Page 30 of Doctor Charmer

She and Griffin have been talking about Reggie and me; she’s told me as such. They’re watching what I’m doing tonight. I square my shoulders as she turns, holding up three tubes of mascara and a fistful of lipstick choices.

I show her bravery. I’ll show them all.

Chapter Sixteen

Reggie

The doors to the Eastport Conference Center push open, and my head twists toward it like a modern-day Pavlovian dog.

“Who is she?”

I lift the cocktail to my lips but don’t take a sip as I turn to catch the remnant of a smirk falling from Dr. Patel’s face. He hides his laughter behind his seven and seven but not the humor in his eyes.

“What?” I deflect.

“Every time the door swings open, you turn. All the hospital administrators who matter are already in the room. So, I ask again, who is she?” Dr. Patel is an oncology specialist and longtime colleague.

“What makes you think it’s a woman?”

He tilts his head with anare you kidding me?glare. “If I look up the wordheartbreakerin the dictionary it would have your picture staring back at me.”

I chuckle. “The only hearts I’m breaking are clogged arteries.” I slip back into the role they expect—the charmer, the jokester,the man who hosts monthly happy hours and can put a smile on their faces, no matter how long the shift. It’s a costume I’ve worn for so many years that it’s like a second skin.

As much as I tell myself not to react, the sound of the doors opening causes me to turn again. I bite my tongue to hide the disappointment when another person not named Ivy enters. I glance down at my watch. It’s nearly nine thirty. The hospital mixer has been going for over ninety minutes.

Ivy said she’d meet me here. She wanted to check on Griffin and Chelsea, and visiting hours ended at eight o’clock. I told her I’d wait and come with her, but she insisted she wouldn’t be long. Insisted she’d save time by bringing a change of clothes from her hotel room back with her when she came for visiting hours.

The conference center is on the thirtieth floor of the hospital, a two-minute commute. At most. Where could she be?

“What are you two up to?” I turn and steel my face from reacting. Nurse Chin from the Ortho floor. “Dr. Patel, where is your lovely wife?”

“Divya.” He nods and smiles. “The missus was here earlier, made a brief appearance. We are flying out to the Caymans tomorrow for the New Year. You missed her.”

“I see. Yet, you are still here?” She dangles the question, the implication not so subtle. “I hope you aren’t expecting her to pack your bag?”

He snickers. “You’ve met my wife. She had me pack my own bag a week ago. I needed to show my face to some administrators before heading out.”

Nurse Chin continues to drill him, their voices getting lost in the holiday music and the sounds from the hallways as the door swings open. I turn to face it, hope filling me, and I’m finally rewarded. It’s her.

My lips part, and I lower the drink in my hand to my side.

The fairy lights above the door bathe her in a soft, ethereal glow. The music, the chatter, the clicking of glasses all fade into the background. She’s a vision from a fever dream I never want to wake from. She pauses in the doorway, assessing the room, and I take the moment to enjoy the view. Her hair looks as if she’s come straight from the beauty parlor. The mesmerizing curls cascade over her bare, bronzed shoulders, and she’s wearing a bold, short black cocktail dress. A daring choice in the middle of winter. Even bolder knowing she’d be stepping into a room filled with powerful strangers. The dress clings to her like a second skin, stopping half a foot above her knees, accentuating those ridiculously sculptured athletic legs.

Shoulders back, head high, she strides into the room, exchanging smiles with a radiologist, a nod to a member of the nurses’ staff. I weave through a cluster of colleagues, not bothering to excuse myself. She must sense my presence, her feet halting, her body twisting to face me. Our eyes lock, and the invisible string between us glows bright red. I follow the string, my eyes never leaving her for a single second.

“Hey, you made it.” My words are but a whisper.

“Hey yourself, handsome. You clean up nicely.” She reaches toward my chest, her delicate hands wrapping around my tie. I’m wearing a simple navy suit, white-collared shirt, and blue-and-gold tie. Nothing special, but she makes me feel like I could grace the cover of a fashion magazine.

She gives my tie a slight tug, pulling me closer. I tilt my chin down, our foreheads nearly touching, and for the briefest of seconds, I consider kissing her.

“You look…”

“I know.” She releases my tie, steps back, and extends her arms, performing a runway-model spin for me. “I had no idea how much competition I’d have for you tonight, so I thought I’d bring the thunder.”

Her spin sends a storm in my chest. Her in this dress, standing this close to me, with two drinks already in me, is a combustible combination.

She completes her spin, catching what can’t be interpreted as anything other than lust written across my face. “He likes,” she teases me, and I realize I’ve become a fan. “I knew one look at me and all would be forgiven for me being so late. Once I saw the dress, I knew I had to do something with the hair.”