Neurosurgeon's Christmas to Remember
Author
Traci Douglass
Reads
17.1K
Chapters
17
CHAPTER ONE
CONTROLLED CHAOS.
Two words that described both the scene playing out before Ayanna Franklin’s eyes and her stressful first day as Head of Public Relations for Seattle General Hospital.
Of course, she’d expected the mess she’d walked into first thing this morning. After all, she’d been hired last minute to replace the outgoing director, who’d resigned abruptly to deal with a personal crisis and left Ayanna to deal with preparing for the hospital’s huge Christmas ball in a few weeks. Because of said personal crisis, her predecessor had dropped the ball on pretty much everything, meaning Ayanna had to somehow organize the biggest fundraiser event of the year with a limited budget and even more limited time.
What she hadn’t expected was the text she’d received from the head nurse in the ER, telling her that not only had one of the hospital’s high-profile patients arrived in Seattle three weeks early without warning, he’d also been involved in a serious car accident. The patient was currently in the ER, badly injured and unconscious, and basically all hell had broken loose. If Ayanna didn’t stay on top of her part in it, the whole situation had the potential to explode into an enormous catastrophe.
Okay. Calm down. You’ve got this.
Handling problems was her specialty. Growing up with five younger siblings, all of whom she’d had to keep under her watchful eye as babysitter while her busy parents had worked during their childhood, had prepared Ayanna for anything.
Well, almost anything...
After a deep breath to steady her raging pulse, Ayanna headed through the automatic sliding doors into a cacophony of doctors, nurses, gurneys, and patients, making a beeline for the main workstation hub at the center of it all. Most of the staff here she’d met only briefly, but in her peripheral vision she spotted a few familiar faces—Emelia Featherstone, Head of Orthopedics, and Lucas Beaufort, one of the ER doctors. She’d met them both on a tour of the facility earlier in the week. Now they were both working on Seattle General’s VIP patient—Roberto Baresi, King of Isola Verde. No one seemed to know why the man had arrived early and, based on the King’s unresponsiveness despite the doctors’ repeated attempts to awaken him, it didn’t look like they’d find out anytime soon.
Blood stained the sheet covering the King’s legs and though the sight might’ve turned some people’s stomachs, Ayanna wasn’t squeamish. Between her younger siblings’ minor scraped knees from bike accidents to more major broken bones from falling out of trees or mishaps at Little League practice, she’d basically seen and heard it all. Plus, their mother was a retired nurse.
She sidestepped another gurney rushing in through the ambulance bay doors on her way to the central workstation. This new patient was a woman, her dark curly hair and features similar enough to the King’s to mark her as Giada Baresi, Princess of Isola Verde, Roberto’s daughter. Both of them had been mentioned in the brief she’d received from Dr. Dominic di Rossi this morning. The public relations firms she’d worked for had always made dossiers for visits by their high-profile clients to cover things like security and public relations protocol, staff confidentiality, etc., so that was nothing new either. The only differences at Seattle General now were the confidentiality of the medical setting and the fact these people were royalty, not just CEOs or celebrities.
Nearby stood Dr. di Rossi himself, looking strangely pale as he stared at their unconscious patient. He glanced up then and caught Ayanna’s eye then headed in her direction.
“Good thing you’re here,” the head nurse said, diverting Ayanna’s attention away from Dr. di Rossi’s approach. The woman gestured impatiently from behind the desk toward Ayanna, beckoning her over. “This place is a zoo already.”
Ayanna focused on her part here and not the life or death situations playing out around her. It was her duty to keep the King and this accident out of the press, no matter how unexpected his arrival, and she planned to do just that. Ayanna hated failing, so she didn’t. At least professionally. In her personal life, though? That was another story.
Shaking off those errant thoughts, she glanced over at Dr. di Rossi, who was still weaving his way toward her through gurneys and staff, then looked back at the nurse. “Have there been any calls from reporters?”
“Not yet.” The nurse stepped closer to allow a crash cart to pass behind her. “But the local news teams have scanners and they’d have picked up the 911 dispatcher’s call to the ambulance and police.”
“Right.” Ayanna’s stomach lurched and she swallowed hard against her dry throat, a surge of adrenaline prepping her for proverbial battle. Okay. First priority—keep the press off the scent of the King’s accident until she had a better idea of how this would all play out. “If anyone from the media calls, refer them to my office.”
“Will do.” The nurse nodded. “I also contacted the neurosurgeon, per Dr. di Rossi’s protocol. He’s left his conference in Vancouver and is flying in now.”
“Perfect.” Among her other duties, Ayanna had been assigned to retrieve said neurosurgeon, Dr. Max Granger, from the airport before the King’s scheduled brain surgery on December fifteenth, still several weeks away. Now, with the accident, he’d be arriving today and so she pulled up the calendar on her phone to try to work him into her already overflowing schedule. “What time is he landing?”
“About an hour from now,” the nurse said, then rattled off the flight info.
“Got it.” Ayanna typed all the details into her phone then glanced over at the King again. Her heart went out to the man and his daughter. They were injured and in a foreign country. It must be terrifying, royalty or not. Plus, with it being so near the holidays, that would make things even more difficult. “Is he doing all right?”
“The King’s holding his own. For now.” The nurse started around the desk to help another patient then said to Ayanna over her shoulder, “I’ll text you if anything changes.”
“Thanks.” Ayanna slid her phone back into the pocket of her blazer just as Dr. di Rossi reached her. Given his worried expression, he could probably use a moment of quiet, and her caretaker instincts took over as she led the man across the hall to a small private conference room. The door closed, shutting out the barrage of noise behind them, and Ayanna relaxed her tense shoulders a bit. “We’ve got this covered. Nobody knows that the royal family is here. It’s still a secret, as originally planned, and all hospital staff are under strict instructions not to talk about their identities, as per the King’s demand.”
Dr. di Rossi scrubbed a hand over his face. “Why are they here so early? It’s three weeks until his scheduled surgery.”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he wanted to settle in,” Ayanna speculated. “To feel comfortable in the place he’s going to be recuperating?”
He shook his head, frowning. Maybe she was wrong. Honestly, she had no idea what royalty normally did with their lives.
“At least we already had all the plans in place. I’ve contacted his neurosurgeon as well. Max Granger? He was attending a conference in Vancouver but he’s already on his way back. He was very concerned to hear that the King may have a head injury. I’m going to collect him at the airport and bring him here.”
“Good. Thank you, Ms. Franklin. I need to get back out there now and see what’s happening. Excuse me.” Dr. di Rossi gave her a curt nod before exiting.
Alone again, Ayanna waited a few moments before opening the door, the scent of antiseptic and bleach stinging her nose. Her high heels clacked on the shiny linoleum floor as she hurried out of the ER and headed back toward her office.
At least I’ll get my exercise, working here.
As she walked, Ayanna shoved aside the fatigue threatening to overwhelm her. She thrived on a challenge. The busier she was, the better. It was one reason she was so good at her job. And probably another mark against her in the romance department. At least that was what her ex, Will, had said when he’d broken off their engagement and left Ayanna for her best friend six months ago.
“Maybe if you paid as much attention to me as you do your career, I wouldn’t have cheated.”
Will’s words still haunted her, usually when she was tired or at night when she was alone. As though his sleeping with her best friend could ever be Ayanna’s fault.
Honestly, Ayanna had thought she’d done everything right with Will, and that was the problem. She couldn’t trust herself any more, or her emotions. And without her instincts to rely on where her heart was concerned, she tended to shut anyone other than her family out just to be safe. She never wanted to go through having her heart broken again and didn’t plan on opening herself up like that again for a very long time, if ever.
Ayanna shook off the lingering ache of loneliness in her chest. Will was a disloyal idiot and she was better off without him. The only person responsible for his actions was him. He’d known what her crazy schedule was like before they’d become involved. For him to throw it in her face like that as an excuse for his deplorable behavior was nonsense.
Maybe if she repeated that to herself enough times, she’d finally believe it.
She gave herself a mental shake. No time to dwell on the past. There was too much to do today, starting with prioritizing her current workload now that she had to include a trip to the airport to pick up Dr. Granger.
An image of the stacks of files waiting for her to sort through for the upcoming annual charity Christmas ball put on by Seattle General flashed in her head. This year it was being held at the luxurious four-diamond Polar Club Hotel. The place was an historic treasure in the Pacific Northwest and at least her predecessor had managed to reserve the grand ballroom before their swift departure. The locale gave Ayanna a good canvas to work with, but she had less than a month until the event and the menu and décor were still up in the air, not to mention the musicians. It was a lot to get done in a short amount of time. And with her staff tied up trying to prevent the information about the King’s accident from getting out now, they wouldn’t be much help either.
But somehow it would all work out. Because the alternative wasn’t an option.
Besides, she’d handled worse situations in her days in the PR trenches. In fact, her ability to think on her feet was what had landed her on the list of “Top PR Professionals Under Forty”, according to the Washington Post. She worked hard and played harder.
Or not at all.
Restless, Ayanna boarded an elevator to her office on the fourth floor. The car jolted upward, and she pulled out her phone again to check her app that was tracking Dr. Granger’s flight in real time. On a good day, it took twenty minutes to get to the airport from Seattle General, but with Thanksgiving less than a week away, the city was more packed than usual with tourists. She’d grab her purse and leave now, just to make sure she arrived in plenty of time. The last thing she needed today were more unexpected issues because she somehow missed picking up the King’s neurosurgeon.
“Please place your trays in the upright and secure position as we prepare for landing. Thank you.” The pilot’s voice crackled over the PA system as the “Seatbelt Fastened” signs were illuminated overhead. Dr. Max Granger shut down his laptop and stared out the window at the city below. Afternoon sunlight glinted off the Space Needle in the distance, but he had little time to appreciate the beauty of Seattle and even less inclination.
Since his wife’s death two years previously, Max preferred to stay busy. Busy and famous, apparently, if those ridiculous TV tabloid shows that had recently dubbed him the “Brain Surgeon to the Stars” were believed. He sighed and shifted in his seat. Yes, many of his patients were celebrities and dignitaries, including the patient he was flying in to see now—King Roberto Baresi of Isolde Verde—but that was because he was a world-renowned neurosurgeon at the pinnacle of his profession. He was the best at what he did. His upbringing had ensured it. The fact his late parents would’ve been proud of all he’d accomplished brought him little joy, though. He could count on two hands the number of times they’d spent any quality time with him as he’d been growing up.
Greatness comes at a price.
That had been the motto his parents had taught him as a child and their rationale for leaving him behind with nannies expected to raise him to adulthood. For a long time Max had bought it too. At least until he’d met his late wife, Laura.
Familiar loneliness weighed him down. Two years was a long time to be alone.
But now wasn’t the time to get bogged down in the past or his emotions. He had a case to prepare for, one that had just become far more complicated due to the King’s accident. Originally, the King’s tumor hadn’t been a cause for immediate surgical intervention. Meningiomas were generally slow growing and benign. The only real concerning factor had been its location near the sagittal sinus, which—if infiltrated by the tumor—could jeopardize blood flow through the major vein running across the top of the brain. Max had been keeping tabs on his patient through CT scans and had planned to go ahead with a scheduled procedure to remove the meningioma on December fifteenth, still almost a month away.
The accident today, however, had changed those plans. According to the latest update he’d received from the ER staff, his patient’s current Glasgow Coma Score was seven. The King had no visual or verbal responses but did show purposeful movement to painful stimuli. An emergency scan of his brain had shown a temporal bleed into the epidural space and Max suspected a hematoma. Given the man’s age and the fact the King already had slightly increased intracranial pressure due to his tumor, time was of the essence to restore normal blood flow and avoid permanent damage to the tissues.
The sooner Max got off this plane and to Seattle General, the sooner he could prep for surgery.
“Happy Holidays,” a passing flight attendant said, handing him a Santa pin.
He took it from the guy and stuffed it in his pocket without looking at it. He didn’t have the time for Christmas cheer. He didn’t celebrate the holidays anyway. Not since losing Laura.
His ears popped as the plane descended and his memories returned against his wishes. The irony of his own wife dying of an aneurysm wasn’t lost on Max. Rationally, he knew there was little chance anyone could have known of the existence of the weakened blood vessel in Laura’s brain. But the knowledge did little to relieve the remorse of not being there for her, the one patient he should have tried his hardest to save.
Now he lived alone. Alone was better anyway. He was too busy for a relationship. Between his speaking engagements and seminars and patients, Max couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent more than one night in his apartment back in New York.
The tires jolted on the runway and he rubbed his palm down the leg of his trousers. As the plane taxied toward the gate, Max gathered his carry-on from the overhead bin then checked his phone again for any new updates on the King’s condition. Nothing yet.
Finally, the attendant opened the door and Max pushed out of first class. Footsteps pounding up the rampway, he emerged into the busy gate at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport and looked around for the person the hospital had sent to pick him up. Unfortunately, no one made eye contact with him except a perky guy dressed as an elf. Definitely not who he was looking for. They were supposed to have a sign with his name on it for identification. But none of the signs he could see said Max Granger.
Dammit.
Overhead, an announcement proclaimed Santa’s helicopter would land soon and North Pole Village was opening in the gallery at the end of Concourse B. Max glanced up at the sign hanging above the walkway and dread welled inside him. Sure enough, he was smack dab at the epicenter of what would soon be a madhouse of kids and parents rushing to see the big man in red.
Guess that explained the elf.
Soon families converged, milling about the area with luggage and children in tow, the little ones clamoring to visit Saint Nick. To add insult to injury, peppy Christmas tunes drifted down from the speaker system, and Max felt more Grinch-like by the second.
Why can’t the holidays get out of my way already?
He didn’t have time for this. Pulse thudding, he battled his way through the crowds toward the glowing exit sign, switching into strict surgeon mode and turning the invisible dial on his inner turmoil down to zero before firing off a quick text to let the ER staff know his ride hadn’t arrived and that he was getting a taxi to the hospital.
He’d failed once to save someone important because of a late arrival. He refused to do so again.
