Doc Showmance, page 2
I glanced around to confirm no employees were within hearing range. Only Amber kept me in her peripheral vision. I said low, “You want me to fake date her?”
“She’s not that bad. You’ve got to admit she’s got an edgy look to her that’s kind of cool.”
“It’s not that she’s unattractive.” Faking it with her was going to be all kinds of complicated. Those whiskey-colored eyes of hers jerked to me. Scheming glittered in their depths as if plotting how best to make me suffer. I hadn’t felt this level of excitement jitters while under a woman’s perusal in years. I wasn’t a masochist. I also wasn’t argumentative, but with her? We could be at each other’s throats in seconds. I’d forgotten how much fun it was.
The Amber I used to know kept me on my toes. I never knew if she was going to snipe at me or give me her nice side for a few seconds when forced to be collaborative. Either way, she challenged me to stay a step ahead.
The fact she hadn’t forgotten my nickname, Dillweed, thrilled me. Whenever I heard the word, which wasn’t often, it made me think of her and smile.
Marianna chuckled. “She’s a bit…uh, difficult. I’ll grant you that.”
“Difficult? She’s a terrier who’ll bite first and ask questions later.”
I couldn’t quite process the fact the woman I’d been drawn to years ago in vet school, before everything went to crap and we degenerated into constant arguing, was even more beautiful than before. If only she hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time when I agreed to do that stupid Valentine’s Day video. Everything might’ve been different. Would I have worked up the courage to ask her out? Yes. I’d almost been there. She was a lot to handle back then, even before she became furious at me for existing in her space.
“You think you can pull off regular medicine in a place like this without making an ass of yourself or getting sued?”
“Not a problem.” I’d done day practice for a while when just out of school. Emergency medicine, however, was a whole different league. Only seeing patients at their worst with death on the line 50 percent of the time induced a high level of adrenaline. I liked it.
Medical and surgical challenges didn’t scare me.
“You know her,” Marianna stated. Not a question. “Please tell me you didn’t screw it up by sleeping with her at some point in the past.”
“We were never like that.” I swallowed, unwilling to give Marianna the ammunition she sought or to let her know the historical shitfest that raged between us. “We went to the same vet school. Can’t say we got along.”
“Perfect. I’ll ready your contract. We’ll pay you twice your normal per month, plus the hospital pays you on commission. We’ll pay your housing while in the area. Try not to make an ass of yourself. Or, actually, do.” She grinned. “That’d make great TV. You’ll sign a contract to exclusively be into her until Christmas, but no one other than you, me, the hospital director, and her will know it’s fake. You can’t publicly date other women during these few months.”
“I can’t do this. Not with Amber. She’s—”
“Sure, she’s a pit bull, which is why this is going to be so great. You’re eye candy, and she’s drama. Bonus if she hates your guts.” Marianna lowered her voice. “You can go find women to hook up with on the side. I remember back when I directed a few episodes of your show you had a need to scratch that itch a lot. Just keep it quiet and out of the media.”
I stopped hooking up with random women long ago. A few messy episodes left a bad taste in my mouth.
“This won’t work.”
I watched Amber undo her ponytail. All that red-streaked dirty-blonde hair cascaded down her back for a moment before she redid it into a messy bun. Her technician said something and pointed at a screen. A small smile lit up Amber’s face. So much strength in her jaw. Intelligence and stubbornness etched into her features as she read. The tiny hoop in her left nostril caught the light and glittered.
Just from her smile, my fascination shot up. I couldn’t identify if it was dread or excitement that licked down my spine. I wanted to know who Amber had become. Who was this badass ready to go to extremes for her patients? At least, the few episodes I’d watched of her ER show featured her fighting for her patients.
I didn’t want a fake TV dating scenario with her. I wished for a do-over, a chance to go back to that awful, stupid day and change what I’d done. I wanted something real, not a scripted farce. Sure, anything with Amber would be an uphill battle.
Her wide gaze found mine as if her sixth sense alerted her I was watching. The challenge in her gaze, the slight drawing in of her eyebrows… I recognized that as her pre-battle face.
Eagerness shot through my stomach. Bring it on, Goth Girl.
I hadn’t thought of the nickname I’d given her in years. She’d earned it from her love of wearing all black and odd Celtic pendants back in school.
“You’re going to pretend to like her and make it believable.”
“Why do you need this setup to work?” I asked. Marianna’s desperation made no sense.
“The network needs my gift to create kickass reality TV and breathe life into this ER show. Look what I did for your little show. When I took the helm, yours was a yawn fest. The network wasn’t sure about me bringing you on to do this. They don’t particularly care if your little wildlife show continues because they haven’t seen season two when I took over.”
The woman was nuts. I’d filmed important, thought-provoking, safe episodes before she showed up. She’d locked me inside a cage in the back of a rickety Cambodian van without warning me the sedated tiger’s drugs were wearing off. It tried to attack me. Then she made me handle a Venezuelan forest pit viper to examine its injured eye. The snake’s strike missed my face by millimeters. Nightmares still haunt me about the snake. I could’ve died. Twice.
She said, “We’re going to up the drama here. Once they see I can deliver, they’ll green light you for more seasons with me directing. Can you imagine the things we can come up with? If they don’t like what we do here, they’re canning both of us.”
“I don’t know.” I had zero desire to continue working with her on my show. She’d probably plan to throw me into a malfunctioning shark cage next.
Her lips flattened and she hissed low, “If you don’t do this, I’ll release the shit from Colombia to the world. You’ll never work in TV, film, or the veterinary world again. You’ll be forced to tuck your tail and run back to Daddy, begging for a chance to join the family business.”
Blood roared in my ears as I slammed my teeth together. I’d rather rot in poverty than beg for anything from my father. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Suck it up, buttercup, and pull out your best Romeo. If you fuck up my career, I’m destroying yours.” Marianna cackled, a disturbing noise that raised goose bumps down my arms, before she moseyed away.
I could probably pretend to like, even fake date, a woman, but not Amber. In the past, she’d ferreted out all my hot buttons, the ones that made me instantly cranky.
I hadn’t meant to hurt her when I pretended for that video in school. Things flew out of control when my roommate jumped out screaming, “Gotcha! Just kidding.” The rest of our class saw the video online. Back then, I considered Amber everything a woman should be: hot, brainy, and a smartass. I should’ve handled it differently. I should’ve stood up for her and said no to going through with the prank. I should’ve told her I’d meant what I said when I got down on my knee to offer her flowers. But I’d been a stubborn, immature jerk who was too concerned about what other people thought rather than fighting to keep the only thing in my life that I’d wanted. The only thing that meant something. Her.
Once Marianna left, I strolled toward Amber, waiting until her assistant moved away to murmur, “Guess you’re in on this crazy plan?”
“What plan?”
“They didn’t tell you yet?” Hot damn. I knew before her. Only she brought out this childish side of me.
“Stop grinning like a know-it-all,” she snapped. “What plan?”
“I’m going to be sticking around for a while on your show. You and me get to be costars. Special costars.”
She blinked at me.
Countdown to her comprehending in five, four, three, two…
Her eyes narrowed. “By special, you better mean you attempting to outdo my medicine or trying to have a more complicated case than me. If you plan to try anything special on me, I’ll rip off your nuts and feed them to the next vicious Malinois I see.”
I bit back a laugh that, if released, might prompt her to attack. Us faking interest in each other might be the most fun I’ve had in years.
Three
Amber
Ian shot me his patented sexy grin with an edge of smirk before he sauntered away. Every angle of his body projected the fact he thought he’d won that encounter. Because he had information I didn’t.
The moment I decided I’d pursue him to get in another, even better, last word and find out exactly what the show planned for us, Susan handed me the next patient’s chart. I glanced down at the single sheet of paper, which in today’s digital age consisted of a bunch of scribbles documenting a weight, a temperature, a mishmash of diet information, and a list of vaccinations.
“You need to take a lunch break.” My voice came out shakier than expected. “Can you swap out with someone else for a while?”
“I grabbed my sandwich while you were looking at microscope slides of Magic Mike’s dog’s diarrhea.” The glow in Susan’s gaze said her job was to keep me going. Not the other way around. She tapped the piece of paper I held. “This is Mac, eight-year-old basset hound with a distended abdomen. White gums. Kovac alert.”
Great. Likely bleeding abdominal mass.
I redid my ponytail. Messing with my hair was a nervous habit. The wall clock read one thirty. I could be in and out of surgery with the patient rounded off to the overnight staff by five p.m.
Hold on. What? Kovac alert. Shit.
I scrutinized the hallway, worried Dr. David Kovac and his camera crew might crash into the room during my exam. Whenever I rechecked one of his previous emergency cases that wasn’t improving, the pet was often a mismanaged mess.
Dr. Kovac had no business seeing dog and cat patients. No comment on the exotic animals he cared for since I knew nothing about their medicine. Usually, he kept to the non-canine and non-feline species. People came from far and wide since he was willing to see the exotic animal emergencies who couldn’t pay out the nose to go to the specialty hospitals. Veterinarians willing to treat exotic animal emergencies, not just normal day cases, were as rare as Keanu Reeves nailing a British accent. I refused to see reptiles, birds, or small furry creatures unless someone twisted my arm.
“Dr. Kovac diagnosed Cushing’s in this dog a week ago.” Susan waved at the computer where the dog’s chart had been pulled up.
“Tell me he did some testing. Please. Let this be the one time he did more than wave a magic wand and pull a diagnosis out of his ass.” I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
Susan snickered. “Congrats. You were caught on candid camera.” She nodded to her left, where Martin stood with his handheld camera, smirking.
Damn it. I despised the sneaky weasel with his sixth sense to be in the right place at one of my very wrong moments.
“I’m sorry.” I said it loud for the camera. “It’s starvation talking.” I scrolled Mac’s chart on the computer screen. Classic Kovac records: Pot-belly. Cushing’s. No lab testing. No examination specifics. I should be thrilled Kovac typed this much. He didn’t like computers and documented little in his notes.
Many people who’d watched Dr. Kovac on TV thought he pooped golden eggs and could diagnose anything. The sixty-something Bulgarian could charm the pants off a honey badger and had the luck of a man who’d touched a leprechaun. People equated his old school approach with cheap but caring. Yet, his medicine was borderline quackery.
With a deep breath, I tried to think positive. Kovac wasn’t that bad. Maybe the dog had classic Cushing’s signs—drank a lot, urinated a small pond each time he peed, panted for no apparent reason, and chronic skin issues. Then, even I might think the dog probably had Cushing syndrome. Sure, I’d have done some testing before putting him on drugs, but maybe the client had financial constraints? Feeling better about the situation, I walked toward the exam room.
“I’ll be back in a minute, Susan.” As I stepped into the exam room I glanced down at the name. Wade Decker.
Aw, crap.
The door clicked shut behind me. One look up and, yep, we’d met. At ten p.m. about two months ago at my refrigerator. He’d been my sister’s one-night stand in search of a drink, and I’d gotten in late from work. Joley wasn’t my biological sister, but my foster sister. Even so, foster siblings with the shit we survived were family for life.
“Hi, Wade. How can I help you today?” I hoped my cheeks weren’t as red as they felt; the camera audience would misinterpret it as me crushing on him. Which I wasn’t. He was attractive, but not my type. Too bicyclist physique. I liked my men a little thicker. It’s nice to have something to hold onto and not worry I’d break him in the bedroom. The awkwardness between us was because when we’d met at the refrigerator at my house, he’d been buck naked.
“Dr. Hardin?” He straightened his lithe body from the slouch in the overstuffed leather chair with a puzzled look. He didn’t recognize me.
His brown eyes widened.
Now he remembered.
“You’re Joley’s sister, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“She’s something, isn’t she? It was good while it lasted.”
A snort laugh escaped before I could suppress it. “How long was that? Twenty-four hours?”
“It wasn’t going anywhere. We both knew it.” He patted Mac’s head. The bassett hound shook his dangly ears. Thwap. Thwap.
“I’m sorry. I love Joley. I’d give her my kidney if she needed it, but she should come with a warning label. She eats through men like they’re M&Ms.”
A hiss of released air came from my left. Damn it, I’d forgotten about Martin filming this. He held one hand over his mouth as if trying not to laugh.
Time I redirected this conversation. “What’s going on with Mac?”
“He’s not better. His tummy looks bigger, and he’s not eating. He won’t even touch hotdogs or bacon. This guy never pukes, but he brought up everything last night.”
I knelt in front of Wade and touched the hound’s head. “Hey, Mac. Too bad you can’t tell me what’s wrong.” As I listened to his heart and worked back to his swollen abdomen my heart sank. “There’s something in his abdomen that I don’t think is just an enlarged liver due to Cushing syndrome.”
I glanced up, awkwardly finding myself almost lodged between Wade’s legs at crotch level. I rolled back to a sit and pushed up to a stand.
“We need to do some radiographs.” At his blank stare, I amended, “X-rays.”
“Oh, okay. Can you do them now?”
I nodded. “You all right if I borrow Mac for a few minutes?”
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up the digital images in the exam room for Wade and pointed. “There’s a mass here. I put the ultrasound on it while I had him back there. It’s a liver tumor. It only seems to involve one liver lobe, but there’s fluid in his abdomen. I took a sample, and its blood. That means the tumor is bleeding and needs to come out in the next twenty-four hours. If we wait, he could die. Our only other alternative is to put him down. Now, the surgery comes with risks, and even trying to remove it, he might not make it. But we have to make a decision. There’s a chance that his entire liver is riddled with tumor, which I won’t know until I’m in there. Looked okay when I ultrasounded it. If he was mine, I’d go for it. I’m good at this surgery and feel pretty sure I can get it out.”
Wade’s eyes widened. The glaze of shock fell across his face. This look was the kiss of death for an owner hearing anything more I said.
“You okay, Wade?” I touched his arm to draw his attention back to the moment.
He nodded then shook his head. “Yeah… No. I didn’t expect… Last time I was here, Dr. Kovac said it was treatable. Thought we’d need to adjust his drugs or something.”
“Liver masses can be tricky, but I didn’t see obvious metastasis or movement of the mass throughout the liver or into the lungs. But—”
The door opened. In stalked Kovac with his own cameraman. His dark hair with gray at the sides gave him a distinguished air that matched his suave Bulgarian accent. “Mac’s not any better, I hear? Got a mass in his tummy.”
Kovac deserved an Academy Award for the sympathetic look he cast Wade. This was why his clients loved him. I sometimes wished I could harness even a smidgeon of his charm. “I’ll do the surgery this afternoon. Let’s get that spleen out and make him better.”
Oh, no no no. “It’s not his spleen. It’s—”
“I got it from here, Dr. Hardin,” Kovac said dismissively. He gave me a sympathetic once-over that made me want to deck him in the nose. “I know you’re busy. I’ll take over.”
I met Wade’s confused gaze. I wanted him, needed him, to tell Kovac to take a hike. Not happening. No sane client got in the middle of an ego war between two vets.
Wade didn’t know Kovac’s small animal surgery skills ranked somewhere in the super sucky closing in on scary unqualified range. Removing a spleen was moderately challenging, and most vets decent at surgery could handle it—if they didn’t flip out over the blood loss. Removing a liver lobe? Uh, no. Most didn’t have the balls to touch the liver. But me? Yeah, I could kick ass in surgery. It was my superpower.
“Let me know if you need anything from me, Wade.” Weak. I should’ve done a lot better. I should’ve held my ground. For Mac.
