Miranda absently hoped that the new guy—the god in pink scrubs—was also a team player. It only took one rotten apple to make a workplace insufferable.
Half an hour into her orientation the swing doors opened and Genevieve Cowan, the director of anaesthetics, entered, chatting to a man in pink scrubs.
A very familiar man in pink scrubs.
Patrick?
Even with his hair hidden by his blue theatre cap, she recognised him instantly. And even if she’d been suddenly blinded her traitorous cells would have whispered his presence to her anyway. Every single oxygen molecule inside Miranda’s lungs seemed to burst in unison and for a moment she struggled to catch her breath.
‘This is Edna,’ Genevieve was saying. ‘I don’t think you’ve met her yet.’
Miranda watched as Patrick extended his hand and shook Edna’s saying, ‘Nice to meet you.’
Patrick was the sex god in pink scrubs? It was all falling into place now. And then a truly horrifying thought fell into place.
He was married?
‘Edna has been here for ever and she knows where every single thing in this place lives. If you need something, she’s the woman for the job.’
Miranda barely heard Genevieve as her gaze flew to Patrick’s left hand. The macaroni bracelet that had adorned his wrist six months ago was gone. But a plain gold band on his ring finger was out and proud.
‘She’s also,’ Genevieve continued, unaware of Miranda’s complete turmoil, ‘the best anaesthetic nurse you’ll ever meet.’
Married.
He was married.
She’d slept with a married man.
Her throat constricted. Nausea threatened.
Edna folded her arms across her ample bosom. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr Cowan.’
And then she laughed her giant honking laugh, yanking Miranda out of her escalating panic just in time to hear her own introduction.
‘And this is Miranda Dean,’ Genevieve said. ‘She’s new to our team here at Benny’s and I believe this is her first day on anaesthetic rotation?’
Miranda looked at the floor, wishing it would swallow her whole, desperate to disappear into thin air. She wanted to go. To run. To run and not stop. To never have to face Patrick and what they’d done.
What she’d done.
Patrick frowned at the familiar name as his gaze swung towards the other occupant of the room, who seemed to be finding the floor utterly fascinating. Miranda Dean?
His Miranda Dean?
The woman he’d thought about every day, dreamed about every night for the last six months?
Surely not?
‘Miranda?’
He watched as the woman slowly raised her head to look at him. Smoky green eyes peered out from a familiar heart-shaped face and he smiled as his body took a walk down memory lane, reacting to her presence on a purely primitive level.
She didn’t smile back.
‘Patrick,’ she acknowledged through stiff lips, every letter sticking in her toast-dry throat.
‘You two know each other?’ Genevieve asked.
Patrick felt his gut tighten at Miranda’s less-than-enthusiastic welcome. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We met at the medical symposium in September.’
‘Excellent.’ Edna beamed. ‘It’s always nice to see a familiar face when you’re new.’
Patrick wasn’t sure Miranda agreed. Why on earth did she look so mortified? He knew what had happened between them had been out of character for her but there was no need to look so guilty about it.
They were both adults, for crying out loud.
‘Listen, Miranda, Patrick, do you mind if I snaffle Edna while I’ve got her?’ Geneveive asked. She turned to Edna. ‘I need to make some changes to tomorrow’s theatre five list.’
Edna nodded. ‘Sure. Come to the office.’ She looked at Miranda. ‘I shouldn’t be too long.’
Neither of them waited for approval from Miranda and Patrick and within seconds they were alone.
Patrick frowned at her as Miranda continued to look at him like he’d given her a particularly nasty disease. ‘I gather you’re not too thrilled to see me?’ he started tentatively.
Miranda snorted, galled at his calmness. ‘You could say that.’
Okay … she was obviously annoyed about something. ‘Look, if you’re worried I’ll … talk about what happened with us, there’s really no need. I don’t kiss and tell.’
Miranda folded her arms across her chest. ‘How very magnanimous of you.’
Patrick’s extremities almost contracted frostbite from the ice in her tone. ‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. Did you expect me to call you?’
That hadn’t been the impression he’d been left with that morning. True, they hadn’t had the talk but there’d been something about their goodbye that had been final.
Sure, in another time and place, if his circumstances had been different, he’d have followed up but they’d both lived in different cities and had had obligations to their families.
He’d been pretty sure she’d known it too.
‘I expected you to not be married!’ she snarled.
For a second or two Patrick was very confused then he looked down at his wedding ring.
Damn it! He was so unused to wearing it he’d forgotten he’d put it back on.
‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head emphatically. ‘No, no, no. This is not what it looks like,’ he hastened to assure her.
Miranda was so angry she could barely see straight. He’d lied to her. To get her into bed. She’d specifically asked him the question and he’d denied it. And like some stupid young affection-starved fool she’d believed him. ‘So you aren’t married?’ she demanded.
Patrick sighed. ‘Well … technically I am, but—’
‘Oh, God,’ Miranda wailed, shutting her eyes, hoping she could block him and what had happened out. It had been the most amazing night of her life and now it had been totally sullied by his lies. ‘I don’t believe this.’
‘Look,’ Patrick said, taking a step towards her as she opened her eyes.
