Chapter 7

Ophelia's POV

I was almost late, my coffee lid wasn't on properly, and Lisa chose that exact moment to grab my arm.

“He's here.”

Coffee splashed through the drinking hole and onto my thumb.

“Ow. Who?”

“The new department head.”

I stopped outside neurosurgery and shifted the folders under my other arm so I could press the lid down.

“Right. Today.”

“You forgot?”

“I've had a few things on my mind.”

Her expression softened briefly. She glanced at me, checking, and I gave a small shake of my head. Not here.

“Well,” she said, falling into step beside me, “apparently he's worth remembering.”

I took a cautious sip. At least the coffee was good.

I'd left Ivy explaining to James that she needed the green marker to make another picture for her great-grandmother. She'd been perfectly happy. I'd still checked my phone twice on the way in.

Now I wanted to put my things down, get through handoff, and have a day that involved something other than Finnegan Shaw.

“He's from the East Coast,” Lisa continued. “Supposed to be an incredible surgeon. Jenny's already calling him McDreamy, McSteamy, and McRich.”

“All three? That's a lot to put on a name badge.”

“Please don't encourage her.”

“Too late,” Jenny said behind us.

She caught up with a folder tucked against her chest and an expression that suggested she'd been waiting all morning for someone to ask.

“Tell me you haven't been calling him that in front of patients,” I said.

“Of course not. Break room only.”

Lisa looked at her.

“And the on-call room,” Jenny conceded. “Possibly the supply closet.”

“Very discreet.”

“I try.” She leaned closer. “You know he owns five private hospitals in L.A.?”

“Does he have time to work in this one?”

“Apparently his family controls something like eighty percent of the medical investment in the city.”

“According to whom?”

“People.”

“Excellent source.”

She waved that away. “And he's engaged to Emily Peterson.”

I stopped worrying about the coffee lid.

Emily Peterson. The board chairman's daughter.

I'd heard her name often enough around the hospital. It usually came attached to an invitation, a donation, or someone explaining why a particular person needed to be kept happy.

“Busy man,” I said.

“You could sound a little interested.”

“I'm interested in whether he's good to work with.”

“Oh, come on.”

“The hospitals and the fiancée don't tell me much about what he's like in an operating room.”

“He's supposed to be amazing,” Rachel said, joining us near the entrance. “They call him a miracle worker. Apparently he hasn't lost a patient in three years.”

I looked at her.

“That's a fairly large claim.”

“I'm just telling you what I heard.”

“I'd like to know what cases he's taking before I start asking for miracles.”

“God, you're hard to impress,” Jenny said.

“I haven't finished my coffee.”

I was about to move on when a voice came from behind us.

“Talking about Emily's fiancé?”

Kate Peterson approached with a smile. Jenny's shoulders went up beside me.

Kate was Emily's cousin. She rarely let anyone forget it.

“We were talking about the new department head,” Lisa said.

“Same person.” Kate looked from one of us to the next. “I hear he'll be choosing a resident to work closely with him.”

“Good for whoever gets it,” I said.

“Oh, I agree.” She smiled at Jenny. “Though I wouldn't get your hopes up.”

Jenny let out a short laugh.

“Wouldn't dream of it. Clearly the selection process is already underway at your family dinners.”

“Don't be bitter.”

“I'm not. I'd just hate to waste time applying for a job you've already given yourself.”

Lisa touched my elbow. I knew that touch. She was asking whether I thought we ought to leave before this got worse.

We probably should have.

Kate looked Jenny over.

“There are plenty of other jobs. You could always try a little clinic in the suburbs.”

Jenny took a step forward.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Unless it struck a nerve.”

“Okay,” I said, stepping between them. “We're blocking the entrance.”

“I wasn't talking to you, Ophelia.”

“I noticed. Everyone else can hear you too.”

A nurse coming down the hall glanced at us. Jenny saw her and pressed her lips together.

“Let's go,” I told her. “You can finish telling me about his real estate empire later.”

Kate opened her mouth, but my pager sounded before she could speak.

I checked it.

A highway pileup. Multiple patients coming into the emergency department.

The conversation stopped being interesting immediately.

“Trauma coming in,” I said. “We need to move.”

I set my unfinished coffee aside and headed toward the ER. Lisa came with me. Behind us, I heard the others following.

For the next several hours, I had very little time to think about our new boss.

There were patients to assess, scans to review, calls to return. I moved between the emergency department and upstairs, trying to keep track of which person was waiting for what. Every time I thought I had a moment to catch up on my notes, someone needed an answer.

During one brief pause, I found a message from James.

Dropped her off. Green marker located.

I sent back a thank-you, confirmed he was still picking her up, and put my phone away when someone called my name.

Work helped. It gave me somewhere to put my attention. A question had an answer, or it needed a consultation, or there was something I could go and check. No one expected me to explain why I'd walked into the wrong hotel room.

By evening, my shoulders ached and I'd eaten about half the lunch I'd brought.

I finished the last of my immediate work and headed for the elevators with folders I needed to return to the residents' room on the floor below. After that, I could collect my things and leave.

There was lasagna in my refrigerator. I tried to remember whether I'd left enough for both Ivy and me, then remembered she'd already negotiated the corner piece before it went into the fridge.

James had offered to stay until I got home. I could warm up dinner, sit beside Ivy while she told me about school, and shower after she went to bed.

That was as far ahead as I wanted to plan.

I pressed the elevator button.

When the doors opened, I was still thinking about dinner.

Then I looked up.

Finnegan Shaw stood inside.

I stopped with one foot half a step in front of the other. My lips parted, but nothing came out.

His gaze lifted to my face. For a second, his expression went still. His eyes moved over me, then dropped to the folders I'd drawn against my chest.

When he looked up again, one corner of his mouth had lifted.

He was wearing a dark suit, his shirt neatly pressed, looking nothing like the man I'd woken up without. I could still remember his face in the dim bedroom. Seeing it here, under the hospital lights, made it difficult to keep looking at him.

I tried anyway. I closed my mouth and straightened, feeling the heat rise into my cheeks.

His gaze stayed on mine. Whatever surprise I'd caught in his face was gone; the small smile remained, and I couldn't tell whether it was meant to reassure me or make this worse.

I hadn't expected to see him again at all. Certainly not here, at the end of a shift, when I was thinking about leftovers and my daughter's school day.

Then I remembered the conversation that morning.

The East Coast. Neurosurgery. The hospitals.

Emily Peterson.

I looked at him again, hoping I'd somehow misunderstood every part of it. I tried for a polite smile; it barely held before I felt it falter.

He was the new department head.

Which meant he would be here tomorrow. And the day after that. In meetings I attended, in the department where I worked, attached to decisions that mattered to me.

I had no idea how much he'd known about that when he left the suite.

The elevator doors began to close. He put a hand out to stop them, his eyes still on me.

“Dr. Clarke.” His gaze flicked to my name badge, then returned to my face. A slight smile curved his mouth as he moved aside, leaving room for me beside him. “Going down?”