Ivan held the door open for her, allowing the young woman to leave first. He was male enough to notice that she was even better looking than her tiny photograph indicated and arrogant enough to feel that it had no bearing on anything as far as he was concerned.
Closing the door behind him, Ivan leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Just so you know, I’m going to be your worst nightmare.”
She gave him only the merest of looks as she appeared to consider the statement. “Funny, you don’t look like a burning cross on the front lawn.” And then she glanced up overhead at the ceiling. “I guess it must be the lighting.”
CHAPTER 6
Any hope that the man might possess a sense of humor and strike a truce died quickly. Munro looked angrier than Zeus upon learning of a rebellion spearheaded by the lesser gods. “First thing you’re going to have to do is lose the attitude, DelMonico.”
His eyes seemed to shoot thunderbolts. She refused to look away, although it wasn’t easy meeting his stormy gaze.
“Are you?” she asked innocently.
Abruptly he began walking again. “My attitude is a fixture around here.” He slanted a glance at her as if she were an annoying fly that insisted on buzzing around his head. “A smart mouth is not going to get you anything at Blair except thrown out.”
Bailey bit back the desire to point out that having a “smart mouth” certainly hadn’t hurt him. One retort to show him that she wasn’t afraid of him was all she was allowed. Anything more would not only be overkill, it just might also kill her chance to work at Blair Memorial before she started. Or at least, work at Blair under Munro. And from what she’d heard, Ivan Munro was capable of performing miracles in the operating room. She wanted to witness those miracles firsthand, to learn from them and eventually to become just as good a neurosurgeon as Munro. Because if you couldn’t be the best, why bother?
So, even as hot words burned on her tongue, Bailey forced herself to stay sober and replied, “Yes, Doctor.”
He thought he heard something in her voice, something he took exception to. “And mocking me isn’t going to get you anywhere, either.”
Her head shot up, surprised. “I wasn’t mocking you, Dr. Munro, I was replying.”
He resumed walking, his legs stretching out before him as he snorted his contempt. “I am a student of body language, DelMonico. Yours is telling me to go to hell.”
“I don’t think so, Doctor,” she replied, her voice as innocent as she could manage it. “I don’t allow my body to use that kind of language.”
He snorted again. “Right, no doubt that’s the missionary in you coming out.” The look he slanted her this time was positively wicked. “Ever hear the joke about the anthropologist who lost his way and the missionary’s daughter?”
A little less than a foot shorter than the chief neurosurgeon, Bailey found herself fairly trotting to keep up now. She hadn’t a clue where he was going and she was not about to be left behind. She’d told Dr. Bennett the truth, she had taken a tour of the hospital, but she hadn’t exactly committed the entire layout to memory. Yet.
“The anthropologist and the missionary’s daughter?” she repeated. “A thousand times, Doctor.”
About to turn a corner, Ivan halted. He debated whether she was just about the best stone-faced liar he’d ever encountered or if his new albatross had actually heard the obscure joke he was referring to. In any event, the joke was only intended as a test to see how easily the woman blushed and, more importantly, how quickly he could take her down.
This, he decided, was going to be more of a challenge than he’d first imagined. For all he knew, it might even turn out to be a bit on the entertaining side.
“Then I won’t bore you with it,” he finally replied.
Her eyes met his. She made sure to keep her relief under wraps as she said, “Thank you, Dr. Munro.”
For the first time since he’d been told about the ordeal he was expected to endure, Ivan allowed himself just the slightest hint of a smile. The corners of his mouth moved in a vague upward pattern before returning to their customary downward arc.
“I do believe you mean that, DelMonico.” He glanced at his watch and lengthened his considerable stride. “I’m due in surgery in a few minutes,” he informed her, although part of him bristled at making any sort of an excuse to this resident.
But if he meant his words to be taken as any sort of a dismissal, he was sorely disappointed. Rather than dropping behind and allowing him to continue on alone, she all but ran to keep up pace with him.
He frowned at her. “We don’t allow skipping in the halls, DelMonico.”
“I’m not skipping, Doctor,” she informed him, hurrying. “I’m running.”
Given that she was a lot shorter and in high heels, the woman kept up remarkably well. It occurred to him that she wasn’t wearing traditional scrubs. Was that for his benefit? Did she think she could “get to him” by looking soft, supple and feminine?
He almost laughed out loud at the notion.
But instead he informed her, “We don’t allow that, either.”
She had always been extremely physical. Life as a missionary’s daughter did not allow for hours spent on a sofa, in front of a computer or a television set. She’d learned to amuse herself the way children had before electronic devices had taken over the task. If need be, she could run like a gazelle fleeing a hungry predator. “Then you’re going to have to slow down, sir.”
She didn’t even sound winded, he noticed. “And why is that?”
“Because I can’t keep up using your pace.”
Rather than shorten his stride, he increased it. “That, DelMonico, is a given.”
Bailey took in a deep breath. Gritting her teeth, she lengthened her stride as far as she could and quickened her pace to make up for the difference. They turned heads as they snaked their way through the halls.
She was right behind him when they reached the entrance to Operation Room One.
Only then did Ivan stop. He felt a little winded himself. He needed to make time for morning jogs again, he thought. Somehow that had managed to slip by the wayside. These days, he lived and breathed his work and little else. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a concert.
His eyes washed over her. Bailey did her best not to shiver. “Stubborn, aren’t you?”
Bailey smiled at him in response. “My father said it’s one of my best attributes.”
“Fathers lie,” he said flatly.
He wanted to get under her skin, to get her angry, so she struggled to remain clam. “If I may ask, what kind of operation is it?”
He gave her a look that easily would have left others quaking in their shoes. It annoyed him that he had no effect on her. “A complicated one.”
“Good,” she replied without missing a beat. “May I scrub in? I can—” She was about to tell him that she had her scrubs in her locker and could change into them faster than she could explain it, but she never got the chance.
She could see him shutting down right in front of her eyes. “You can scrub all you want, DelMonico,” he said, putting his hand on the swinging door, “but you’re not getting into my operating room.”
She covered his hand with her own. The action stopped him in his tracks. Ivan eyed her over his shoulder.
“What are you afraid of, Dr. Munro?”
She