his dark eyes serious above his mask, his voice professional and to the point. In stark contrast to yesterday’s amusing and witty companion. As they’d laughed and walked through Paris, his eyes had been perpetually filled with interest and humor, his mouth curved in a smile, his attention on her as much as it had been on the landmarks she’d shown him.
A very dangerous combination, this Dr. Jack Dunbar. So dangerous she’d thrown caution off the top of the Eiffel Tower. Thank heavens they’d agreed that no more hot, knee-melting kisses or spontaneous sex could be allowed.
Though just thinking about those kisses and their all-too-delicious lovemaking made her mouth water for more.
She gave herself a little mental smack. Date a cardiologist? Been there, done that. Twice. Fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice, shame on me again. Fool me three times? Well, her genius status would clearly be in question.
Then there was the other sticky issue. Obviously, the best-case scenario would be for the device to work fabulously, for the trial to be a success and for it to be further rolled out to other countries and hospitals. After all, in the U.S. alone over one hundred thousand people each year were diagnosed with aortic stenosis, and a solid third of them were high risk who might not do well with traditional open-heart surgery or weren’t candidates at all.
But, from studying this stent and catheter, she worried that it didn’t fully address the significant problem of postoperative valve leakage and subsequent pulmonary edema, which her own design had not solved and was something she was trying to fix in her new prototypes.
“I’m going to establish a central venous line through the right internal jugular,” Jack said as he made an incision in the patient’s neck. “Then insert a temporary balloon-tip pacemaker. Both groin areas of the patient have been prepped, and I’ll next insert an introducer sheath into the femoral artery.”
Avery watched as his steady hands worked. After completing the first steps, he made another incision in the patient’s groin, moving the guide wire inside the artery. “Contrast dye, please, and monitor the heparin drip,” he said as he watched his maneuvering of the wires on the overhead screen. “You’ll see that it’s important to puncture the artery with a high degree of angulation to minimize the distance from the artery to the skin.”
The man was an incredibly skilled interventional cardiologist, that was obvious. She quickly focused on the careful notes she was taking to squash thoughts of the man’s many skills he’d thoroughly demonstrated to her yesterday. Why, oh, why, would she have to be around him every day when the whole reason she’d given in to temptation had been because she’d thought she’d never see him again?
Finally, he finished stitching the access sites and the patient had been moved to Recovery. Jack shook hands with all those in the room congratulating him.
“Thank you, but I’m just one cog in this wheel that will hopefully change valve transplantation forever,” Jack said. “One important cog is right here with us. The designer of the first catheter-inserted replacement valve, Dr. Avery Girard.”
Taken off guard, she felt herself blush as Jack turned, gesturing to her with his hand, then actually began to clap, a big smile on his face, as the others in the room joined him. She’d been keeping a low profile, and most of the hospital had just assumed she was a Crilex representative. Most cardiologists she knew—most definitely both of her old boyfriends—loved to play the big shot and preen at any and all accolades. Neither one of them would have shared the glory unless they had to.
“I appreciate your nice words, Dr. Dunbar,” she said, feeling a silly little glow in her chest, despite herself. “I have every hope that the new design you’ve helped develop will be the one that works. Congratulations on your first procedure going smoothly.”
“Thank you.” His warm eyes met hers, reminding her of the way he’d looked at her yesterday, until the doctors observing converged on him to ask questions and he turned his attention to them.
Avery took off her gown, mask and hat, and caught herself watching Jack speak to everyone. Listening to his deep voice and the earnest enthusiasm there. She wanted to stay, to listen longer, but forced herself to move quietly from the room to go through her notes. Limiting her interactions with him to the bare minimum had to be the goal, and since there was just one surgery scheduled today, there was no reason to hang around.
Satisfied that her notes were all readable, in order and entered correctly into her database, Avery walked toward the hotel, feeling oddly restless. She’d planned to work in her room, but a peculiar sense of aloneness came over her. Since when had that ever happened?
Still, the feeling nagged at her, and she stopped to work for a bit at a little café, which seemed like a more appealing choice. After a few hours she headed to her room and settled into a comfy chair with her laptop. Projects on her computer included ideas on how to fix her previous TAVI design if the one Jack had in trial had significant issues.
That unsettled feeling grew, sinking deep into the pit of her stomach, and she realized why.
If she had to recommend the trial be discontinued, would Jack think it was because she wanted Crilex to develop one of her designs instead? That her concerns would be from self-interest instead of concern for the patients?
She’d been doing freelance work ever since abruptly leaving the company that had funded her first TAVI design. They’d insisted on continuing the trials long after the data had been clear that the leakage problems had to be fixed first, which was why she’d been glad to observe this trial before that happened again.
If only she could talk to Jack about it, so he’d never think any of this was underhanded on her part. But her contract with Crilex stated she was to keep that information completely confidential.
She pressed her lips together and tried to concentrate on work. Worrying about the odd situation didn’t solve anything and, after all, Jack knew she’d designed the original. Wouldn’t he assume she was likely working on improvements to it and observing his with that in mind?
She couldn’t tell Jack the power she had over the trial. But maybe she should tell him she had concerns with the design. To give him that heads-up, at least, and maybe nudge him to look for the same issues she would be as the trial continued.
Avery caught herself staring across the room for long minutes. With a sigh she shut the lid of her laptop and gave up. Clearly, she needed something to clear her head. Fresh air and maybe a visit to somewhere she hadn’t been for a while. A place popped into her head, and she decided it was a sign that it might be just what she needed to get back on track.
A half hour later, jostling with others passengers as she stepped off the metro, she saw the sun was perilously low in the sky. She hadn’t torn out the door in record time to miss seeing the Sacré Coeur at sunset and headed in that direction in a near jog, only to bump into the back of some guy who stepped right in front of her.
“Oh, sorry!” she said, steadying herself.
“No, my fault. I’m trying to figure out how to get to the Sacré Coeur to see it at sunset, and I…”
She froze and looked up as the man turned, knowing that, incredible and ridiculous as it was, the man speaking was none other than Jack Dunbar. Saw his eyes widen with the same surprise and disbelief until he laughed and shook his head. “Why is it that whenever I need a tour guide, the best one in Paris shows up to help me?”
Fate. It was clearly fate, and why did it keep throwing her and Jack together? Should she even
