Doctor Charmer (Doctors of Eastport General)

27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Reggie

“ W hy am I here, Dr. Morgan?” A very pissed off Sarah Longo is standing in front of the diner booth where I’m sitting. She’s eight texts and ten minutes late. Angie couldn’t convince her to come to the diner, so I pulled out the boss card. Even then, it took too much convincing. Too much time. It’s nearly six o’clock, and it’s only by some miracle that Sarah arrived before Ivy and Dr. Harriman.

“Take a seat.” I don’t address her question, not after she ignored my phone calls and text. “I’m tired of playing games with you, Sarah. It all stops today.”

She slams her rear onto the leather seat of the booth and scoots over, keeping a respectable distance between us. We’re in a corner booth, one I arrived at nearly an hour ago. From here, we can monitor the rest of the cafe.

“That’s not the only thing stopping today.” She gives me side-eye, which lets me know the hospital rumor mill is working overtime. Sarah is usually a quiet mouse. But this is the one topic that always has her extracting her fangs. “Don’t you dare ever threaten me again, or I’ll report you to—”

“HR?” I scoff at the irony. “Please do, and while we’re there, we can tell them exactly what I’ve threatened you with.”

She slams her arms across her chest, defeated. “I’ve never once asked you for any of this.”

I inhale and remind myself why I’m here. “I’m just trying to help. I’m not the enemy.”

From my vantage point, I see the door to the diner opening. Ivy steps in, whipping off her winter coat. She’s wearing a pink sweater and a black pencil skirt that hugs her precious hips. She left my condo wearing a sweat suit, claiming she’d change at the hospital. She must’ve known I never would have let her leave my place to meet with Dr. Harriman wearing what I’m seeing.

She turns, finding a hook on the rack by the door. She whips her neck, her hand adjusting those magnificent curls around her ear, and her face lights up in a brilliant smile. She’s a breathtaking beauty. I follow her gaze.

Bile and anger flood my chest when I see who she’s gifted with this smile. Dr. Harriman. He places his cigar fingers on a place it should never go, her lower back. He points toward a table near the window. Of course, he wants to show off the prize on his arm.

“I’m not the enemy,” I repeat for Sarah’s benefit. I quirk my brow and tip my chin, drawing her attention to the other side of the diner. “He is.”

“What is…” she mutters, and I don’t respond. My focus is on the loud schoolgirl giggle from Ivy as Dr. Harriman whispers something in her ear.

I remind the green monster in me that this is part of the plan. It’s not real.

One glance over at Sarah, and I know she doesn’t share the same perspective.

“Why is he here? Who is he with? That’s not his wife.” She fires the questions rapidly with the indignation of a woman scorned. A part of me feared this wouldn’t be her reaction. After three years together, she might have figured out Dr. Harriman is only as faithful as his options.

I lean back in the booth to avoid being inadvertently stabbed by the daggers shooting out Sarah’s eyes. The picture in front of her is as clear as a bright, sunny day on a gorgeous lake and screams more than a thousand words.

The waitress appears in front of us, momentarily blocking our view. Sarah cranes her neck around her to continue to torture herself.

“What’ll you have besides the coffee?” the waitress asks, nodding toward the coffee she’s refilled already twice while I waited for Sarah’s arrival.

“We’ll both have the breakfast egg special.”

“It’s dinnertime, and I just lost my appetite,” Sarah protests. I pick up the untouched menu from in front of her, sliding it next to mine, handing both to the waitress.

“Two egg specials, and bring her a coffee, light cream on the side, three sugars.”

The waitress disappears, and I spot Ivy. She’s nuzzled next to Dr. Harriman, both sitting on the same side of a two-person table like they’re newlyweds. Their thighs are touching, his hand on the top of her knee. I twist to see Sarah’s reaction and draw back when I find her staring at me.

A glisten of water building in her eyes cracks a piece of me. As a doctor, sometimes we must administer pain in order for the healing to begin. “I’m sorry.”

Her headshake lets me know I’m reading her reaction wrong. “You know how I take my coffee?”

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, his gaze 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 the back 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?”

She makes a slicing motion with the butter knife across the paper place mats advertising everything from a car wash to doggie day care. She stabs the blunt end of the knife into the ad for the funeral home. “Will it hurt him?”

I nod. “In the worst possible way.”

“What do I have to do?”

She lowers the knife, but she’s still on edge. She’s vulnerable, and I need to address her earlier concern. She must know I’m not using her. That another man isn’t manipulating her for their own gain. “If we do this, it’s for you. It’s what you want to do. I only want you to tell the truth. Nothing more.”

“About…” She puts the pieces together. “Me and Dr. Harriman?”

I nod. “Do you have proof of the relationship? You know he’s going to deny it.”

She reaches for her phone and begins to swipe. I raise both my hands, palms facing her. “I don’t need to see them. Any of them.”

She snickers, and I relax, happy to see a glimpse of her personality shine through. “Dr. Morgan, it’s just PG pictures of us in robes at the Four Seasons. Some others I’ve captured of him sleeping.”

“I thought for a second…”

She smirks at me. “Oh, I have those too, but no one but me and my late-night libido gets to see those.” She flips her phone face down, crosses her arms, and shoots another glare across the diner. “What’s the next step?”

Forearms to the tabletop, I lean forward. “I need you to amend the HR attestation. I need you to tell the truth. Divulge that you and Dr. Harriman are in a relationship. Sign it and submit it.”

She gives me a look of confusion. “Are you serious? No one reads those.”

I already know the answer, but I ask anyway. “Is that what he told you?”

A slow realization sweeps across her face. “He told me I worried too much. Sign it and nothing would happen. So, I did. And he was right. Nothing. It’s been over a year. Two years even.”

“HR does read them, and if you were found in noncompliance, they would take action. It could lead to a suspension or dismissal.”

“So you say.” Her eyes scan me up and down, confusion on her face. She’s assessing me, trying to figure out what I get out of this. She’s gun-shy. She should be. “Say I do this. Say I disclose this very embarrassing news to HR and sign the forms. Nothing is going to happen. Especially not to him. Even if they investigate, they’ll quickly find out that the relationship dates back three years. That I lied each of the prior two years. I’ll still be the one disciplined.”

I shake my head. “No, you won’t.” My gaze lifts toward Ivy. She’s put some distance between herself and Dr. Harriman. He’s tapping out a text on his phone, and she’s holding up the menu in front of her but looking in my direction with a quirk of her brow. What the hell is taking so long? This man is vile.

I pump a hand in her direction. We’re almost there.

“You work in the testing lab but are mapped to perform expedited work for the ER.”

She nods. “Yeah, you changed my role when you restructured the department after you came back from overseas. Something about that’s how they do it in Europe or something.” They don’t, but I don’t correct her.

“Because of the restructuring, for the purposes of HR, you report to me. As the department head, all the attestations come to me for submission to HR. I don’t have access to the contents of the documents—they are restricted and encrypted—but as department head, I must certify that I’ve collected it from all my direct reports and submit them in batch. I’ve not done that this year. Nor last year. Or the year prior.”

“Three years. Wait, is that why you were suspended?”

“Like I said, HR is taking things seriously.”

She reaches for me, her hand landing on top of my hand. “You got suspended for me?”

The final piece clicks into place. “That wasn’t the plan. I was hoping you’d see him for who he was and revise your paperwork on your own.”

“Damn, all this time, you’ve been…”

“Protecting you. That’s what I do for my people. And you are one of my people.”

She presses her hands to her heart. Thank you , she slowly mouths before wiping her face with the diner napkin. She takes a deep inhale and lifts her gaze. “He claims to have powerful friends. Has threatened to get me fired on more than one occasion.”

“He signed the paperwork. He’s submitted his three times. He won’t be able to explain that away. No one in the hospital will stick their neck out for him, not when the evidence is so clear. Not for what he’s accused of doing.”

“This will destroy him. His reputation is everything.” She doesn’t tell me anything I don’t already know.

I don’t care about his reputation. Nor is the destruction of his career high on my list of things I worry about. What I want is to protect Sarah’s career. She’s just at the start, and we all make mistakes. I know I’ve made my fair share. They can be hard, painful even, but our mistakes shouldn’t be fatal.

I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the business card. “This is our HR rep, Louise Derby. She’s fair. Call her and tell her the truth. Don’t expect warm and fuzzy from her—that’s not her thing. But you can trust her. She’s good at her job.” Louise may have become a thorn in my side, but the hospital is her client. She was protecting it. I see that now.

“They’ll confront Dr. Harriman. If he denies the relationship, they’ll launch an investigation. You’ll need to prove the affair. Are you sure you’re okay with all of this?”

“Do I want half the hospital to know I’ve been sleeping with a married man?” She shakes her head. One final glance across the diner gives her the courage she’ll need. “But I’ll do it.”

Her hands land on top of mine again. “Thank you, Dr. Morgan.”

I shrug. “Don’t thank me until you’re on the other side of this. Come to me when things get tough, and you need to vent or have any doubts.”

The waitress returns with our breakfast and scampers away to her next table.

“I’m starving,” Sarah says, digging her fork into the eggs.

I chuckle. “Figured you’d have an appetite after this revelation.” I turn my attention to Ivy. Her gaze is on mine, waiting for the signal. I flick my fingers at her, and the plastic smile she’s worn bursts into a genuine kaleidoscope that lights up the diner.

She turns, the edge of the plastic menu colliding with the glass of colorful mimosa in front of her. The spill falls perfectly across Dr. Harriman’s lap. He leaps to his feet too late to avoid the mess. He’s wearing light gray slacks, and the spill is clearly visible from across the room. It looks like a man with no bowel control. I hope someone in the diner captures it and the picture goes viral.

Sarah snickers in between bites of her toast. “Maybe he should wear Depends.” Her snicker isn’t filled with anger but disgust, an I can’t believe I fell for his crap joke told to remind herself never again.

He marches across the diner toward the men’s room. The minute he’s out of eyesight, Ivy scrambles out of the booth. She pauses for half a second and salutes me, then rushes toward the exit, grabbing her coat from the hook.

“Looks like she escaped a close call. Good. After I finished these delicious eggs, I was going to walk over there and tell her to run.” Sarah takes a sip of her coffee, and I can barely believe how well she’s taking all of this. “She was gorgeous too; she can do so much better. Dr. Morgan, maybe you should race after her. She looks more your type, anyway.”

My uncontrollable laugh can’t be contained, and I nod.

“She most certainly is.”