Page 51 of Doctor Charmer

Of all the things for her to say.

I nod. It’s not a big deal. I memorize how everyone in the ER takes their coffee. What their favorite stress treat is. How they react when we lose a patient—who needs to vent, who needs to cry, and who wants to be left alone.

“I’m not the enemy.” I repeat the same refrain, hoping she begins to believe me. “I only want to help. To protect you.”

“Three years,” she mutters, and I fear tears are about to spill. “To this day, he gets my coffee order wrong. Forgets my birthday. Meets me in dark parking lots after hours, knowing they freak me out.”

Her voice cracks with the indignities no woman should ever have to go through. Sarah is no different than me. No different than any one of us looking for love. We want to be seen. To be valued. To know someone cares.

“Every March, a box of Krispy Kreme donuts lands on my desk. And every year, I think it’s from him.” She mentions her favorite treat, a nervous throwaway line she tossed in during her job interview with me years ago. One I made note of and never forgot.

“Then I read the card. ‘From your colleagues in the ER—Happy Birthday.’ That was you?” Her voice cracks, and a single tear rolls down her cheek. I don’t answer her; it’s not necessary.

Dr. Harriman’s laughter pulls our attention. This married man less than a quarter mile from the hospital is openly nibbling on another woman’s neck that is not his wife in public. My left hand forms a fist next to me in the booth. I lower my gaze to the tabletop, my hands fiddling with a napkin. “He doesn’t love you. Despite what he’s said.”

I hate that I must state the obvious. But I need her to hear, not just see.

Ivy’s hand lands on his chest, a playful swipe across his much-too-short tie extracting another loud laugh from him. His lecherous eyes are fixated on hers. It lowers. Inch by inch, hisgaze travels down the collarbone of her opened sweater, every inch pushing my blood pressure higher.

It takes everything in me not to walk across the room and punch him. But I don’t. Despite how it looks, Ivy is in control. She always is when she flirts. She knows which buttons to push and how far to go. I may have spent ten thousand hours operating in exam rooms, but she’s put in just as many hours in situations like this, dealing with handsy men since puberty hit. It sucks that this is her reality. The reality of so many women.

What the hell is wrong with my gender?

Ivy’s gaze shoots across the diner, avoiding mine but connecting with Sarah’s. She slips on a plastic smile and tosses her head back as if she’s attending the greatest party known to man. It’s a perfectly placed dagger into Sarah’s chest. A precision cut worthy of a surgeon needing to extract the poisonous, malignant tissues so that the remaining healthy ones may flourish.

“He said he was going to leave his wife,” a dejected Sarah mutters.

“They always do.” I don’t hold back. It will not do her any good.

A single tear rolls down her other eye, forming tear tracks. I let her process. Every patient’s journey is different. I scoot forward into the booth and wait for her reaction. Emotions are unpredictable. It hits in waves. They don’t always make sense. I brace for hers to strike. It could be anything from an overly dramatic overreaction, denial, resignation, misguided anger at Ivy—the list is long and could prove dangerous.

“I gave up so much for him. Lost so much of myself. I feel like a fool. A freaking fool.” She gives me simmering anger. The deadliest of all the reactions. It’s an unpredictable calmness that blankets her intentions. “And he’s going to get away with it. Has already. For years.”

She’s tumbling down into a lonely, dark place. I need to offer her a hand and a flashlight to lead her to a safe exit. “He doesn’t have to.”

She lifts a brow at me and shifts in the booth. Back pinned against the leather, she reaches for the butter knife in front of her, and I’m glad I didn’t order the steak and eggs special, which is served with a very sharp steak knife. “You’ve never been a fan of his. Everyone knows this. Are you using me too? It’s not like your reputation is any better.”

I scoff. “You’ve been here three years. You know better.” I don’t even try to defend myself. This isn’t about me. Never has been.

She pulls out her phone, eyes shooting across the room every few taps. She lays the phone face up on the table in front of her and stares at Dr. Harriman. She must’ve sent him a text.

He stops mid-laugh and reaches into his jacket pocket. He’s still on call with the hospital and must check. I hold my breath, unsure of what she might have sent. Is she warning him it’s a trap?

Even from across the room, I see his eye roll. A dismissive wave of his hand at the phone. He stuffs it back into his pocket and whispers something to Ivy. Her head falls back in laughter.

Sarah’s simmering anger boils over, a curse muttered across her lips, her hand snatching the phone. Her thumb mashes hard, typing out a second message. She drops the phone to the table and shifts in her seat to get a better view of the man she thought loved her back and never did. Then, she waits. Every second, pressure builds in her like steam in a pipe threatening to burst.

He raises a finger at Ivy.One second.His phone is back in his hand, a look of annoyance on his face as he reads the message. Another whisper in Ivy’s direction, and he types a reply. It’s short and quick, and when he’s done, he lifts an arm around theback of the booth and rests his arm on Ivy’s shoulder, pulling her toward him.

My hands fist by my side as she doesn’t resist, sliding closer to him if that is even possible at this point in time. My feet tap, and I soothe myself that we’re moments from this being over.

Sarah curses.

She’s reading his text. “Liar,” she huffs, and I give her my complete attention, pumping my hands in hopes that she lowers her voice. “I told him I just got off work and wanted to know if he wanted to grab dinner and fool around a bit before he’s due back at the hospital at seven.” She shoves the phone across the tabletop, unable to read out loud his response.

Doctor Love: currently performing a physical with a patient. I’m going to need to be thorough and it’s going to take some time. Let’s talk tomorrow.

I ignore the moniker Sarah has for him in her phone and realize the low bar I had set for him isn’t low enough. “Do you want to make him pay?”

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