Expecting the Doctor's Baby (3 page)

“You'd be waiting for a long time.” She sighed.

“You didn't say anything.”

How could she explain this to a man who was so straightforward he said what was on his mind and let the chips fall anywhere? “My father isn't perfect.”

“You can say that again.” He stared at her. “It seems to me you dodged a bullet with the ex and father jerk should be doing the dance of joy instead of calling you on the carpet.”

Her heart did a fluttery, pounding thing in her chest. He barely knew her, yet he was on her side. It was new; it was nice. But Mitch was reacting to what she'd told him in anger. It wasn't the whole truth.

“Arnold Ryan is the only father I've ever known. He adopted me and, after my mother died, he raised me with his own children. I don't know what I'd have done without him. He's my family and he's been good to me.”

“Define
good to you.
Because from where I'm sitting putting down your profession and ordering you to apologize to a cheater who doesn't deserve you doesn't sound like
good
.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds—”

“Way wrong?”

Yes, but she wouldn't admit that. “My father said what he did because he wants what's best for me,” she explained.

“Put-downs, recriminations and bad advice?” Mitch met her gaze. “How's that working for you?”

When he said it like that, not so well. It made her a hypocrite who coached others to confront conflict in a productive way when she couldn't follow the same advice. It made her a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do kind of person.

It made her a doormat. A man like Mitch had no use for a doormat. There was no reason on earth she should care whether or not he had a use for her, but she did.

 

“Mitch? Are you paying attention?”

He looked up from the doodles on his legal pad and found his partners' attention fixed on him. Dr. Jake Andrews and Dr. Cal Westen were his best friends. The three of them had done their residency in trauma medicine at the county hospital in Las Vegas. Rumor had it they were known as the axis of attraction as well as the trifecta of heart trauma.

After completing training, they decided to open the group and contract with Mercy Medical Center to provide trauma specialists for the E.R. In this small office they had a clerical staff for billing and conducted monthly status meetings. This was one of those and his presence had been mandatory, but no one had said anything about paying attention.

“Sorry. My mind was wandering.” He'd been distracted by a pair of brown eyes that were several units low on optimism.

“Listen up.” Six-foot-tall, dark-haired, gray-eyed Jake had taken on the business side of the practice and fell into the role of leader. “You're on the agenda.”

“Oh?”

“Don't play dumb.” Cal folded his arms on the table. His sandy hair and blue eyes gave him a boyish look. It attracted women in droves, the ones who didn't know about or were misguided enough to believe they could change his love-' em-and-leave-'em style. “You got the memo about today's topics. You're on it.”

“Okay. Let's go.”

Cal held up his hand. “This isn't a barroom brawl we're taking into the alley. It's a medical practice.”

“What's your point?” Mitch asked.

“I'll get to it. When it's time.”

“I think it's time now.” Mitch sat up straight and looked across the mahogany table at his partners. This felt a lot like an ambush.

Jake met his gaze for several moments, then finally nodded. “No reason we can't take it out of order. Let's talk about what's going on with you.”

“I'm doing great.”

“I meant the mandated counseling,” Jake clarified.

“About that,” Mitch said. “Can we discuss why you guys threw me under the bus and jumped in bed with that HR guy at the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Cal said. “We can start with why you reprimanded a nurse simply for doing her job.”

“If that were the case,” Mitch said, “I probably wouldn't have said anything.”

“You got on her case for not hanging an IV fast enough,” Cal said. “Her complaint states that the E.R. was nuts and she was following her training to triage doctor's orders.”

“The problem was it never got done and someone who came in for help fell through the cracks,” Mitch defended. “I don't write orders unless they're important and if I write it, I want it done.”

“The incident is under review with the E.R. director and human resources. If she files a grievance with the union, in addition to patient complaints about your abusive attitude, there will be hell to pay.”

“That's part of my specialty,” Mitch said.

He'd shaken hands with the devil more than once. It held no fear for him.

Cal shook his head in exasperation. “That's just one of a laundry list from the hospital staff. Now let's talk about how you told off a doctor.”

Mitch remembered the incident. The guy blew off his patient's symptoms during an office appointment forcing an E.R. visit that made the situation more traumatic than it should have been. “He didn't do his job.”

“It's not your job to make that judgment—especially in front of the patient.” Jake's voice was lower than normal, meaning he was ticked off. “There are numerous ways to handle something like that.”

Sam had said something similar. He liked it better coming from her. “I didn't think it could wait.”

“The bottom line is that you didn't think,” Jake snapped. “This guy is threatening to go to the medical executive committee. If he pushes for a peer review we could be in a world of hurt.”

“If it goes that far I'll get to tell my side. There won't be a problem,” Mitch soothed.

“Look, Mitch,” Cal said, his tone conciliatory, “we just have to do damage control. Your counseling is part of it. You need to be tolerant—”

“Not happening. I never understand losing a patient.” Mitch had seen too much of stupidity, indifference and playing the game. Too much life thrown away. He'd had it up to here with keeping his mouth shut. “I call that a waste.”

“We all feel that way,” Jake said. “But Mercy Medical is expanding. They're getting ready to break ground on a new campus with a level-two trauma center. Our contract is up soon. We need to renegotiate and we're talking a lot of money. This is the worst possible time for an incident. You have to demonstrate a willingness to learn how to play nice with others.”

The only person he'd met that he wanted to play nice with was Sam Ryan, and she'd refused to play at all.

“How's the relationship counseling going?” Cal asked, a little too close to the mark.

“I think it's a waste of time.”

“Good attitude,” Jake said.

Mitch shrugged. “I'm not in to that touchy/feely stuff.”

“Your style is more shoot-from-the-hip,” Jake agreed. “Consider this people skills triage.”

“And what if I don't?” Mitch asked.

Cal's blue eyes were troubled. “We won't let you take down the whole practice.”

“You're going to throw me out?” Mitch said.

“Let's not go there.” Jake held up his hands, gesturing for peace. “Marshall Management Consultants comes highly recommended. You did keep the appointment?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“It's too soon to say.” Mitch leaned back in his chair.

He didn't want to get their hopes up because he was pretty sure no one could help him. He had the history to back up that assessment. He hadn't been a good brother, son, or husband. The opportunity to be a father had been ripped away from him without his say so and he'd never had the chance to try. He was only good at saying what was on his mind and being an E.R. doc.

“But I'll do my time,” he agreed.

“Fair enough.” Cal looked down at the notes in front of him. “Next item on the agenda—”

Mitch half listened to more specifics on expansion and hiring while the rest of his concentration was taken up with Sam Ryan. Doing his time would be more pleasant if he could spend it with her. When she'd said they wouldn't be a good fit, his thoughts had gone to where they were horizontal on the handiest flat surface and fitting together the way God intended a man and woman to fit. Running into her at the hospital earlier today had convinced him that his first impression had been dead on.

She was like sunshine on a cloudy day. When it's cold outside, she's the month of May. If Jake and Cal could hear his thoughts, they'd start humming the tune. But it was true.

In his opinion, her excuse for refusing to work with him was nothing more than spin for the fact that she didn't like him. There was a lot of that going around and he had a file full of grievances to prove it.

Except that didn't hold water considering the way she'd opened up to him about the run-in with her father. Would she have done that if she hated his guts? More to the point, why had he requested her counseling services in the first place?

Because he liked baiting her. He liked how her full mouth compressed when she was annoyed. He liked the way her brown eyes warmed when she was pleased. And he especially liked when she asked him if he'd offended anyone today. The prospect of working with her was more exciting than he would have thought when he'd been forced into it. When life gives you lemons, and all that…

“So Mitch will be representing us at the black-tie fund-raiser for the hospital,” Cal said, interrupting his thoughts.

Mitch heard his name, fund-raiser and black tie—all of which got his attention. “Say again.”

Cal grinned. “We paid twenty-five hundred dollars for the privilege of attending a fund-raising event put on by Mercy Medical Center at Caesar's Palace. You drew the short straw.”

“Since when?” Mitch demanded.

“For one thing, it's your punishment for shooting your mouth off too many times,” Jake answered. “And it's what you get for not paying attention just now.”

That part was all Sam Ryan's fault, he thought. If he'd come up with a strategy to convince her to work with him, the punishment would have been worth it. All he'd gotten was monkey suit duty.

He'd have to bring up the matter the next time he saw her. And there would be a next time.

“S
amantha, you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

The approval in her father's eyes was worth all the trouble and expense. She wanted him to be proud of her, but she was also representing Marshall Management tonight. Projecting an aura of professionalism and confidence required the right dress and she'd blown her budget on this stunner.

The white, one-shouldered, sequined Grecian gown hugged her body in a sophisticated, yet demure way. Silver high-heeled sandals and a small matching clutch bag completed her outfit. After she put highlights in her mousy brown hair, the stylist swept it away from her face and fashioned a bun of curls to the side, behind her ear. Silver eye shadow made her eyes look enormous and subtle body glitter made her exposed skin shimmer.

“You're pretty awesome yourself,” she said, admiring how handsome and distinguished her father looked in his traditional black tuxedo.

He smiled down at her. “I have to meet some people for a drink. You'll be all right on your own?”

“Of course.” She nodded. “I have to network, too.”

“I'll see you later then.”

She watched him disappear into the crowd of people already gathered for cocktails in the reception area outside the room where dinner would be served. Several bars were set up and signs directed guests to a private corner displaying items donated for a silent auction. Sam had contributed three counseling sessions on behalf of Marshall Management.

Darlyn was supposed to be here, too, but was still not feeling well. She'd given Sam a list of contacts to touch base with and directed her to dazzle them with her charm. She wasn't sure about the charm part, but if she could find a particularly magnificent chandelier and stand under it, dazzling wouldn't be a problem.

There would be a lot of hospital management types here. Like her father, they were old school and skeptical about the benefits of corporate counseling. Her company had a foot in the door now, an opportunity to prove their services were money well spent. She spotted one of her must-sees. After snagging a glass of white wine from the tray of a circulating waiter, Sam wove her way through the crowd.

“Amanda Jones,” she said. The tall, black-haired woman turned at the sound of her name. She was in her fifties and was the director of a large staff of physical therapists. Sam held out her hand. “Samantha Ryan.”

The woman smiled. “From Marshall Management.”

Sam nodded. “Darlyn wanted me to make it a point to say hello for her.”

“She's not here?”

“No. Her cold is hanging on and she didn't want to spread the joy.”

“And we're all grateful,” Amanda said. “How long have you been with her?”

“About six months. I'm excited for the opportunity to work with Darlyn.”

“She's very good at what she does. I understand she did some pretty fast talking and convinced the powers that be at Mercy Medical to send problematic employees in for counseling?”

Sam nodded. “I don't have to tell you how costly it is to train someone, then lose them when they're finally productive over something that could be avoided with intervention.”

“Finding and retaining qualified personnel can also make a difference for the patients in an ongoing situation,” Amanda agreed.

Sam took a sip of wine. “The hospital's human resources director was instrumental in securing the contract with Marshall Management.”

And tonight was all about taking the connection out for a spin with the possibility of bringing in future business.

Her job was to put a face with a name and get it out there.

“How's that working out?” Amanda asked.

“I've had several sessions with one of the respiratory therapists who is wonderful with kids, but not so much the adults. She's very receptive to learning techniques to deal with conflict in a less confrontational manner.”

“I see.”

Sam glanced at the doorway and her heart stuttered when she recognized another high-profile and infamous client weaving his way through the crowd. Mitch Tenney was taller than most, so it wasn't difficult to spot him. Avoiding him was another issue entirely.

Part of her job was public relations and this was too public for Mitch to miss her unless she ducked behind a marble column and hid for the rest of the night.

“Amanda, it's been a pleasure talking with you. If you'll excuse me, there's someone over there I need to…” She pointed to a place on the opposite side of the room from where Mitch was standing.

“Thanks for the information, Sam. Good to meet you.”

“You, too.” Sam smiled then slid through the crowd of people.

What the heck was
he
doing here?

But she knew the answer. This was a fund-raiser. The hospital had a mutually beneficial relationship with all the physicians who had privileges there. For all his flaws, her father had a noble goal and had put the pressure on everyone to make this fund-raiser a success. He was determined to build a cancer treatment center at Mercy Medical and dedicate it to the memory of her mother, who had died of the disease. He had loved her very much. It wasn't his fault he couldn't love her daughter.

Sam made her way to the other side of the room but couldn't shake the sensation of awareness. She felt like the princess and the pea—she couldn't see him but she
knew
he was there.

And then it happened. The crowd parted like the Red Sea and he spotted her. It was too much to hope he would simply wave and walk away. That wasn't the Tenney technique. He grinned and headed for her like a magnet to true north. His long legs put him in front of her before the static in her brain cleared.

“Sam, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Hello.” Clever comeback, she thought.

“And just like that, an evening I thought would be boring is anything but.”

Based on what the sight of him in a tuxedo was doing to her insides,
boring
was the last word that came to her mind. The first word would be
sex
and if all his harnessed intensity was aimed at her, she'd be in his bed, no questions asked.

“So what brings you here?” he asked.

“I'm working, actually. Networking. Darlyn was supposed to be here also, but she's still under the weather. So I'm on my own representing the firm.” She was babbling and took a sip of wine to stop herself. “How are you, Mitch?”

“Better now.” His gaze boldly checked her out from head to toe. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” She decided to mimic his bold appraisal and looked him up and down. “You clean up pretty good yourself. Quite a change from the pajamas.”

He glanced down. “Speaking of monkey suits…It's your fault I'm here.”

How did she interpret that comment and respond appropriately? He didn't look annoyed. More like a predator on the prowl.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. At our monthly status meeting my associates drafted me to represent them when I was preoccupied with figuring out how to convince you that we would work well together.”

The glitter in his blue eyes made her heart hammer against the inside of her chest. Suddenly there wasn't enough air in the huge room, which made a witty comeback something of a challenge.

“Oh?”

“I promised myself that I'd bring it up the next time I saw you, but never expected I'd have the pleasure so soon.” He took her elbow and steered her to the bar, where he ordered a Jack Daniel's on the rocks.

For someone who relied on talking to put food on the table and a roof over her head, being around Mitch was an incredibly humbling experience. Which was a good portion of the reason she could never work with him. She emptied her wineglass and set it on the bar.

“So, you don't like dressing up?” she said, watching him take his drink, then slip five dollars into the bartender's tip glass.

“I'm much more comfortable in my pajamas,” he answered, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Warmth crept into her cheeks. As far as his attire went, the pajamas were a good look. But in black tie and jacket he was a tall, dark, handsome fantasy come to life. How could she not fantasize about being in his arms with his lips pressed to hers?

Good grief. She needed to get away. “It's nice to see you again. But if you'll excuse me, I'm going over there to check out the silent auction items.”

“Great idea,” he said, falling into step beside her.

The man couldn't take a hint if she pressed it into his hand. He was the perverse type who would stick like glue if she asked him to get lost. She simply turned away and felt his gaze on her as he followed.

They browsed the items on display—jewelry, paintings, pricey glass art, spa packages—and stopped by the large sign that read Marshall Management Consultants. After reading the fine print, he set his drink down and filled out a bid, then stuck it in the box.

“Wouldn't you rather have a picture or a weekend spa getaway?” she asked.

He drained the contents of his glass and the ice clinked when he lowered it. “No.”

She folded her arms over her chest and blushed when the movement drew his gaze there. He made no effort to hide his positive reaction.

“Since when did you change your mind about what I do?”

“Since a very wise woman pointed out to me that if I don't, my ass could be grass and in jeopardy of getting hit by the door on my way out.”

“You're already getting counseling sessions,” she reminded him. “Why would you voluntarily buy more?”

“Let's just say that I always get what I want.”

Sam didn't miss the expression in his eyes, the intensity snapping there. She got that familiar, fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach because the look clearly said he wanted
her
. And not for counseling.

She had a feeling what he wanted didn't actually involve talking.

 

Mitch leaned back and slid his left arm across the back of Sam's chair, noting that his fingers literally itched from the urge to touch her shoulder and explore the shimmery, sexy, mysterious softness of her skin. He took a steadying breath and glanced around the ballroom, lights dimmed for dinner. Flower arrangements in fall colors of orange, gold and brown decorated the tables, garnished with small pumpkins as a salute to Halloween coming in a few weeks. Candles glowed from the center of the array and the flame only made his dinner companion look more captivating.

He leaned closer and said, “I told you to stick with me. Is this a good place, or what?”

“Technically I'm not with you,” she said pleasantly. “My father gave me a ride. And you crashed this table.”

“A gentleman wouldn't abandon a lady whose date is home sick. Especially a lady who looks so beautiful.”

“Oh, please—”

He touched a finger to her lips, stopping the words, but kicking her pulse into a flutter. If he hadn't been focused on the fascinating place where clavicle and neck collided, he might have missed it. Tapping gently, he said, “Don't say anything you'll regret.”

“I'd just like to say that if you insinuated yourself next to me in order to continue your campaign to change counselors, you're wasting your breath.”

“The seat was open,” he said, feigning self-righteous indignation. “I only wanted to keep you company.”

“And I was looking at this as an opportunity to meet strangers.”

“Problems become opportunities when the right people join together,” he said, quoting the words on her wall.

“Exactly,” she agreed.

“How about for tonight we call a truce? You won't ask if I've been playing well with others and I won't hit you up to be my coach.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

She looked at it, hesitating.

“What?” he asked, meeting her gaze.

“I'm just trying to find the asterisk in that statement.”

He frowned. “I'm sorry?”

“You know, the asterisk. Have you ever noticed that everything has an asterisk—an exception to the rule? Fine print. Excluded under the warranty. Discount applies only when a pregnant ape swings across the freeway at exactly 12:01. Life is an asterisk and one always needs to tread carefully lest they rear up and bite one in the backside.”

“I'm shocked and appalled,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Who knew the poster girl for optimism, voted most likely to be positive, bright and cheery, had such a cynical side.”

“Go figure.”

Her shrug did amazing things to the bare shoulder that was driving him completely nuts.

“All I'm saying is that we agree not to talk shop,” he clarified.

“Okay.”