BAILEY

To say this weekend was a rollercoaster of emotion is like saying the sun is kind of hot. On Friday, I spilled instruments, delayed surgery, and cried at work. Matt drove me home and told me to grow up. I was 99% sure I was going to quit. On Saturday, I unknowingly attended a wedding with his brother but ended up going home with him and sleeping in his bed. On Sunday, I made out with him hardcore. I was slobbering all over him, making a real fool of myself. My hands were in his hair. My vocal cords were producing the most ridiculous, slutty moans. He probably thought I’d never been kissed before. Now it’s Monday and I’m expected to just walk into the OR like Hey everyone! Everything is hunky dory!

EXCEPT EVERYTHING IS NOT HUNKY DORY.

Can’t a girl have a minute to process these developments? My body has run through fight or flight so many times it’s not quite sure what we’re doing. Staying? Crying? Declaring our love? Fending off his advances? ARE WE IN LOVE OR WAR?

When I press my finger to my pulse, my brain comes back with an error message: too fast to compute.

Even though Matt isn’t technically my boss (the board of NEMC is), he is my superior and a surgeon and slightly intimidating. Getting involved with him sounds like a recipe for disaster. I’ve watched enough Grey’s Anatomy to know I have to handle this situation delicately. I won’t let this turn me into a nervous wreck. There can be no whispers in the halls or steamy sex eyes over the operating table. I will not be gossiped about. If this gets out (and it will) then it’s going to be on my terms.

Which is why I’m sitting outside the HR office on Monday morning. It’s ungodly early. The office is dark, but that’s okay; I’ll be the first person Linda sees when she arrives. She’s the sole human resources officer for the entire hospital. I rarely see her around the building, and when I do, she’s usually flustered, walking at a brisk pace and murmuring angrily under her breath. There’s often a stain on her shirt. I’ve only ever seen her hair look wild and unkempt. With the number of employees this place has, I think she has her hands full. They really ought to hire someone to assist her. I’ll be sure to tell her that when I see her, just so I’m on her good side.

There’s movement to my right and I glance up to see her making her way down the hall. Her head is down, focused on her phone as she approaches.

I jump to my feet and paste on a big, cheesy smile.

“Linda! Hi, good morning.”

She jumps out of her skin then glares up at me. “What? What is it?”

Not exactly a warm welcome, but I don’t let that deter me. “Oh, well, I know it’s early, but I was hoping to get a few minutes of your time to talk about something?”

I’ve never seen someone’s heart break before my eyes.

“You’re serious? It’s Monday. The sun’s not even up.”

Then she shakes her head and brushes past me to unlock her office door. She flips the light on and—wow. I thought Matt’s office was messy, but hers takes the cake. There are files and papers everywhere. Her desk is barely visible.

She plops her purse and her coffee down onto a side table then continues over to a tall filing cabinet in the corner.

“Who does the offense pertain to?”

“Offense? No. Well, the situation is between Dr. Russell and myself.”

“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.’”

Okay, yes—I Googled legalese on my phone.

He continues, “‘Henceforth, Dr. Russell shall refrain from any suggestive smiles or flirting.’” He nods solemnly as if taking it very seriously. “Oh, I see. Henceforth. In that case…”

“Yes, and then it goes on to say—”

“‘The plaintiff, Bailey Jennings, shall refrain from appearing or acting irresistible so as to not tempt Dr. Russell.’”

I’m not sure what plaintiff actually means, but I needed a fancy word there.

“The document came straight from HR,” I explain.

He wipes away his smirk. “Ah yes, it does sound like Linda.”

I throw up my fists as if cursing the gods. “Ugh, if only there were some other way.”

“Bailey.” His voice takes on a serious tone and his eyes are earnest and sincere. Warning bells ring in my head. “You didn’t have to do this. If you don’t want to pursue anything with me then—”

“Good morning, Dr. Russell!” the resident sing-songs behind me. “I have your coffee right here, and don’t worry, I didn’t add any creamer to it this time.”

Yes! What impeccable timing. I could kiss the man. Matt has to put a pin in whatever he was about to tell me. Good—I don’t want to know. I want to pretend he’s just a surgeon and I’m just his assistant, nothing more. In fact, I have work to do.

I make a move to slip out of the room. “See you in the OR!”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I glance back up and watch as Matt scribbles across the signature line of the contract then holds it out for me to take. I step forward and his gaze never wavers. When I try to pry it out of his hand, he doesn’t let go. He indicates for me to lean closer so he can tell me something.

I have no choice. I have to lean down or risk him speaking loudly enough for the resident to hear.

“I don’t regret Sunday and you shouldn’t either.”

HELLO! DOES HE KNOW HOW TO WHISPER?

I force out a hearty, fake laugh and shake my head. “Oh, Dr. Russell, you’re so funny. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have fun on your rounds!”

Then I break out into a nice, brisk jog and I don’t stop until I’m tucked safely inside the employee break room. As soon as I have time, that contract is getting laminated. Twice. If my heart is reacting like this from a few innocuous words, imagine how I’d feel if he tried to kiss me again?!

I get busy with preparing for our surgery, jumping into work with my full attention. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been in an operating room, when really, it’s only been two days. I make sure I prep everything to the best of my ability, and since I have a few minutes to kill before we get started, I review the case again so I absolutely know it by heart. There will be no crying, no spilled instruments, and no reason for Matt to shout at me today.

I half-expect him to continue the little charade from his office when he steps into the operating room later. In fact, I’m shaking with anticipation. I chance a quick peek up into the gallery and there have to be at least forty people shoved in there like sardines, excited to watch their version of Michael Jordan operate today. I hope he doesn’t say anything to me that they might overhear. I take my job seriously and don’t want my abilities in the operating room to be overshadowed by salacious gossip about whether he and I are getting it on—especially considering we aren’t, in fact, getting it on.

At least not yet.

Oh my god STOP THINKING ABOUT GETTING IT ON.

When he pushes through the swinging door, I go perfectly still, though internally, my thoughts are more erratic than ever. YOU HAD YOUR MOUTH ON THAT MAN. YOU MOANED, YOU TUGGED HIS HAIR, YOU—

His eyes sweep across the room and crash straight into me. I catch a hint of mischief behind his gaze, but it’s gone before I really get a good look. He finishes checking in with his staff and I’m left holding up his gown and waiting for him to step toward me.

His mask and headlamp are in place. I can only see a sliver of his face and fortunately, it’s the same for me. I like that I get to hide behind the mask on days like this when my emotions are brewing right at the surface.

“And how about you, Bailey? Is everything set?”

I nod. “Yes.”

Then he addresses the room. “All right then. Our patient today is Hunter Larson. Ten years old. He was diagnosed with adolescent idiopathic scoliosis. He has a curve in his spine we’re going to try to correct with a posterior fusion. I’ll be placing rods and pedical screws from C5 to L4. Does everyone agree?”

His eyes lock with mine. I swallow and then speak up along with everyone else.

“Agreed.”

He nods and steps up to the operating table. “Then let’s get started.”

When I say Dr. Russell is focused during the surgery, I mean it. We don’t talk about a single thing that doesn’t pertain to the patient, an instrument, or medicine. He executes a fusion that could make first-year residents fall to their knees and weep. His every move is meticulous and thoughtful. On top of that, there’s no shouting, no snide comments on his end if I’m not as quick as he thinks I should be. He even stays to help me close so we scrub out at the same time. I swear to God, people stand and slow clap in the gallery as he exits the OR. That’s how good he was.

I’m a little in awe of him, even now. We’re alone, scrubbing out side by side. I feel like I’m standing next to a celebrity. I tell myself to stop stealing glances at his forearms. They’re nothing special. I repeat: NOTHING SPECIAL.

“You did well today,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice has the same effect as a finger running down my spine.

I smile. “Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

I peer at him from beneath my lashes. He’s smirking, but his attention is down on his hands as he rinses them under the faucet. “I’m trying something new: letting my assistants and nurses know I appreciate their hard work.”

My eyes widen. “Color me shocked.”

He finishes, grabs a towel, and rests his hip against the sink so he can assess me while he dries his hands. “Okay, now that we’re done with that, I have a question.”

Oh no.

I scrub extra hard, cheeks flooding with color. “What?”

Where’s that blasted resident now?!

“Did that contract say anything about us being friends?”

My stomach flutters. “Oh, well…yes. That was in addendum two. I—I mean, Linda thinks that would be okay.”

He laughs and shakes his head. I don’t think he knows what to do with me.

“You’re something else, Bailey.”

I nibble on my bottom lip, trying to fight back a smile.

“Just for the record…” I finish washing my hands and he hands me a fresh towel. “I don’t regret Sunday either. It’s just…”

He holds up his hands as if he gets it. “Hey, no need to explain. The contract did a pretty good job of that.” Then he holds out his hand. “Friends?”

I have to accept—any woman in her right mind would accept that outstretched hand—but the moment we touch, my gut clenches. It’s like we’re right back in his car, tearing at each other’s clothes, lost in lust. It feels so intense just to have his palm against mine my knees nearly buckle. I forget he’s waiting for me to speak until the dimple pops beside his mouth. He feels what I’m feeling. He knows there’s no way we’re just friends, which is exactly why he’s proposing the idea in the first place. This is a game to him, just like the contract was a game to me.

His eyes say, I know you want me to kiss you, but I’ll bide my time and play along.

I thought I was taking care of the situation by serving him with those papers. I thought it would give me the buffer I was so desperately seeking, but now I know it’s too little too late.

Dr. Russell wants me, and there’s a pretty good chance he’s going to get me.