Heart Like Mine (4 page)

She uncrossed her legs, crossed them again … and his eyes locked on her damn shoes. Was she trying to torture him?

“I understand your confusion, but whether you believe—or I believe—that there's nothing to cut, the fact remains that I need to find a way to make a substantive revision in your expenditures.”

“Or what?”

“What do you mean—or what?”

“You make these—revisions—or what happens?”

She tipped her head. “It would be in your best interest to cooperate.”

“She says, in a dire, made-for-TV voice.”

She looked down at her left foot, and Joshua found himself trying to remember an old body-language article he'd read. Was a perp lying if they looked down and left? Up and right? He couldn't remember.

She took an audible breath, returning her gaze to his face. “It's hospital-wide, if that helps. Your department isn't being individually targeted.”

“I imagine you'll forgive me for saying that doesn't help at all. And any targeting
is
individual.”

“Again, I apologize. It's—just the reality of budgeting.” She put her hands out in front of her like two sides of a scale. “The inflow has to be higher than the outflow, and right now, it's … not.”

“Are those technical financial terms, I assume?”

She shrugged. “This will be easier if you're not—”

“Difficult? Suspicious?” He raised his eyebrows.

“
Combative
was the word that came to mind, actually.” She squared her shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes, her eyebrows raised in challenge.

He stared back for a long moment, then shook his head and blew out a loud breath.
Shit.
“Have you already made a list of proposed cuts?”

Her posture relaxed almost imperceptibly, making him feel guilty again. Then she tapped the pile of folders on her lap.

“I've come up with some initial ideas, yes.”

He sighed, leaning back but not breaking eye contact. “May I see them?”

She opened a folder and took out a sheet of paper, sliding it across the desk toward him. “I've only had time for a brief analysis, so this is just the thirty-thousand-foot view right now. But it'll give you an idea of where I'm looking.”

Josh took the piece of paper and scanned her list. It was all as neat as a pin, with columns for item numbers, current costs, official projections, and cost savings. He skipped to the bottom of the page and felt his eyes go wide as he took in her total savings figure.

“You're kidding.”

She tipped her head again. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“You really think you just found
this
much fluff in my budget?”

“Projected fluff.”

“Right. That's completely different.”

“As I said—”

“I know.” Josh tried to tamp down his irritation. “You're sorry.”

“Actually, I'm not.”

He looked up, hearing a steely fire in her voice that surprised him. Maybe she
wasn't
the demure, sweet woman her outer appearance projected?

“Nothing is final, and I'm asking for your input. Whether you give it to me or not is your decision.”

“But if I don't cooperate, you'll hand in this list as your proposal?”

She shrugged. “I'm not sure I'd have another choice.”

“Really.” He set down the paper, feeling anger rise in his gut. Who was she to come waltzing in here with her tight skirt and barely-there blouse and tell him how she envisioned tightening up his department's budget? How much experience did she even
have
, anyway?

She leaned down to put her folder back in her bag, then straightened up. “I've been given a directive. It's not one I chose. I'd appreciate your cooperation. That's all. If you could look my proposal over and get back to me as soon as possible, I'd be grateful.”

Her voice was back to its soft tone, but it still had a don't-mess-with-me undertone he couldn't help but appreciate.

He sighed. Usually, finance people came in with a well-practiced spiel about hospital health and growth and values and yadda yadda that made his head spin. But the fancy words were just a cover for the fact that they were taking money from a place that really needed it, and putting it somewhere that—at least in his mind—really didn't.

This wasn't any different just because the message was being delivered by someone he might actually consider asking out, were she not trying to pare his department down to below bare bones.

He pushed the piece of paper back toward her. “This list may seem logical from where you sit on the sixth floor … but it's not reality, Ms. Blair. If you cut these items from the budget, this floor will be a disaster.”

He saw her tighten her jaw, but she didn't speak.

“You need to find another department for your fluff exercise.”

“I'm not doing a fluff exer—” She took a breath, and he could tell she was trying to keep her voice level. “Maybe we could just go through the list, item by item, and you can tell me why my ideas will cause a—quote—‘disaster.'”

“Gladly.” He picked up the paper. “Item number one—staffing. You have to be kidding me.”

“Your clinician-to-patient ratio is sky high. You must know that.”

He dropped the paper down to look over it at her. “You do know this is a floor that serves children, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you also know that those ratios
have
to be higher?”

“I know that, too, but our numbers are higher than the national average, so theoretically, there's room to trim.”

He set the paper back down, fighting the urge to boot her pretty little butt out of his office and tell her never to set foot on the pediatric floor again. Instead, he took a deep breath, trying to corral his racing thoughts. If she cut his nursing staff, they truly
would
have a serious problem on their hands.

“Let me ask you this. Do those national averages take into account the demographics of an area? The incidence of chronic illness? The education level of residents? The foster-child population within a fifty-mile radius?”

Delaney paused before she answered, shuffling her papers. “I'll look into that.”

“You haven't already?”

She scribbled on the back of her copy of the list. “I'll do some checking. This is exactly why I need your input.”

“We have a social worker on the floor today. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to point you to this kind of information.”

“Great.” He saw her scan down her paper, stopping her pen near the bottom. “How many hours does she work?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Oh, no, you don't. You will not
touch
social services.”

“I'm just information gathering. And no offense, Dr. Mackenzie, but you don't actually have the authority to tell me what I can and cannot … touch.”

He opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of it. Nothing good would come of him spouting the words circling inside his head right now.

She leaned forward, propping an elbow on her knee, and was it his imagination, or had her top button just come undone? “Shall we move on to item number two?”

He sat back, eyeing her. “Let me ask you this—what happens if you
don't
recommend budget cuts? What if, after thirty days, you conclude that my department is already running on fumes?”

“Twenty-eight, and I don't honestly know at this point.” She tapped on the list. “But I don't want to find out, either. We need to at least try.”

“Let me ask this another way, then. If you
don't
find a way to make—quote—‘substantive' revisions to my budget, what happens to
you
?”

He raised his eyebrows as he watched emotions fly over her face again. Then she deliberately closed her notebook, jaw tight.

“I may lose my job, Dr. Mackenzie.
That's
what happens.”

 

Chapter 4

“You told him you needed to make the cuts or you'd lose your job?” Megan's eyes went golf-ball wide as she cut a croissant and put half of it on Delaney's desk on Friday morning.

Delaney buried her face in her hands. “I know! He was just looking at me with that combination of pissed off and
really
pissed off and I knew he was never going to cooperate and I just—oh, God. I don't know. It was totally unprofessional. I completely lost my composure.”

“Wow. Way to play the sympathy ace at the first meeting.”

“Can I repeat the oh-God part?”

Megan shook her head, biting into her croissant. “So what are you going to do now? Did you give him a deadline to respond to your proposal?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because!” Delaney pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “Between his hands and his chest and his eyes—
God
! Have you seen his eyes?—I got all discombobulated. He is half doctor, half Calvin Klein underwear model! How did I never know this?”

Megan bounced her eyebrows. “Told ya you need to get out of the executive suite once in a while.”

“That man”—she shook her head—“that man took me from professional analyst to mushy teenager with a hottie crush in about four seconds flat. How am I supposed to recover from that? He could probably see me blushing right down to my toes.”

“Men aren't usually that observant.”

“But those eyes.” Delaney swallowed and put her head back, picturing them again. “Pretty sure he observes
everything
.”

Megan laughed. “Wow. I think I'm going to have to insist on coming to take notes at the next meeting. I've never seen a man make you this crazy in one hour flat.”

“I have to go back down there today.”

“Oh, do you, now?” Megan's smile was amused.

“I do. As you pointed out, I didn't give him a deadline.”

“And you couldn't, say, do that via e-mail? A quick phone call? A message through his floor secretary?”

Delaney shook her head. “He pays attention to none of those things. And he'll
especially
not pay attention to them from me. I'm the chick with the budget scissors, remember?”

“Right.” Megan nodded. “You definitely had better get right down there, then.”

“Stop smirking. This isn't funny.” Delaney tipped her head, eyebrows up. “We're
this
close to getting our own Mercy mugs.”

“I know. I get it. It's dead serious. I'm just trying to find the bright side. And Dr. Hottie McHotterson is most
definitely
a bright side.”

*   *   *

Exactly three minutes after Megan headed out to her desk, Kevin McConnell poked his head into Delaney's office. The two of them had been hired five years ago, within months of each other, but their personalities couldn't be more different. Where Delaney was determined to someday sit in the CFO's office due to her diligence and aptitude, Kevin was determined to sail in there on his fraternity-boy connections and killer smile.

So far, she wasn't entirely sure which one of them was pulling ahead in the race.

“Morning, Delaney.”

She didn't look up. “Kevin. You're here early.”
Like, remotely on time
.

“Pool was closed this morning for cleaning. Figured I'd come in a little early so I can sneak out at four for my workout instead.”

“You're not
actually
early.” She looked up. “You're just on time—which is early—for you.”

He grinned, his had-to-be-capped teeth giving off an air of untouchability. She'd be willing to bet that long before he could afford the caps, he'd been practicing that smile.

“Now, now. Not nice to be touchy to people who have a life outside of work.”

Delaney sent him a look that had scorched lesser men, but the layers of aftershave and gel must have somehow repelled it, because he didn't back off.

“Can I help you with something?” She raised her eyebrows, keeping her pen poised over a pile of spreadsheets on her desk.

“I'm gonna need you to run me through those cost projection sheets again this morning. I think there was something wrong with the files you sent. I still can't make the damn things work.”

Oh, no, there wasn't.
She'd handed those files off in pristine condition, though she'd been unbelievably tempted to botch them up just to see if he'd even notice.

“The files were working perfectly when I sent them.” She pointed to her laptop screen. “I'm using one of them right now.”

“Maybe you fixed it after you sent it my way?”

“Not to be disrespectful, Kevin, but if you're going to work in a financial office, at some point you're going to need to embrace the power of the spreadsheet.”

“Maybe I'll borrow Megan for a couple of hours. She can help me if you won't.”

“Sorry, no. You've already borrowed her three times this week. She's busy.”

He put on his best pathetic face—the one that made him look like a cross between a St. Bernard puppy and an injured baby seal—but Delaney was thankfully immune.

“Come on, Delaney. Just walk me through one more time and I promise I will never ask again.”

She looked at him, almost feeling sorry for him for a brief moment. It stunned her that this man-boy who'd yet to grow out of the fraternity-row style of communicating would actually be her primary competition for the CFO position when Gregory retired … if any of them were still employed, that is. Kevin had gotten this far on his capped smile and country-club connections, but seriously. The game had to end at some point. He defined incompetence, tied up in a pretty Ken-doll package.

“How's your budget analysis going, Kev?” Delaney knew he'd been called into Gregory's office directly after her own meeting, but wasn't yet privy to what departments he'd landed for this massive budget-trimming project.