Doctor Charmer (Doctors of Eastport General)

16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Reggie

T he 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 an are you kidding me? glare. “If I look up the word heartbreaker in 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.”

“You could have shown up in your sweats and you would have still been the most stunning woman in the room.”

She runs a finger down the length of my forearm, and I capture the light, fruity scent of an expensive fragrance. “Didn’t want to disappoint. I know you have a reputation with the ladies, and if you’re going to show me off to all your doctor friends, I knew I’d have to represent you well.”

“Reputation?” I begin to respond when two familiar bodies appear next to Ivy.

“And who do we have here, Reggie?”

“Angie!” I hear the excitement in my voice, like a kid caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “Brayton, good seeing you again.” I extended my hand for a handshake from Angie’s fiancé. Brayton is African American, tall, built like a tank.

I wave a hand at Ivy. “This is Coach Ivy Springwood. Her team’s bus was in an MVC, and she’s hanging around until her teammates heal.”

Brayton gives her a handshake, but Angie surprises me by pulling her into a hug. “So, this is the infamous Coach Girls-Grab-Your-Balls Ivy. The ambulance drivers have been singing your praises for days.” Angie releases her hug, and her eyes take a perusal of her. “Smart and beautiful.”

“Right back at you.” Ivy says the words with a friendly ease that lowers the concerns I had carried. Of all the people I knew she’d meet tonight Angie was the one I was most curious about. Angie is probably my closest friend in the hospital. We have a long history. She knows my every secret.

“Oh, I like this one. I knew the day Reggie finally brought someone to one of his mixers, she’d be special.”

“Wait, what?” Ivy whips her head in my direction. “No way I’m the first woman you’ve brought?”

I pump my hands in front of me and ignore Brayton’s chuckle. “It’s not that serious. I’m the organizer. I’m usually focused on making sure everything is running smoothly. Besides, we only invite guests once a year.”

Ivy looks toward Angie for verification. She shrugs. “Once a year for twelve years. That’s still eleven other times he didn’t.” She buries me like a good friend.

“Dear, let’s leave the two lovebirds to themselves,” Brayton presses a kiss to Angie’s cheek and whispers something in her ear I don’t hear. Her giggle speaks louder than anything he might have said.

“Happy holidays and good night,” Angie says through laughs. “Ivy, I’m in Ortho on the sixth floor. Come look for me if you get bored with this guy.”

“You know it, best friend.” Ivy glows, and I don’t doubt for a second if she lived in Eastport, she and Angie would be best friends.

We both watch Angie and Brayton weave through the party, making a beeline to the exit. “He’s totally about to rock her world, isn’t he?” Ivy let slip the inappropriate remark, and all I can do is chuckle.

“You have no idea.”

“Yeah, I do. I’ve seen that look in a man’s eyes before.”

I bite my tongue and twist to face her. At our lunch yesterday when the conversation shifted to her past, she sidestepped. I give her a second opportunity to open up. “When?”

I brace, unsure of what she’s about to reveal.

Her hand slips into mine, stealing the drink from my hand. She lifts it to her lips, taking a short, fortifying sip that puts me on edge.

I give her my complete attention. It’s my mixer, and normally, I’m circulating all around the room. But not tonight. I’m vested. “Don’t go quiet on me now, princess. When was the last time a man looked at you like you were his entire world?”

She takes a short gulp as if to gather her strength. As if the words she is about to share will change how I think of her. “He’s doing it right now.”