saying I didn’t blend?”
“Not even a little. The nurses were talking.”
“Really?”
Her way of asking what they said. “On a scale of one to ten, they said you’re a fifteen.”
Actually, that was his scale, his assessment. His secret.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged. “Just stating the obvious.”
“No. You’re changing the subject.”
“Trying.” He leaned back in his chair. “Nothing succeeds like the truth. And it worked for a minute there.”
She referred to her notes. “Back on task—”
“Speaking of that. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
When she met his gaze, her expression was wry. “I was planning to eat.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like company?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Very.” She shuffled the papers. “Now, as I was saying. After the trauma—”
She was kind of a pit bull. A pretty one. He was telling the truth about that scale thing. But apparently she wasn’t going to let him distract her. “What about it?”
“First it should be acknowledged that there was a positive outcome.”
“Yeah. The kid’s alive, no thanks to his brother.” Every time he thought about what could have happened he wanted to put his fist through a wall. That kid was a baby and should never have had to go through something like that. No matter how young when it occurred, trauma changed a person. He should know. Trauma was his middle name, and not just because it was his job.
“Life is about as positive as it gets,” he said.
“And it’s thanks to you.”
“And a lot of other people,” he said.
“Absolutely. Thank you for bringing that up. Saving lives is a cooperative effort.”
He’d given her the segue and she ran with it. Really smart girl. This was where she gave him the pitch for harmony equals effectiveness in a group situation. He had news for her.
“Have you ever been in a life-and-death situation, Sam?”
“Everyone struggles with issues—”
“Don’t give me that touchy/feely crap. I’m talking about bleeding out, last breath, heart’s got one beat left kind of trauma. Have you ever seen that?”
“No.” She shifted in her chair.
“Then don’t tell me that ‘please and thank you’ get the job done. It’s messy in the trenches. You study, go through the training until gut instinct takes over and reaction is automatic. After that you keep your head up and focus. Sometimes even all of that’s not enough.”
She swallowed. “You cheat death.”
“Every damn day. Every chance I get.” He couldn’t believe she got it.
“But you’re here to talk about what happens when the trauma’s over,” she reminded him.
“You wait for the next one. You hold your breath for the next person who comes in because of something stupid. The car accident involving multiple vehicles because someone was text messaging. Or changing the radio. Spilled hot coffee—” He stopped, clenching his jaw. “Then the shift is over.”
“I can see there’s a lot of room for discussion. But speaking of over…” She looked at her watch. “Time’s up, doctor—Mitch.”
“It flies when you’re having fun.”
And he had. Mostly. Which was the surprise of the century. In his experience good surprises were few and far between. “So when can we do this again?”
“Stop at the front desk on your way out to make an appointment. Darlyn should be back in the office in a day or so. You can schedule your next meeting with her.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
She leaned forward and folded her hands on her desk. “You don’t have a choice, Mitch. It’s either executive coaching or administrative leave followed by door hitting hiney.”
“So there is a choice.”
“Have it your way.”
“I usually do,” he said.
She looked at him and her eyes widened as if she was on his wavelength. “In the unlikely event you’re implying what I think you are, I need to make my position clear. Now that we’ve talked one on one, I’m absolutely certain that we wouldn’t be a good professional fit.”
He stood and rested a hip on the desk, satisfaction settling in when she leaned backward in the chair. It was a subtle movement, but definitely away from him without actually running for the hills.
“I couldn’t disagree more, Sam. It’s my professional opinion as a doctor, but more importantly as a man, that you and I would be an exceptionally good fit. I think I should have some say in who my coach is.”
“That decision has already been made.”
“Not by me.” He had a pretty good idea what she saw in his face and didn’t care. “You’re the one I want.”
Chapter Two
“What did you do wrong, Samantha?”
Sam fidgeted from one spiked heel to the other as she stood in front of her father’s desk. She’d been summoned to his office at Mercy Medical Center to defend herself. It didn’t matter that she was a grown woman, she felt like that motherless six-year-old again.
“I promise you I did nothing to undermine the relationship, Dad.”
Unless she’d violated some unwritten 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.
