Amalie Berlin - Uncovering Her Secrets

“The lady in HR managed to bypass that bit of information.” Preston took his time closing the door and finding somewhere to stand and fill up the whole room.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew. Don’t blame her. My fault.” Dasha licked her lips, mouth dry as a winter wind.

“Am I here on your recommendation?” One of his eyes twitched. Should she read something into that? Like the arms folding over his chest weren’t enough body language to clue her into his mindset. He might not be angry, but he certainly wasn’t happy either. Not forgiven, not that she expected to be. She had done nothing to deserve it. Yet.

“Dr. Saunders recommended you to the board.” At her request. She left that part out. “But he did it from home. His wife is ill.”

“When will he return?” He uncrossed his arms.

Good sign? Bad sign? She had to stop trying to read him. This was business. Business spawned by personal mistakes and regrets but still business. Messy business, and she much preferred tidy. “I expect it will be a couple of months.” She had to take another breath to force the remaining words out. “Marjorie’s in hospice care and he doesn’t want to leave her side. But he’s expecting your call, if you want to put off coming to St. Vincent’s until his return.”

“You’re who I’ll be working with if I stick around now?”

He kept eye contact, and it was all Dasha could do not to look away.

“Yes.” After work, she was so going to need to spend some time with Ben & Jerry. And maybe Jack Daniels too. She could make some kind of boozy ice-cream cocktail. Get one of those beer helmets to hold her booze-a-thon and wear out her treadmill. She needed to move. She used up her daily capacity for refined immobility while in surgery; outside the OR sleep was the only other thing that kept her fairly still.

He didn’t say anything.

She drummed her fingers against her thigh and waited, holding his gaze. Silence wasn’t her favorite, but the longer he went without erupting into a full verbal assault, the easier it got to be around him.

He was still Preston. He was still inherently good at heart, even if he tended toward selfishness. Not that she could say anything about that. Old Dasha was like that too. Much more than New-and-Improved Dasha.

New-and-Improved Dasha had spent time on her people skills and increased her frustration tolerance. She waited until it seemed like he was also waiting on her to say something else. “If you’d prefer to wait until Dr. Saunders returns, you can work directly with him on his cases, but the board wants you working with a surgeon on staff for a probationary period before they decide to finalize the privileges.”

“Probation?” he repeated, his voice rising ever so slightly. Okay, yeah, the meeting was wearing on him too. Maybe she should have worked up to that bit.

Preston had never responded well to limits. He plowed his way through obstacles, something that had attracted her to him back in school. That had been the start. Sometimes she wondered if she’d have made it through medical school and residency without that rivalry—even after it had grown into a relationship, the rivalry had still been there.

Preston’s idea of support had usually involved him taunting and teasing her until she felt driven to do just as well as she knew he would do. Sometimes Dasha had been certain she’d only pulled it off out of spite. And that crippling need to prove she was as good as everyone else. Worthy of his challenges. Worthy of his friendship...

She sucked in a deep breath. Getting through this meeting meant avoiding those sorts of detours into their past, or at least the emotions that had driven her. She had to stay on point.

As she’d stormed ahead when she should have trod lightly, she did her best now, under the weight of his stare to at least soften the blow. “This is not about your surgical ability. You’re brilliant with a scalpel and I don’t think anyone would ever deny that, but your people skills are the worst.”

“I’ve never betrayed a friend,” he drawled, no longer dancing around the past. “So, between the two of us, I’d say my people skills were superior.”

Keeping this completely businesslike and gentle just wasn’t going to work—he’d just demoted her from ex-girlfriend to ex-friend. Too much tension hung between them to avoid all the unpleasantness that had come before—all the unpleasantness she’d caused—but she still wanted to try. “Be that as it may, you have a reputation for being difficult. Which I’m certain you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Explain it, Hardin. I’m difficult?” There it was. Anger. Dampened, kept from burning hot right now, but still present.

God, those eyes. Ice-blue they may be but she could swear there were tiny flames dancing in his pupils. Never mind what that tone... “I’m trying to be tactful, Preston.”

“Yes, I can see that. One thing I always appreciated about you was your directness. Spit it out.”

“Fine. Everyone expects you to be an ass.” Dasha stuffed her hands into her pockets. New-and-Improved Dasha didn’t do that because cultured people didn’t do that. It was an old habit. Old Dasha did this. She yanked her hands back out and forced them to relax at her sides. “St. Vincent’s has a close-knit community. The board likes it that way, the department heads make certain everyone works and plays well together. Staff, administration and physicians, we’re all people and, no matter what, conflict needs to be handled civilly.” God help her if he brought up how badly she’d worked and played with him. Dasha plowed forward like the thought never occurred to her.

“The board wants good reports about good behavior—that means you can’t just speak your mind. Other people can, but other people aren’t as sharp-tongued as you are. You cannot pick fights with people. And if you have it in you after all those long exhausting hours of not fighting with anyone, maybe you could work a few of the miracle procedures that makes the board willing to take the risk.”

“Why are you willing?” Those eyes followed her every movement.

Willing might be overstating that. “Dr. Saunders and I are both willing to—”

“That’s not what I asked,” Preston cut in. “I get why he’s willing. Why are you willing? What does it get you?”

A clean conscience? Cleaner...

The peace of knowing she’d righted a terrible mistake? Or tried to...

There was no gently working up to subjects with this man. He stormed ahead, setting the pace and expecting everyone else to keep up. And he really didn’t seem inclined to back off the subject now. She might as well do it quickly and cleanly. Maybe it would even salve his pride to know that she didn’t view this situation as doing him a favor. “I owe you.”

His gaze narrowed slightly.

Dasha waited for him to say something, but when that failed to happen she added, “And you’re an amazing surgeon, Dr. Monroe. You would be an asset to St. Vincent’s.”

He shifted, still quiet but mulling things over, if she had even the tiniest ability to read him anymore.

The fact that there was no immediate refusal didn’t really help her endure the silence. She looked down, away from his eyes—like that would give him some privacy to think—and got distracted by the shape of his body. Lean and broad. He filled out the blue scrubs like he was meant to sell them. Dasha had never found scrubs flattering, but there was something equalizing about everyone having to wear shapeless, wretched clothes that did nothing good for most figures.

Until it came to Preston.

He looked good. Narrow hips. Long legs. Broad shoulders. Lean. A swimmer’s build. But he was a runner. Like her—and yet another way they’d been rivals. In the class. At the track. During residency. Her libido had been shut down for years, and five minutes with this man and she was undressing him in her mind.