Doctor Charmer (Doctors of Eastport General)

18. Chapter Eigthteen

Chapter Eigthteen

Ivy

“ W hat the hell was that?” I shout, entering Reggie’s office, holding my three-inch heels in my hand. I can’t believe he ignored me and left me behind. Had me chasing after him down the hospital halls, dressed like Cinderella at the ball, only this time, I’m the one chasing after the princess. And his pumpkin was an elevator. Or rather, a staircase that I nearly tripped down in these stupid heels.

“Everyone heard it. If you didn’t, I’m sure you can get the update from the bartender.” He doesn’t dare look at me while he spews such nonsense. He stuffs a laptop into his briefcase and then stares at the walls as if considering grabbing his degrees. He’s literally taking his ball and going home.

When he continues to ignore me, any thought of giving him grace flies out the window. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those tiny, insecure men with trust issues? Tell me now and you’ll never see me again.”

I know he’s not a fan of ultimatums; who is? But I need to see if he’ll let his ego-fueled stubbornness blind him to what is at stake. His shoulders sag, defeat weighing heavy on him.

“I’m an ass. Don’t you see that? Ask anyone in the building.” His words are strategic. He doesn’t believe them, but he doesn’t want to wage a war with me knowing his biggest fight is with the administration. He’s wrong.

“Why do you do that?” I drop my shoes to the floor and march right to his desk, my fists pounding across the top.

“What?”

He can’t be this dense.

“Why do you embrace a reputation that isn’t true?” My fists open, and I press my palms to the desktop. “The charming playboy who wants to bed every female that crosses his path?”

“I’m not sure why you have a problem with it—it appears to be spot-on. We even made a bet on it.”

He’s trying to push my buttons. He wants me to walk out. Is this what he does? When things get too serious, he walks away. “You work damn hard to perpetuate the myth.” I jab a finger at him, my voice rising with my blood pressure.

“It’s not a myth.” He lowers his bag on the desk, his gaze finally meeting mine. His eyes are red. I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or this conversation. “I’m not a good man.”

“Says the man who works Christmas and New Year so others can be with their families.” His brow rises, and I’m sure he wonders how I know. Darwin, the bartender. “A man who spends his own money to throw monthly colleague mixers, so no one feels left out. That man?” Darwin told me that Reggie foots the bills for every mixer and pays the bartenders and waitstaff triple wages for working the holiday reception. “Those sounds like the actions of a good man to me.”

He dismisses my words waving the back of his hand in the air, but it’s too little too late. The power of the truth knocks him back onto his chair. He plops down hard, the chair rolling backward.

I lower my voice, hoping to appear calm. “What are you afraid of, Reggie?” I pray he sees I’m not here to fight.

“You.” His response is barely above a whisper. More of a concession than a declaration. He stands, the office chair rolling further back until it hits the filing cabinet behind him. “You, Ivy. I’m afraid of you.” This time, there’s no mistaking it. It’s a declaration. A heartfelt declaration.

How is this possible after only a few days? I hate the fact that my first thought is of him trying to charm his way out of this argument. “Why?” He approaches the desk from the other side, and I take a half step back. “Because I scare you? Or because I’m right. Because you are developing feelings for me?”

“Developed,” he corrects with a sobriety that tells me none of what he is saying is alcohol fueled. This isn’t him trying to charm me. This is him. Raw Reggie. “This isn’t a game to me. Not any longer.” The sound of defeat returns to his voice, and I wonder if it’s because I called him out. Forced him to reveal his feelings. Men hate that.

He digs into his bottom desk drawer, and I wonder if he’s back to packing up his office. He pulls out two folders, slapping them on the top of the desk. He rifles through them, grabbing a blue-and-white piece of paper with a gold certificate on the bottom corner. “I’m tired of playing games. Here, this is yours.” He holds the paper in the air between us.

“What’s that?”

“A gift certificate for the spa. You win.” For some reason, I take the paper pushed in my face. He stalks backward, plopping back onto his chair.

I barely glance at the paper. “I didn’t win.” I hear indignation in my tone. “You didn’t kiss me.”

“I concede.”

“That’s not what we agreed to,” I push him. I don’t care about the spa; it was never about the spa. “You claimed to be a man of your word. We have a bet.”

“Had,” he corrects me for the second time.

“The bet’s not over until you kiss me,” I press on because this isn’t about the bet. I’m hoping he sees how everything that is going on tonight is connected.

“Or you kiss me.” There he is. Proof of life.

“That’s not going to happen. So, if you really want this bet to be over, you’re going to have to come kiss me.” I step center office, directly under the fluorescent light, angling my body, bending one knee, and tilting my chin. Men are visual beings, and I’m giving something he’s already been dreaming about.

“Why do you care about a stupid bet? As you might have heard, I have bigger concerns on my mind right now.”

“Bigger than this? Than us?”

He gives me an are you kidding me right now look. He’s concerned about his job, his livelihood.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” I raise my hands in apology. “What I meant is they are one and the same.” One look and I know I’ve lost him.

“That doctor upstairs…” I pace around the desk, sliding my rear to the desktop and crossing my legs. The short dress rides up, and Reggie diverts his eyes.

“Dr. Riggs, the head of the hospital.”

“Yeah, him. He suspended you because you refused to sign a piece of paper for HR, right?”

He shakes his head, and I wonder if I misread what happened upstairs. “No. He suspended me for insubordination. I made the cardinal sin of talking back to him in front of a crowd of our peers.”

“Got it. But he’s given you twenty-four hours to sign the paperwork.”

He nods, and I feel like I’m back on solid ground. The solution seems simple to me. “Louise, our HR rep, escalated it to Riggs. I’ve not signed the paperwork the prior two times either, but this is the first year Riggs has gotten involved.”

“Why? Why don’t you just sign it?”

“I can’t tell you why. It’s a stupid colleague fraternization attestation.”

Our small college has something similar. “It’s pretty stand stuff these days. Does the hospital have a no-fraternization policy amongst colleagues, and it’s crimping your style, Dr. Charmer?” I try to add some humor to this heavy conversation. It’s what I typically do, but I know I’m walking on a tightrope tonight.

“Not a no-fraternization. Anyone can date anyone as long as you disclose it to HR in writing every year.”

I uncross my legs and recross them, not liking where this is leading. “I don’t see the problem. Seems like you get to have your cake and eat it too. Why get suspended for this?”

“It’s not that simple.”

It sounds simple to me, but I don’t say that.

“If you sign the attestation and are caught in an undisclosed relationship, you can be fired on the spot.” Reggie’s gaze is pinned to the floor. He’d do everything in his power to not look at my legs, my best feature, which I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve caught him looking at.

I spare him and hop off the desk, moving to the safety of his guest chair, placing an entire desk between me and him. When he doesn’t expound any further, I have no choice but to say what’s on my mind. “You’re involved with someone and don’t want anyone to know about it.” My voice lowers as I put together the pieces. I slam my arms across my chest. This can’t be happening. “Someone—like me. Finding out.”

I’m a fool. All this time. I chased after him, feeling bad for him being suspended. “When someone tells them who they are, believe them. Isn’t that right, Dr. Charmer?” I rise slowly, fire in my veins. “You’ve never claimed to be a good man. Denied it when I said otherwise. I feel like…” My eyes turn glassy, water building, and I can no longer see him clearly. “You are in a relationship and openly pursuing me. Looked me in my eyes when you asked me out on a date and told me no woman had a claim on you. Is it just one? Two? Six? Do you play that playboy ‘I won’t kiss you first’ game with each of them?” I mouth three curse words, wiping the tears from my face and searching the floor for my shoes.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Ivy.” He’s back on his feet, stepping to the side of the desk but wisely keeping his distance.

I grab one shoe and wave it at him. “Don’t gaslight me, Reggie. You’re good. You had me fooled. Just tell me the truth. It won’t change anything between us.” I lower the shoe and realize I’m holding the damn spa certificate in my other hand. I toss it at him. It flutters in the air, spinning to the ground in a death spiral. “You can keep that. You’re going to need a spa day after you’re fired tomorrow.”

I stand there, chest heaving and waiting. Waiting for him to tell me I’ve gotten it all wrong. Waiting for him to explain how I’ve gotten it all wrong. That I’m missing something.

He just stares at me, and I wonder if he’s memorializing me, knowing this is our end. I step blindly backward, refusing to look away. I wait. Will he even fight for this? For us. I trip over my missing shoe, bending down and blindly sweeping my hand below me to snatch it.

Still, he doesn’t say a word. And that’s what hurts the most. “I guess I’m not even worth the energy for you even to try to charm your way out of this.” I bite down on my lip so hard I’m surprised I don’t taste blood. “Goodbye, Dr. Morgan.”

I flick off his lights before I slip out his door.

I leave him alone in the dark and realize I feel the exact same way – in the dark. We are finally a match.