Arnold Ryan moral code because she wasn’t woman enough to make her fiancé want her more than that woman she’d caught him boinking. Unlike Mitch Tenney, who had said out loud and with great determination and conviction that he did want her.
The memory sent a shiver of lust skidding through her, which was worse than stupid because he’d meant he wanted her to be his relationship coach. And he only said that because he thought she was an inexperienced pushover who would give him credit for the time without making him do any of the work. Because he was too close to the mark for comfort, she’d stubborned up and refused his request. He hadn’t been a happy client when he’d left her office yesterday.
Her father cleared his throat. Loudly. “Samantha? Are you paying attention to me?”
Sam started. “Of course, Dad.”
Arnold Ryan was the hospital’s administrator and chief executive officer. In his late fifties, he was still strikingly handsome, tall and fit, with ice-blue eyes and silver-streaked black hair. The man who’d run out on her mother before Sam was old enough to remember had never been more than a sperm donor. The one sitting behind his desk in the office where he managed the largest hospital corporation in Las Vegas was the only father she’d ever known. She was still trying her best to make him proud of her. That’s why she’d come running on her lunch hour.
“I had to find out from Jax that the two of you are no longer engaged to be married. And haven’t been for several weeks.”
Subtext: once again she’d messed up. It was too much to hope she could avoid this scene. How to put a positive spin on procrastinating. “You’re involved with union negotiations, Dad, and I didn’t want to distract you. I was waiting for the right time.”
“When a decision is bad, there is no right time. He’s an up-and-comer in the hospital corporation. You could do worse. What is the problem, Samantha? Why did you break off the engagement?”
How did she phrase this to avoid telling him that Jax Warner, the man her father had enthusiastically endorsed, was not the man of her dreams? “It was a mutual, amicable decision,” she said.
“That tells me absolutely nothing.” Her father rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers as he nailed her with a look.
She plucked nonexistent lint from her navy blue skirt, then tugged the hem of the matching jacket to smooth the line. Since he’d handpicked the man, there was no way she’d tell him the whole truth. Somehow he would twist it around and make it her fault.
What she needed was a distraction, something positive to take his mind off the broken engagement. “I can tell you that my company snagged the hospital’s employee counseling contract.”
He glanced up and irony mixed with disdain in his expression. “I had nothing to do with that decision.”
“Of course not,” she protested. “That’s not what I was implying. The triumph is all the sweeter because Marshall Management Consultants obtained it entirely on merit.”
“I was against designating any funds for something so frivolous, but the director of human resources felt it was important to salvage employees in a personnel-scarce market.”
“It’s a good decision, Dad. We can help—”
“Oh?” One jet-black eyebrow rose as a sardonic expression suffused his face. “Face it, Samantha. You couldn’t save your engagement. It’s time you got a real job.” He pointed at her. “Or, better yet, do a better job. Be a relationship coach. Apologize for whatever you did to Jax. I’m certain he’ll forgive you and the wedding will be back on.”
Shoots and scores, Sam thought. Sometimes she forgot that lectures were best endured silently. Any attempt at conversation simply tacked on an opportunity for him to make her feel more inadequate. Thirty minutes later, after her father reminded her again of the time he would pick her up for the hospital’s fund-raiser on Saturday at Caesar’s Palace, she left the office.
“There should be an expectation of fidelity in an engagement,” she muttered, marching down the hall in a haze of anger. “What am I, thirteen? He should not quit his day job to be a matchmaker. Dr. Phil couldn’t salvage that jerk—”
“Sam—”
Some part of her brain registered the familiar, deep voice, but a larger part was still focused on her hostility. “How is this my fault? What is this? The Middle Ages—”
“Hey, Sunshine. Who rained on your parade?”
She stopped and turned. Mitch Tenney stood just behind her in the hall, leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms folded over an impressively broad chest. Stubble darkened his jaw in the sexiest possible way and the spark of humor in his eyes enhanced the effect. Not to mention that he certainly knew how to fill out a pair of blue scrubs. How could that be? They were shapeless cotton with a drawstring in the pants—glorified pajamas—but he made them look good. The sight of Mercy Medical’s resident troublemaker sent a jolt through her like she’d never felt from Jax the jerk.
“Mitch. What are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
She smacked her forehead. “Right. The pajamas were a clue.”
“Pajamas?” One corner of his mouth curved up.
“I meant scrubs.” If only the earth would open and swallow her whole.
“What’s your excuse?” he asked. “For being here, I mean.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Okay. But a word to the wise. If you’re not careful, trash-talking in the hall will get you sent to the principal’s office for detention.”
If he was one of the bad boys she’d get to hang out with it would be worth the risk. As opposed to the unacceptable risk of counseling him. Her reaction just now was proof that her female instincts were firing on all cylinders. She was far too attracted, which cancelled out her objectivity, making it impossible for her to work with him.
“Thanks for the advice. See you around.” She started to walk away.
“Wait.”
She sighed and turned back. “What?”
“Have lunch with me.” He cocked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m on my way to the doctors’ dining room.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Have you already eaten?”
She’d eaten crow in her father’s office, but that’s not what he meant. “I’ll grab a bite on the way back to the office.”
“I’m buying,” he offered.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but doctors don’t pay. Hence the name, doctors’ dining room. Free food is a perk. I don’t belong.”
She settled the strap of her purse more securely on her shoulder, wincing at how pathetic that sounded. But he knew nothing about her and had no reason to paint her words with the pity brush.
“I
