA, a baby disappeared from the nursery this past year—the result of people not following procedures. That won’t happen here. I won’t let it.” His words oozed with irritation. “Those babies are my responsibility.”
“Those babies are everyone’s responsibility.”
The elevator doors opened, interrupting growing irritation. He held the door open while she launched from the metal cage. The rapid-fire click of her heels echoed in the white-walled corridor. She slowed hearing the frantic pace of her footsteps and allowed him to catch up. His spicy, masculine smell registered again before he reached her side.
“Dr. Branston, it’s apparent you want trained personnel to work with the special-needs infants, but you should understand the processes here before making changes.” She met his scrutiny. “Let me help. I’ll make you look good. Before this is over the nurses will help you make any policy change you want. But you have to work with me.”
“Yes, boss. Message received loud and clear.”
“My name’s McKenzie.”
“Boss seems more appropriate since you’re the one funding this project.” His chiseled jaw line again reminded her he was like a stone. Immovable. How was this ever going to work?
She hugged her organizer to her chest, feeling the way she had back in junior high when she stood in her father’s study attempting to convince him she’d pass her next biology test. “Will you accept my help or not?”
His hands dropped to his sides and the muscles in his jaw loosened. “I’ll admit it takes time to earn respect from others and I just don’t have the luxury of time,” he said, aiming at an acceptance but missing by a mile or two. “I need that robot operational.”
“We need that robot operational,” she managed in a steady, neutral voice. “We—the board, this hospital, my family—we all have a vested interest in making sure you’re successful.”
The muscles in the doctor’s face twitched like a cat’s whiskers. “I graduated in the top ten percent of my class. My medical observations are internationally published. People from out-of-state travel to see me because they believe I can solve their children’s cardiology problems. Yet, Ms. Carver, in your eyes, I’m not a success.”
Crap, that wasn’t what she meant. “Dr. Branston, your credentials are solid, but this is a new hospital, in a different city, with a challenging culture. Your talents will open some doors, and your intense style may close others. It’s my job to help keep those doors open. I was born at this hospital. It’s become like my second home. My grandfather built the pediatric wing, and my father is expanding it. We treat thousands of children each year with funds from the Carver Trust. Helping innocent, sick, and abandoned children is important.”
Unemotional, unmoving, he stood in front of her like a monolith. She would have ruled him as uncaring if it weren’t for the tick in his jaw. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded. “Then maybe we have something in common.”
She opened her organizer to the current calendar page. “Tell you what. Tomorrow I’ll drop off my bio along with some personal information, plus I’ll review your file again to get up to speed. I’ll find a suitable engagement ring to wear. In the meantime, if you can lose the scowl on your face, it might help.”
Dr. Branston shifted his weight to peer at her calendar. “Are you always this organized?”
His breath landed on her chest and McKenzie’s mind stopped in mid-thought. Fear from her past choked the air in her lungs. She shuffled back, memories from the past taking over.
His pager sounded. He studied her before sweeping aside the white lab coat at his hip. His eyes again met hers. “Afraid this conversation has to wait.”
“We need to work together on this.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
He closed his eyes as if trying to find his zen, and then his eyelids lifted, and he focused on her. “Not always, Boss. Not always.”
As he left her at a brisk pace, heading down the hall, his white coat swayed from the current of air.
What had she gotten herself into this time?
Chapter 3
McKenzie checked her watch for the third time in four minutes. Where is he? Their first appointment was in three minutes. She turned back to Beth, trying to remember what they’d been talking about.
Beth rolled her eyes and pointed over her shoulder. The doctor was texting on his phone and walking toward the exit.
“Branston?” She called. “Over here.”
He stopped mid-stride and pivoted almost running into an elderly couple. Maneuvering around the pair, he headed toward the nurses information desk.
“Hey there.” McKenzie subdued her growing irritation. She couldn’t let anyone see she was less than pleased. She wanted to pummel him, but instead fo
rced a loving smile toward her newly acquired fiancé.
Khaki pants. Leather loafers. Untucked shirt. What was he thinking? She made a metal note to take him shopping. His casualness wouldn’t impress the other physician influencers—doctors who could make or break his career.
“I’m sorry. Today’s appointments will have to wait. I have a patient I need to check on.”
The shift nurse on the other side of the counter covered her face with a file so her features wouldn’t broadcast “BS.”
Beth didn’t bother hiding her scoff. She held a crisp sheet of paper inches below his nose. “Dr. Cowell asked me to schedule these meet-and-greets. It’s taken me three weeks to pull these meetings together. I traded in a lot of favors to get these appointments and calendars coordinated. If a patient needs to be looked at why don’t you send an on-call nurse or intern, or have you decided they aren’t qualified to check on patients?”
Dr. Branston didn’t reach for the list of meetings scheduled with top-notch individuals who could help his career. He didn’t even bother glancing at the page.
He scribbled his name on the physician’s status sheet and then pointed at the agenda. “I’m sorry. Really, I am,” he said, but lacking the sincerity needed to make anyone believe him. “I need to see this patient.” He adjusted the tattered backpack on his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”
“Dr. Branston?” McKenzie called ever so sweetly to hide her failure to exude even a hint of a heartfelt apology. “Beth prepared the new rocker schedule that you wanted to see. Would you like to take it with you?” She slipped an envelope from her portfolio.
McKenzie knew her friend well enough to know nothing irked Beth more than when doctors requested a report, and then ignored the information. No thank you, no action, no decision made—just nothing. She wanted to help salve the sting of him cancelling at the last minute.
“Rockers. Right. Good point.” He accepted the envelope, and then glanced toward the ground thinking. “Ms. Carver, if you come with me, we can discuss those personal things you wanted to chat about as well.”