She swallowed. “You cheat death.”
“Every damn day. Every chance I get.” He couldn’t believe she got it.
“But you’re here to talk about what happens when the trauma’s over,” she reminded him.
“You wait for the next one. You hold your breath for the next person who comes in because of something stupid. The car accident involving multiple vehicles because someone was text messaging. Or changing the radio. Spilled hot coffee—” He stopped, clenching his jaw. “Then the shift is over.”
“I can see there’s a lot of room for discussion. But speaking of over…” She looked at her watch. “Time’s up, doctor—Mitch.”
“It flies when you’re having fun.”
And he had. Mostly. Which was the surprise of the century. In his experience good surprises were few and far between. “So when can we do this again?”
“Stop at the front desk on your way out to make an appointment. Darlyn should be back in the office in a day or so. You can schedule your next meeting with her.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
She leaned forward and folded her hands on her desk. “You don’t have a choice, Mitch. It’s either executive coaching or administrative leave followed by door hitting hiney.”
“So there is a choice.”
“Have it your way.”
“I usually do,” he said.
She looked at him and her eyes widened as if she was on his wavelength. “In the unlikely event you’re implying what I think you are, I need to make my position clear. Now that we’ve talked one on one, I’m absolutely certain that we wouldn’t be a good professional fit.”
He stood and rested a hip on the desk, satisfaction settling in when she leaned backward in the chair. It was a subtle movement, but definitely away from him without actually running for the hills.
“I couldn’t disagree more, Sam. It’s my professional opinion as a doctor, but more importantly as a man, that you and I would be an exceptionally good fit. I think I should have some say in who my coach is.”
“That decision has already been made.”
“Not by me.” He had a pretty good idea what she saw in his face and didn’t care. “You’re the one I want.”
Chapter Two
“What did you do wrong, Samantha?”
Sam fidgeted from one spiked heel to the other as she stood in front of her father’s desk. She’d been summoned to his office at Mercy Medical Center to defend herself. It didn’t matter that she was a grown woman, she felt like that motherless six-year-old again.
“I promise you I did nothing to undermine the relationship, Dad.”
Unless she’d violated some unwritten Arnold Ryan moral code because she wasn’t woman enough to make her fiancé want her more than that woman she’d caught him boinking. Unlike Mitch Tenney, who had said out loud and with great determination and conviction that he did want her.
The memory sent a shiver of lust skidding through her, which was worse than stupid because he’d meant he wanted her to be his relationship coach. And he only said that because he thought she was an inexperienced pushover who would give him credit for the time without making him do any of the work. Because he was too close to the mark for comfort, she’d stubborned up and refused his request. He hadn’t been a happy client when he’d left her office yesterday.
Her father cleared his throat. Loudly. “Samantha? Are you paying attention to me?”
Sam started. “Of course, Dad.”
Arnold Ryan was the hospital’s administrator and chief executive officer. In his late fifties, he was still strikingly handsome, tall and fit, with ice-blue eyes and silver-streaked black hair. The man who’d run out on her mother before Sam was old enough to remember had never been more than a sperm donor. The one sitting behind his desk in the office where he managed the largest hospital corporation in Las Vegas was the only father she’d ever known. She was still trying her best to make him proud of her. That’s why she’d come running on her lunch hour.
“I had to find out from Jax that the two of you are no longer engaged to be married. And haven’t been for several weeks.”
Subtext: once again she’d messed up. It was too much to hope she could avoid this scene. How to put a positive spin on procrastinating. “You’re involved with union negotiations, Dad, and I didn’t want to distract you. I was waiting for the right time.”
“When a decision is bad, there is no right time. He’s an up-and-comer in the hospital corporation. You could do worse. What is the problem, Samantha? Why did you break off the engagement?”
How did she phrase this to avoid telling him that Jax Warner, the man her father had enthusiastically endorsed, was not the man of her dreams? “It was a mutual, amicable decision,” she said.
“That tells me absolutely nothing.” Her father rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers as he nailed her with a look.
She plucked nonexistent lint from her navy blue skirt, then tugged the hem of the matching jacket to smooth the line. Since he’d handpicked the man, there was no way she’d tell him the whole truth. Somehow he would twist it around and make it her fault.
What she needed was a distraction, something positive to take his mind off the broken engagement. “I can tell you that my company snagged the hospital’s employee counseling contract.”
He glanced up and irony mixed with disdain in his expression. “I had nothing to do with that decision.”
“Of course not,” she protested. “That’s not what I was implying. The triumph is all the sweeter because Marshall Management Consultants obtained it entirely on merit.”
“I was against designating any funds for something so frivolous, but the director of human resources felt it was important to salvage employees in a personnel-scarce market.”
“It’s a good decision, Dad. We can help—”
“Oh?” One jet-black eyebrow rose as a sardonic expression suffused his face. “Face it, Samantha. You couldn’t save your engagement. It’s time you got a real job.” He pointed at her. “Or, better yet, do a better job. Be a relationship coach. Apologize for whatever you did to Jax. I’m certain he’ll forgive you and the wedding will be back on.”
Shoots and scores, Sam thought. Sometimes she forgot that lectures were best endured silently. Any attempt at conversation simply tacked on an opportunity for him to make her feel more inadequate. Thirty minutes later, after her father reminded her again of the time he would pick her up for the hospital’s fund-raiser on Saturday at Caesar’s Palace, she left the office.
“There should be an expectation of fidelity in an engagement,” she muttered, marching down the hall in a haze of anger. “What am I, thirteen? He should not quit his day job to be a matchmaker. Dr. Phil couldn’t salvage that jerk—”
“Sam—”
Some part of her brain registered the familiar, deep voice, but a larger part was still focused on her hostility. “How is this my fault? What is this? The Middle Ages—”
“Hey, Sunshine. Who rained on your parade?”
She stopped and turned. Mitch Tenney stood just behind her in the hall, leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms folded over an impressively