Cindy's Doctor Charming

“Yeah. I was pretty sure you weren’t talking about ocean waves. What does it do?”

“Makes the lungs more flexible. If they’re stiff, air can’t be pushed in and out,” he explained. “One of the problems in neonates is that their lungs are immature. The medication helps them function better until they fully develop.”

“I see.”

“Good. Now I’ve got one for you.”

“One what?”

“Question. Turnabout is fair play.” He leaned a broad shoulder against the wall.

If the inquiry was about how a guy could look so sexy dressed in utilitarian scrubs, she had no answer. On every possible level it was just wrong for him to be so yummy in shapeless cotton material with a drawstring at the waist of the pants. The V-neck shirt at least revealed the hint of chest hair, but really, the ensemble left a lot to be desired. Except the guy in it was more desirable than her favorite chocolate with caramel.

“Okay. You can ask,” she said, knowing she was really going to regret giving permission.

“What do you have against giving me your phone number?” he said.

“You’ll use it,” she answered. “Gotta get back to work now.”

She grabbed her cart and pushed it down the hall, feeling his gaze lasering into her back until she rounded the corner. Leaning against the wall, she blew out a long breath.

It was hard work going one on one with a hero. Even harder to remember why she needed to not get sucked into the games. Between work and school, she didn’t have the time or energy. Whatever he was selling, she wasn’t buying. And even if she were, she’d just blown any chance with him. Like Harlow said, women were waiting in line.

So much for her plan to attend the fundraiser and enjoy every moment. Pulling out those memories of how the beautiful people lived was supposed to brighten her daily grind. She’d made memories, all right, and so much more. She’d snagged the doctor’s attention. For all the good that would do.

After today he wouldn’t waste any more time on her. Which was just as well because she didn’t have the time, energy or emotional reserves to waste on him.

And that made her sad and angry. It made her wish that once upon a time, she hadn’t been duped and damaged by a dope.

As Nathan headed down the hall toward administration, he was mentally fine-tuning his case to hire extra staff for the NICU. For the past week things had been nuts. Gladiator, aka Dylan Mason, was the first of some really sick babies. The staff in the unit was working their asses off and he wanted more bodies to care for his patients. Still, it wouldn’t be easy to convince the powers-that-be to spend more money, and he braced for the coming battle.

But when he walked into the outer office and saw Cindy at the desk, battles of the sexy sort took center stage. Probably because she’d refused every request to let him call her.

He’d never worked that hard for a phone number and, frankly, the struggle made him even more determined to get to the bottom of her resistance.

Cindy watched warily as he moved closer then settled his hip on the corner of her desk. There were two metal-framed chairs in front of it, but invading her space was more appealing. And this place could use a healthy dose of interesting. The ocean scenes on the beige walls made it generic decorating. With her blond hair and warm brown eyes, she sure brightened up her surroundings.

“Is there any job in this hospital that you don’t do?” he asked.

“Brain surgery.”

He laughed and that hadn’t been his expectation on his way to the administration offices. “So, can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“You can ask.” The way her full mouth curved up in a teasing smile finished the implication that she didn’t have to answer. “I’m an administrative intern.”

“Right. I remember. In addition to your other job?”

She nodded. “After the fall semester, I’ll have my degree in hospital administration. This summer was a good time to get the internship part accomplished.”

“Busy girl.”

She shrugged and the movement did amazing things to her breasts under the pink, silky blouse. By peeking over the desk he could see her black slacks. The business attire was buttoned-down professional. He’d also seen her in plain housekeeping clothes. But by far his favorite look was that short, strapless dress he’d first seen her in. The memory caused a very physical reaction that was a good indication his desire to see her out of it hadn’t gone away.

“So,” she said, tapping her pen on the desk. “I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re here to see Mr. Ryan. And not stalking me.”

“You would be correct. I have a staffing issue to discuss with him.”

“Specifically?”

“There’s a lot of work in the NICU. We’re going nuts up there.”

“And you want more help,” she guessed.

“Right in one.”

She swiveled her chair to the right and faced the computer monitor, then clicked away on the keyboard until data scrolled onto the screen. After studying it for a moment, she turned back and looked up.

“Good luck with that.”

He stared at her for several moments, then said, “What?”

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Ryan won’t give his approval to hire any more people.”

“You can tell that by looking at the computer?”

“Yes.”

He stood and looked down. “What is it? The great and powerful Oz?”

She grinned. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

“Seriously? How can a computer tell you we’re not up to our necks in alligators?”

“All the productivity information is here. It’s about FTEs—”

“No acronyms, please.”

“Full time equivalents. Then there are RVUs—” She noticed his frown and her full mouth curved up. “Relative value units.”

“Dumb it down for me.”

He knew matching personnel to patient load was complicated but had deliberately steered clear of the minutiae because it wasn’t his problem. Now avoidance was paying off because she was talking to him.

“There’s a formula to determine the percentage of staff hours per patient day for every hospital department. For example, if you’re allowed four hours to get the job done and do it in three hours and forty-five minutes, you’re over a hundred percent. That’s exactly where administration wants it and you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”

“What if I want two more nurses?”

She turned to the computer, clicked the keys and assimilated the information that popped up. “According to this, NICU productivity is at ninety-four percent.”