My Sweetest Sasha: Cole's Story (Meadows Shore Book 2) (2 page)

Chet was talking fast, and seemed almost giddy at the prospect of trashing this doctor. She half expected him to rub his hands together like the dastardly Snidely Whiplash concocting some evil plot.

“That’s where you come in.”

That’s what I was afraid of.

“You’ve only been with us for a short time. Not long enough to form any opinions regarding personnel. You can be impartial. Your social work background gives you the skills to identify and remediate problem behavior, and your legal training allows you to investigate and provide the necessary analysis and recommendation for demotion or termination. You’re perfect for the job. Absolutely perfect.”

Lucky me.

“I wouldn’t beat myself up too much over remediation, though, because he’s a hopeless cause. I know you’ll do an impeccable job collecting the evidence necessary to do the right thing by the hospital and our patients.”

“What exactly do you need me to do?”

“You’ll be Harrington’s executive coach. I need you to shadow him from the moment he walks through the doors until he leaves. He’s a surgeon, so his days are long, and he spends some nights here. You don’t have a husband or kids, right?”

She shook her head, wondering if he’d ask a man these same questions. Of course not, because no man would still be sitting here listening to this. No woman would be either, unless she was new to the job and desperate for the paycheck, like her.

“Then it shouldn’t be problem. You’re a salaried employee, so we can’t pay you overtime, but keep track of the extra hours, and we’ll make sure you get comp time.”

“I don’t have any experience as an executive coach.”

“We think you’re perfect for the job—didn’t I already say that?”

She took a long, controlled breath through her nose, filling her lungs completely, and then exhaled slowly, hoping to release the mounting tension. “How long will I be working on the project?”

“Forty-five days. I can’t justify the expense for longer. We normally use an outside firm for this type of intensive coaching, but I don’t want to lose control of the process. Harrington’s a slippery character, can’t leave him any wiggle room.”

“I need to shadow him the entire time he’s in the building?”

“That’s right.”

“What happens overnight?”

He sat back and snorted, a vulgar laugh slithered from his thin, pale lips, sending goose bumps up and down her arms. “Don’t worry, we’re not asking you to share a room with him. We’ll provide suitable sleeping arrangements for you. But we’re talking about short naps, if anything. Much of his outrageous behavior occurs late at night when the hospital’s quiet. You’ll need to use your judgment.”

Social justice, that’s what had taken her to social work school and later to law school. But life hadn’t panned out quite the way she imagined, so she’d traded her dreams for a fat paycheck. Not forever—they were just on hold for a few years until she could put her family back on track. But never once during the hours she’d spent soul-searching, agonizing over how to save the farm, did she imagine her career would reach this low. Babysit a naughty surgeon and write a detailed report about his behavior.
God help me.

“Take this,” Chet said handing her a pager. “It’s programmed to go off every time his does. And brace yourself, because I’m sure he’ll hit on you, or use his
charm
to butter you up. You’ll need to keep your eye on the ball.”

He shoved a file in her direction. “This will get you up to speed on some of his shenanigans. Don’t let him push you around.”

“When do I begin?”

“Now. We’re still working out some minor details, but he’s coming in at eight to meet with you.”

Chet stood, smirking. “Alexa, I envision a bright future for you here. Think of this assignment as a test, a measure of your fitness for the job. I’m counting on you to do the right thing by the hospital—nothing less. Close the door on your way out.”

Every time she left Chet’s office, she was gripped by a sudden urge to shower. Today was no different.

Alexa glanced at her watch and hurried down the hall. She needed to read the file, plus tie up a few lose ends, before embarking on
the assignment of a lifetime
.

She stopped short in front of her office, her stomach displaying exceptional gymnastic skills as reality began to sink in. Chet wasn’t looking for an impartial assessment. He’d used those words, but what he really wanted was ammunition to get rid of Harrington. In a word, he wanted a hatchet job. And he wanted her to provide it, lock, stock, and barrel.

It didn’t sit well with her, seemed inherently unfair, and reeked of potential ethics violations. But if he was a bad doctor who endangered the lives of patients, and a menace to the hospital, maybe she could find a way to write the report while still keeping her conscience clear and her hands clean. Not to mention save her job. She thought about Chet’s not-so- thinly veiled threat, and then about Owen, her seven-year-old brother, and steeled her spine.

Getting rid of a bad doctor was the right thing to do—for everyone. Wasn’t it?

* * *

After leaving Tom, Cole headed to his office, but his card wouldn’t unlock the door to the suite. He pounded mercilessly on the solid mahogany, knowing no one would answer, but the senseless beating provided an outlet for the anger and frustration boiling inside him. The door could take the punishment.

Locking him out of the trauma center, his trauma center, was a blatant attempt to harass and embarrass him. Not to mention create havoc with his practice. It was a personal attack, one that not only threatened him, but also his patients and staff.

When his fists had enough, he tore down the stairs to the locker room in the operating suite, where he changed into athletic shorts and a T-shirt. After lacing up his running shoes, he stormed out of the hospital, barreling over everything in his way, eventually ending up at the Charles River where he ran for miles along its bank, miserable and alone, searching for answers.

Leaving the hospital would be hard. Could he find another job? Sure, probably before the day was over. But Boston General was a special place. Many of the people there were the best in their fields. Complicated cases from all over the world came in every day. They trained young doctors, and others who would go on to be leaders in the profession. He liked that, liked having a hand in shaping the future of medicine.

But probably more than anything else, he took great comfort in the familiarity of the place, of its people. Hardworking, compassionate people you could count on every day to do their jobs well. People who he’d worked so closely with for such a long time, their sorrows had become his sorrows, their triumphs his triumphs. People who were like a second family to him.

It’s where he’d gone to lose himself, to heal, after his mom and dad were killed in the crash. Digging out bullets from a gangbanger’s chest, painstakingly removing shards of glass from a young woman’s face, telling parents their sixteen-year-old-son bled out on the operating table—those horrors had distracted him from his own. They’d been his salvation. The daily challenges had consumed him, forced him to deal with his pain in small, manageable chunks. He’d grown up there, matured in ways he never would’ve imagined.

It was home, and they were his people. He wasn’t going anywhere. Cole never shied away from a fight, and he wasn’t about to start now. Not with so much at stake.

Cole ran until he nearly keeled over from a sharp pain on his right side. Leaning against a lamppost for support, he caught his breath and waited for the cramp to subside before heading back to the hospital for a much-needed shower.

He stepped into the shower and lathered himself with the unscented soap from the dispenser. Closing his eyes, he let the sudsy water stream down his face, cooling his overheated skin and washing away the remnants of sweat and anger. With a towel slung low on his hips, he reached in the locker for his scrubs and watched the card he’d tucked away earlier tumble from the pocket and float to the floor. He finished dressing before bothering to retrieve the small, white rectangle from the cold tile: Alexa Petersen MSW, JD. The name wasn’t familiar. A social worker and a lawyer—opposite ends of the human spectrum—an angel and a devil all wrapped up in one.

Social workers were the good girls of the hospital. Most of them were female, anyway. And he’d thoroughly enjoyed corrupting more than one over the years.

They were invaluable, often underappreciated members of the team, helping patients, families, and staff cope with the harsh realities of sickness and disease. Reframing hopelessness for those carrying the burdens of life and death.

He contemplated the card, running his thumb across the raised print—a lawyer. He’d enjoyed a few of those, too, but they were nowhere near as nice as the social workers, he thought, sliding the card back into his pocket.

* * *

Cole arrived at Risk Management shortly before noon, figuring he’d at least assess the situation before creating a battle plan. “Hey, Marcia. How’s your dad?” he asked the receptionist at the front desk.

“So much better. He lit a candle for you in church last Sunday. He’s grateful for everything you did for him. We all are.”

“Divine intervention. I could use some of that today.”

“So what brings you here, sir?” she asked coyly, as if she didn’t already know. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret in the hospital, especially from someone like Marcia, who’d been here forever and had ears everywhere.

“I’m meeting with Alexa Petersen.”

Marcia scrolled down the computer screen and then gave him a sharp look. “Four hours ago. Get lost on your way here?”

He loved feisty women. He’d grown up surrounded by them, women who never hesitated to knock him down a peg or two when necessary.

“Don’t give me that smile, Cole Harrington. I’m nearly sixty-five years old. Doesn’t work on me.” She shook her head. “I’ll let her know you finally made it.”

“Don’t. Please. I’m hoping to convince her to see me now.”

She leaned across the desk, pointing a pale blue fingernail with a miniature beach scene painted on it. “Down the hall. At the very end on the left.”

“Thanks, Marcia.”

“Behave yourself. She’s from the Midwest. Too nice for her own good.”

“I can be nice too,” he said with a wink. “A nice midwestern girl,” he muttered to himself while he strode down the hall, almost forgetting why he was there.

Alexa Petersen, last office on the left, just like Marcia instructed. Hmmm, a temporary nameplate, she’s a new employee. He paused and listened at the door before knocking. Maybe with a little cajoling, she’d see him if she didn’t have another appointment. No voices, but there was music … soft, soothing music … coming from behind the closed door.

He tapped lightly. Getting no response, he tried the knob and quietly opened the door. After a long intake of air, he stood perfectly still, captivated by an image his wildest imagination couldn’t have concocted: A blonde, standing on her head in the far corner of the room, with a dark skirt bunched at her waist and a scrap of blue lace peeking up at him through sheer stockings, barely concealing the treasure beneath. One step closer and he’d be able to see if she’d been born with that golden mane, or if it had come from a squeeze bottle.

Eyes closed, she still hadn’t noticed him standing there admiring her long legs and flat stomach.
Is that a stud in her navel?
Oh, God … focus, focus, focus.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked when his synapses began to fire again, allowing him to string together meaningful words into sentences. The moment he spoke, the serenity of the room evaporated, leaving him with a small pang of regret.

Her eyes shot open and she fell out of the headstand with a graceless thud. Like a startled kitten, she remained on the floor staring up at him with bright blue eyes the size of saucers. “What about knocking?” she finally managed in a low, breathless voice.

Cole studied her while fighting back a grin. He’d played sports his whole life, but he’d never had a coach who looked like her. Maybe this arrangement wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“I did knock.” Cole held out a hand to help her up, but she ignored it. “You were so Zenned out you didn’t hear me.” He picked up a photo of a young boy from her desk, wondering if it was her son. “Slacking off on company time?”

“I … I … I’m allowed to take a break for lunch,” she stammered, justifying her behavior
like a child caught sneaking cookies right before dinner.

He watched while she smoothed her skirt and grabbed the navy jacket hanging neatly over the back of the chair. A white sleeveless top hugged her body, highlighting curves—luscious curves, with taut nipples pushing through the layers of fabric shielding her well-rounded breasts. His mouth went dry at thought of those perfect-sized globes with their hard little nubs pressing eagerly against his palms.

With one tug, the blonde pulled the bright green headband securing her glorious hair away from her pretty face, leaving the golden mass to tumble unfettered over her shoulders. Standing on her head had tousled it, and he imagined her hair would look exactly like this when she got out of bed. Her face and neck were flushed from being upside down, or maybe from being caught upside down.

She eyed him nervously, through the long fringe swept across her forehead, almost grazing her dark lashes. Her eyes were nearly identical in color to the lace panties … His dick twitched, and he cursed himself for indulging in the fantasy.

Neither of them spoke while she covered herself with the drab, shapeless jacket. Too late. He’d already been treated to what lay underneath, and he was having a hell of a time cramming the image into a to-be-enjoyed-later mental file.

Alexa buttoned the jacket and sat behind her desk, regaining some measure of composure. “Do we have an appointment?”

He leaned toward her and stuck out his hand. “Cole Harrington.”

She grasped the large hand firmly and looked him straight in the eye without flinching, even while his eyes bored into hers, determined to discover the character of the woman chosen to torment him.

“Alexa Petersen,” she said, her voice now more controlled. “Our meeting was at eight.”

He took a seat without being invited. “Sorry. I needed to think the situation through, decide if I was going to meet with you.”

“They would’ve summarily dismissed you if you hadn’t shown up today.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

* * *

Hmmm, the height of arrogance. Maybe Chet was right about him.

Cole Harrington had an air about him, a self-confidence that flowed like water from an open spigot. He was the kind of man who walked in and commanded the room. The kind who didn’t bother taking prisoners, and it was unnerving to be with him in such a tight space.

He sat there, cool as a cucumber, expecting she’d meet with him on his terms. Didn’t matter that he was four hours late, as though his time was more valuable than hers.

Coaching him wouldn’t be easy. No, there was nothing easy about this man. Not the brown wavy hair tickling the back of his neck, framing an almost perfect sun-kissed face. It was the color of the chestnuts her family roasted in the big fireplace on Christmas night.

Certainly his body wasn’t easy. His broad shoulders made him seem rugged and powerful. And when he lowered himself into the chair, the outline of a large thigh muscle strained against the thin cotton fabric of his scrubs. He leaned back, making himself comfortable, crossing his arms across a massive chest, leaving an exposed forearm within her reach. She knew if she lifted her hand to touch, it would be hard—rock hard. She’d bet her last dollar on it.

But it was the smoldering blue eyes that were the least easy thing about him. They latched onto hers, luring her with their warmth, all the while threatening to devour her. He radiated energy so intense it challenged her sensible nature, rocking her world. She’d never encountered anyone with this kind of presence, and her heart thumped wildly in response.

* * *

Cole could see he intimidated her, and he’d barely said a word. For all her fancy degrees, she was an amateur. That’s why she’d been selected for the job. They needed a puppet, someone who’d let them pull the strings while they remained in the background, invisible, huddled in the darkness.

“So Alex, tell me what this is about.”

“Alexa,” she corrected softly, but firmly.

“Alexa,” he repeated, holding her gaze until she looked away.

He lifted his eyebrows when she didn’t respond to his initial question. “Why am I here?”

“I’m your coach. I’ve been instructed to shadow you and remediate any undesirable behavior as necessary.”

“Undesirable behavior? You mean, like, if I don’t wash my hands after using the bathroom?”

“I won’t be following you into the men’s room. I’ll leave the matters of hygiene to you and your conscience.” She swallowed hard, and brushed the hair out of her eyes and behind her ear with a quick sweep of her hand.

“Who instructed you to harass me?”

She refused to take the bait. “Chet Toomey’s my supervisor.”

“How long is this little charade going to last?”

“Forty-five days. It’s not a game, Dr. Harrington.”

“Cole.” He stared intently, causing her to squirm. “What exactly does it involve?”

“I’m required to be at your side from the moment you walk into the hospital until you walk out the door.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

He wasn’t going to push her around. She sat up taller in her chair. “I don’t think there’s a choice.”

“Patient privacy?”

“We’re in compliance. And I’ll ask patients to sign a release if it becomes necessary.”

“Like hell you will. I have never, never, done anything that wasn’t in the best interest of my patients.”

“It seems that's a matter of opinion,” she said gently.

“No, it’s a matter of fact,” he barked. “Now, I need you to activate my card so I can do my job. And you can do yours. That is, of course, if you’ve finished with your yoga session.”

By the time he left, her hands were shaking and her left eye twitched. None of it lost on Cole.

“Oh, one more thing,” he poked his head back into the office. “Love the color of your panties, they’re almost a perfect match to your eyes.” And he disappeared down the hall.

“Ugh!” She leaned over and buried her head in her arms, resting on the desk for a couple of minutes, trying to reclaim some semblance of peace.

* * *

Alexa gathered her belongings, stuffed the laptop into her bag, and headed over to the surgical wing of the hospital. She arrived at the trauma center and easily found her way to Cole Harrington’s office. If only the rest of the day could go this smoothly.

But the first roadblock appeared mere seconds after she arrived, when she introduced herself to Sherrie, Dr. Harrington’s overprotective assistant, who offered a frosty welcome and ordered her to sit in the waiting room.

“I have permission to access the back offices. Dr. Harrington is expecting me.”

After several minutes of semi-polite negotiating, Sherrie slammed her foot down hard. “This is a doctor’s office. We do serious business here. It’s my job to prioritize, and your business isn’t high on the list of pressing matters. You’ll need to wait until someone’s free to escort you back.”

“It’s very busy here. I can find my own way back,” she offered politely.

“It’s nice of you to be so helpful, but we can’t let just
anyone
have run of the office.”

Seeing no viable alternative, she sat in the waiting room while Sherrie continued to eye her suspiciously, as though if left unattended she might abscond with the pain medication.

While biding her time, she contemplated the ways in which to convince Sherrie to let her into the back offices where she could observe Dr. Harrington. But she dismissed one idea after another: too harsh, too pushy, too milquetoast, too nice. The struggle exemplified her own internal struggle, one she’d wrestled with her entire life. Who was she? And how should she behave in order to fit in? Was she the girl her family and teachers saw as sassy and rude, poking her nose in places where it didn’t belong? Or was she the overly polite, deferential woman her peers and law professors saw?

“Maybe you’d be happier on the east coast. Have you thought about New York? Everyone’s pushy there, and it’s almost expected that you’ll discuss topics that are off limits here. It’s ingrained in the culture,” her high school guidance counselor suggested when it was time to look for colleges.

“You want to be a social worker, really? Maybe you should think about the law,” or “What made you want to practice law, you seem better suited to social work?”

“Stay out of the shark tank,” her law advisor warned, “think about a career in administrative law where there’s very little conflict.”

If she’d been merely an observer and it hadn’t been her life caught in the push and pull, she’d have been amused, because social work and law had so much in common. They both provided an avenue for seeking social justice, and it was acceptable in both fields to ask probing, almost nosy, questions.

She wondered how someone like Cole Harrington had learned to be so comfortable in his own skin. Was it a genetic trait, or a learned behavior? Either way, it had skipped over her family, because no one seemed all that comfortable with who they were … but she meant to change that for Owen. Her little brother’s life would be different. She’d make sure of it.

* * *

After about twenty minutes wasted stewing, she approached Sherrie again. “I know you’re busy, but I have a job to do, too. If you won’t allow me to do it, I’ll leave, but Dr. Harrington’s card will be deactivated again.” She spoke in a carefully modulated voice with a tone that meant business.

Sherrie hedged, but Alexa didn’t budge.

“Okay. I’ll take you back, but you need to stay out of the way. Like I said before, this is serious work we’re doing here.”

“Thank you. Should I leave the patient consent forms with you, or do I give them to someone else?”

Sherrie thumbed through the forms, wrinkling her nose. “You think he’s going to let you in a room … with his patients?”

“I don’t think he has a choice.”

Sherrie rolled her eyes, not bothering to conceal her amusement, and shook her head. “Good luck with that, honey.”

She showed Alexa to a small room, where she waited for nearly three hours, watching patients escorted back and forth by medical assistants, staff scurrying about, and Cole Harrington moving easily through the hall like he owned the place, laughing and chatting easily with patients and staff. Everyone, including Cole, ignored her.

She hadn’t eaten lunch, but she’d refilled her water bottle a few times and now needed to find a bathroom.

She poked her head into the lab. “Excuse me. Would you please tell me where the staff restrooms are?”

The lab tech didn’t bother to look away from the computer screen. “Around the corner, last door on the right.”

Another friendly, welcoming person, Alexa thought, heading around the corner. There was only one door, but it wasn’t marked. She shrugged, and knocked tentatively. When no one answered, she turned the knob and carefully pushed the door open. Not a bathroom, but an exam room—fortunately unoccupied.

She shut the door, and turned to find Cole Harrington scowling at her, like she’d defaced the Holy Grail. He grabbed her elbow and ushered her down the hall so quickly her feet barely skimmed the floor. When they reached his personal office, he released her and closed the door firmly behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing, entering patient areas without permission? What if a patient had been undressing or undergoing a procedure in that room?”

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to go into an exam room. I was trying to find a bathroom. That’s all.”

* * *

Cole studied her. She looked different from when he’d first met her. For one thing, she’d brushed her hair. It was sleek and glossy, prim and proper, fitting for a professional in conservative clothing. But he preferred it tousled and approachable, the way it’d been in her office. It suited her better, particularly in his fantasies involving lace panties and a bejeweled navel.

Her eyes were no longer bright blue. They were washed out, weary, defeated. He filled his cheeks with air and blew it out with a loud whoosh, running a hand over his stubble.

She was going to be a thorn in his side for the next six weeks. He could make her life a living hell for a month and a half without much effort. But where was the joy in that? This debacle wasn’t her doing. He’d reminded himself of this over and over all afternoon. That prick Chet had put them all in this position.

She fidgeted, waiting for him to continue to berate her, but she didn’t run away with her tail between her legs or dissolve into a puddle of tears. Had to respect that.
Fucking Chet
.