Julie Garwood - The Ideal Man

“Do you want me to get in trouble with the board?” he demanded.

Was he kidding? The board of directors loved him. It was such a bogus question, she didn’t bother to answer.

Westfield abruptly turned to Max. “And who is this?”

Ellie knew he had noticed the FBI badge hooked to the left side of Max’s belt and the gun holstered on the opposite side, but she didn’t comment on it or mention that Max’s navy blue T-shirt had big yellow FBI letters conspicuously printed across the back. Instead, she quickly made the introductions, and the two men shook hands. The chief had always been a commanding figure to Ellie because of his position of power, his aggressive tactics, and most important, his skill in the operating room, but standing next to the FBI agent who towered over him, Westfield suddenly didn’t seem so intimidating. Max was more imposing. The agent radiated strength and confidence. She strongly doubted he was as contentious as the chief, though.

“I heard there was a shooting outside the hospital doors. Is that right?”

“Yes, it happened close to the hospital,” Max answered.

Westfield waited for the agent to expound and was sorely disappointed. Usually, the chief’s intense frown, pursed lips, and unnerving silence was enough to make the people he was interrogating so uneasy they would blurt out all sorts of information. His tactics weren’t working on Max.

“Three men were killed?” he prodded.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Another ten seconds passed in silence. Then the chief asked, “An FBI agent was shot?”

“Yes.”

Ellie was trying not to smile. Westfield had to be frustrated. By using his stern tone and his most serious scowl, he was doing his best to push the agent into giving an explanation, but it wasn’t working. Apparently, Max couldn’t be intimidated.

The chief abruptly turned to Ellie. “Who did the surgery on the agent?” And before she could answer, he added, “It couldn’t have been you because you’re off duty, aren’t you? And you aren’t on call this weekend. So who did the surgery? Was it Walmer?”

Westfield knew she had operated on the agent. The man knew everything that went on inside the hospital. He was just trying to exert his power and make her squirm. Four more days under his thumb, she reminded herself, just four more days and she was free. She needed to suck it up until then.

“No, sir, Dr. Walmer didn’t do the surgery.” Taking Max’s lead, she didn’t say another word.

“Edmonds?” he snapped.

“No, sir.”

“Then who operated?”

“I did.”

The glare was back in place. “Even though you were off duty?”

“Yes, sir, even though.”

“Don’t give me attitude, Sullivan,” he said, pointing a finger at her.

Max kept expecting Ellie to tell Westfield that Agent Goodman had pleaded with her to do the surgery, but she didn’t. She didn’t offer any excuses. She simply stared Westfield in the eyes and waited.

“Help me understand,” he began in his best sarcastic voice. “Why didn’t you notify Walmer or Edmonds to hightail it to the OR?” And once again he didn’t give her time to answer the question before posing another. “Do you think you’re a better surgeon than they are?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir, I do. Absolutely.”

Max could tell Westfield was pleased with her answer but trying not to let her know it.

“You’re arrogant.”

Ellie was about to say, “Thank you,” but caught herself in time. “Yes, sir, I am.”

And it was true. When it came to her work, she was arrogant, just like all the other surgeons in the hospital. It came with the territory and, in Ellie’s opinion, was a necessary requirement. When a surgeon held a scalpel in her hand and was about to cut open a patient, she had better have skill and almost superhuman confidence. Ellie honestly didn’t think there was such a thing as a timid surgeon, and if there was, she certainly wouldn’t want him cutting on her.

Unfortunately, none of her self-assuredness and arrogance spilled over into her personal life. During her last trip home, she had been told by her sister Ava that she was depressingly insecure. But, since Ava was the sister who was marrying Ellie’s ex-fiancé, she wasn’t inclined to listen to anything she had to say. Ava’s twin, Annie, was living in San Diego and hadn’t had a chance to weigh in on Ellie’s faults. She would side with Ava, of course, but she would be much kinder about it. Despite her sisters’ persistence, Ellie would disagree with both of them. She wasn’t depressingly insecure. Just mildly so.

Ellie suddenly realized she was zoning out. Now wasn’t the time to think about personal problems. She’d have plenty of time for that once she was home. Focus, she told herself. Westfield was chatting with Max again, probably telling him how to do his job. She took a deep breath in an attempt to get more oxygen to her befuddled brain.

Westfield turned back to her, his index finger just inches from her face. “You. Get out of here. Now.” He didn’t snarl the order, but he came close.

Ellie watched him as he strode toward ICU. He shoved the doors out of his way, looked over his shoulder, and snapped, “And sign the contract.”

The doors automatically closed behind him. She sighed and, in a faint Southern accent, said, “Isn’t he sweet? We all just love him to pieces.”

Max laughed. “How long have you been taking orders from him?”

“Forever.”

“Why does he call you Prod?”

She shrugged. “He likes to.”

She started walking down the long hallway with Max at her side.

“What does it mean?” he asked.

When she didn’t immediately answer, he glanced down at her and saw her cheeks were flushed. She was embarrassed, and that only piqued his interest all the more. He let the question go for now. “Did I hear you call him a dinosaur? When I asked you who he was…”

She smiled. “You don’t see the resemblance? Actually, I usually call him ‘T. rex.’ I think it’s more personal. When he’s on a roar-which is ninety percent of the time-he does remind me of a gigantic, prehistoric beast.”

She was moving at a fast clip.

“Ellie, hold up. Where are you going?”

“Upstairs to get my keys.”

“We have to sit down and-”

“I know.”

She kept right on going. Max was becoming frustrated. “Do you run everywhere you go?”

“Pretty much,” she admitted. She slowed to a normal pace… normal for her, anyway. She noticed that Max had no trouble keeping up with her. In fact, with his long legs, he barely had to increase his stride beyond a stroll.

She glanced over at him. He was definitely out of her comfort zone. The man had so much testosterone, he made her nervous. He didn’t scare her, though. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes creased, and there was a glint in them that made her shiver inside.

Jeez, get a grip, Sullivan. She was acting like a sex-starved teenager. Granted, it had been a long time since she had been with a man-a long, long time-but, still, her reaction to Max went beyond bizarre. It was completely contrary to her usual calm, rational nature. When she had time, she would figure out her weird behavior. There had to be some logical explanation. But then, maybe she didn’t really have to worry about it at all because, as soon as Max questioned her about the shooting, he’d be on his way, and she would be sane again.

Max noticed that she kept looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face. “What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing important.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going to be much help with descriptions I’m afraid,” she said.

“We have to take your statement anyway.”