are queens.”
“No, Bill, you definitely qualify as a king.”
Sam laughed with good humor. “Okay, so is there any word on me yet?”
David Jansen, a cardiac surgeon, leaned back in a metal chair. “Nope. We figure your name is funny enough. Dr. Lovejoy, master of all things lovely and joyful.”
“Or plastic,” Susan made a face.
Sam chuckled. Having grown up with the name, he was used to the teasing—and to the long drawn-out way people had of saying his name, as if they were introducing the star of a porno flick. “Dr. Lovejoy in Loves to Bring Women Joy.”
Bill gestured toward Susan. “She’s Suzie Q.”
“David is Goliath,” Susan shared.
Everyone went around the room quoting another doctor’s nickname. Sam took a long drag from his coffee. “And Hollister? What’s her nickname?”
The room fell silent for a heartbeat.
“You can guess at that one,” Bill said, moving toward the door.
“Have you met her yet?” David asked.
Sam shook his head. “Not officially. But that’ll be fixed in fifteen.”
Susan gave him a level gaze. “Well, given her first name is Layla…”
“And she’s drop-dead gorgeous,” Bill added.
“You can only imagine what we say about her,” David finished.
Sam supported his coffee cup with his other hand. “Fill me in.”
Bill twisted his lips. “Well, there’s ‘Lay-no,’ because she turns every guy in the place down flat. Present company excepted, of course.”
David grinned. “There’s ‘needs-to-get-laid-now.”’
Sam nearly choked on his coffee.
“Then let’s not forget ‘Layl-aye-aye-aye,”’ Bill added. “But of course that was a year or so ago.”
“Oh?”
Susan made a face as she gathered up a chart from the table. “If you believe the gossip mill, she went out with the sleaze down on two, Jim Colton, orthopedic surgeon, for a little while.”
Sam considered that. “Ended badly?”
Susan opened the door. “Never should have begun. Colton’s married,” she told him in a conspiratorial whisper.
The room went quiet as the door closed behind her.
So Lively Layla had gotten burned by a doctor at the Center. That went a long ways toward explaining why she’d earned the later nicknames.
And made him even more intrigued by her.
“I take it none of you actually call her by any of these nicknames?” he asked, topping off his cup.
The five physicians looked at each other, then at him. “No,” Bill said soberly. “We all like the family jewels right where they are, thank you very much.”
Sam was thoughtful. “I’d do well to keep that in mind then, would I?”
He made his way back to his office, the comments moving around in his head. So Layla had a history at the center. Not unusual. Most doctors didn’t have time to shop outside their immediate environs. He absently rubbed his neck. Judging by the little he’d gotten to know her the night before, however, he would have thought her smarter than to get involved with a married man. How long had the relationship lasted? A couple of dates? A month? Longer?
He made a mental note to check into this guy Colton. If he made a habit of preying on fellow physicians, he’d have to call him in for review.
He closed his office door and stood staring at the damn plant again. He’d half hoped the simple change in location would have made it perk right back up. His hopes were dashed. The thing looked even worse than it had five minutes ago.
“Pothos don’t like direct sunlight,” his medical assistant said as she came in from the other door. He glanced at Nancy Pullman, the woman he’d brought over with him from his private practice when he’d taken on the role of staff administrator.
“It’s a plant. All plants like sunlight.”
“Not pothos. It likes bright, diffused light, but not direct sunlight.”
“We’re in L.A. All light is diffused—by pollution.”
She ignored his comment as she arranged files in his in-box, took items out of his out-box, then went through those items, putting half of them back on top of his desk. “You forgot to sign the follow-up release on the Golan woman. And I need you to rewrite your comments on the Fitzpatrick evaluation. I’ve warned you about your chicken scratches. If I can’t read them, no one else can.”
He grinned at her, not about to admit that he often had a hard time making out his own handwriting.
“What, do they teach that in How to Write Like a Doctor 101?” she asked, finally standing in one place long enough for him to get a look at her that didn’t include a blur.
“Yeah, and I aced the course.”
“Of course you did. Your sister says you aced all your courses.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“No. Just, after four years as your assistant I’m still looking for signs that you’re human, that’s all. Now are you going to move that plant, or shall I?”
He held up his hand. “I’ll get it. Heather would never forgive me if she found out you helped me in any way whatsoever with this damn thing.”
“Ah, Heather. That explains it. Another point she’s trying to make, I take it?”
“Yeah. She said she’d wanted to get me a dog, but she thought a plant might be a better bet right now.”
They both stared at the dying plant for a long moment, the comment settling in.
“Yeah, well, anyway.” He put his coffee down on his desk then moved the sorry excuse for a plant from the window to his desk, just out of the sunlight.
Nancy held the documents to her chest. “Your nine o’clock is outside.”
A good ten minutes early, Sam estimated. He liked punctuality in a woman.
Then he remembered that rather than looking forward to this meeting, Layla Hollister was dreading it.
“Well, we don’t want to keep Dr. Hollister waiting now, do we?” He motioned toward Nancy while, at the same time, he signed the documents she indicated. “Send her in.”
Two minutes later Sam forgot all about the conversation
