Ivy's Fling with the Surgeon
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Louisa George
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17,7K
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16
HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
PAPERWORK WAS INVENTED by someone with a sick sense of humour. Probably a man.
Dr Ivy Hurst stared at the hundreds of messages, results and requests in her work inbox and sighed.
Once upon a time I had a life other than this.
But at least paperwork didn’t cheat on you.
Her phone vibrated on her desk and the upbeat ringtone she used for her three best friends, Phoebe, Harper and Alinta, blared into the otherwise silent room. She glanced at the caller ID. Phoebe.
Smiling, she clicked onto speakerphone so she could chat and work at the same time. ‘Hey, Phoebs, how’s things?’
‘Great.’ A pause. ‘Ivy Hurst, do I hear keyboard tapping? Please tell me you’re not still at work. I left hours ago.’
Busted.
Ivy froze, her fingers hovering in mid-air as she glanced at the clock on the wall of her messy hospital office. Almost eight-thirty. ‘Wow, it’s late. How did that happen? I’m just catching up on paperwork. What’s up?’
‘Thought I’d share Harper’s good news: Yarran’s finally been discharged.’
Thank goodness.
Ivy breathed out slowly. They’d all been hoping and praying their friend Yarran—Alinta’s twin brother—would pull through after a terrible firefighting accident. And here he was, healing and moving on with Harper.
‘That is good news. So, they’re actually living together now? All going well?’ Ivy tried typing quietly so Phoebe wouldn’t hear, but then gave up and focused on the conversation. ‘I really need to check in with them, but I’m snowed under right now.’
‘It’s okay, we all understand what it’s like to be a doctor, hon. And yes, they’re very happy. Talk about loved up, the air almost crackles around them.’ Phoebe chuckled, although Ivy imagined her friend also jokingly rolling her eyes. Out of the four of them Harper appeared to be the only one lucky in love, and that had happened only recently.
Ivy sighed. ‘I’m so pleased for them. It’s taken them a long time to get to this point.’
Harper and Yarran’s relationship had been all on years ago, before Harper had gone to London for a job opportunity she just couldn’t miss...breaking Yarran’s heart in the process. But now she was back in Sydney and the sparks between Harper and Yarran had been rekindled. Ivy was delighted, but also aware of a pang of envy in her chest, because once upon a time she’d also believed in happily ever after.
‘Yes. About twelve years, give or take,’ her friend confirmed.
A lot longer than Ivy’s last and failed relationship. ‘Don’t know if I could adjust to living with someone again these days. I don’t think I’d be good at sharing my space.’
‘You had Harper living with you,’ Phoebe quipped back.
‘Only until her apartment was ready. We both knew it was only temporary. I mean, sure I loved having her stay with me, she’s so easy to have around. She does girl things, she’s funny and kind, we’re on the same wavelength. A guy...’ Ivy shuddered, remembering how she’d had to tiptoe around her ex when he’d had a bad day. And, towards the end when he didn’t come home the odd night and was cryptic about his plans, how she had her suspicions about where he was and with who. ‘It’s complicated navigating all that, right?’
Phoebe tsked. ‘That’s because you’re too nice. You need to put yourself and your needs on an equal footing with everyone else.’
‘Ha. I did that with my parents, and it didn’t go down at all well. It’s taken them years to forgive me. I’m not really sure they have.’
‘If you’d gone into the army like they wanted you’d never have met us at medical school. Imagine a life without me, Alinta and Harper.’
‘No, thanks. I don’t want to think about that ever happening.’ When Harper had left, Alinta had been almost as devastated as her brother and things between Harper and Alinta had become very strained. But now everything was settling down again and the four friends were back living in the same city. ‘It’s even better now we’re all working at the Central too.’
‘And Yarran just down the road at the fire station.’
‘It’s perfect. Well, almost. Unfortunately, Grant’s still here.’ Ivy shuddered again.
Phoebe’s tone became all businesslike. ‘With a bit of luck your no-good ex will find a job somewhere else. I’ll keep an eye out on the job listings and forward him the ones the furthest away. I’m sure they need more urologists in Outer Mongolia. Anyway, Yarran is nothing like Grant.’
‘True.’ Ivy laughed. ‘Harper wouldn’t take any nonsense anyway. At least, not twice, like I did.’
‘You’re too forgiving, Ivy.’
‘I did not forgive his cheating.’
‘You gave him a second chance.’
I gave him a lot more than that. My heart. My trust. Which he stomped all over.
‘He said it was a blip and the affair meant nothing to him. That he loved me, and I was his life.’ She put her head in her hands and laughed wryly. ‘Until the next pretty woman came along. Men, huh? I’m way too old for all that game-playing.’
Phoebe snorted. ‘You’re not even forty. Unlike the rest of us.’
‘Not far off. I’m staring it down. And, you know, I thought I’d be...well, not single at this ripe old age.’
‘Hey, steady on with the old. It’s not so bad. Honestly. Actually, it’s fun.’
‘If you keep men out of the equation.’ Ivy knew Phoebe was also determinedly single.
But to her surprise Phoebe laughed. ‘There are some good ones out there. Case in point: Yarran.’
‘True. He’s a keeper. But, to be honest, it’s so much easier being single. No navigating emotional minefields, no second-guessing myself, and definitely no gaslighting. Men are strictly off limits from now on. Especially charming, good-looking ones.’
‘Ahem.’
Oops.
The very masculine sound had Ivy whirling round in her swivel chair to find Lucas Matthews, Head of Reconstructive Surgery, leaning casually against her door frame. With his expensive-looking navy-blue suit, crisp white shirt and perfectly tousled dark hair, he wore the arrogant air of someone who knew he was good-looking and had a reputation almost as bad as her ex’s. Apparently, he’d left a trail of broken hearts across the previous hospital he’d worked in and was making inroads into the single female staff population here at Sydney Central.
Good-looking: yes. Charming: big fat no.
At least she wouldn’t be tempted by the likes of him.
She blinked as she regarded him. He had a sort of amused smile, which gave her the distinct impression he’d heard—or had been listening to—her conversation. Heat hit her cheeks. Which, at the ripe age of thirty-nine, was something she really wished she had a handle on by now.
‘Listen, Phoebs, got to go.’ She grabbed her phone, jabbing at the buttons to cut the call before her friend could say anything more incriminating. Worse, Lucas Matthews now knew about her sad love life, which she generally chose to keep private given her ex was still employed at the Central too.
He straightened up. ‘Sorry to interrupt your obviously very important conversation, Dr Hurst.’ His tone was as sharp as his fancy jacket lapel points and, while their paths had crossed on more than a few occasions, they were very definitely not on first-name terms. ‘But we need to talk.’
‘We do?’ What could they possibly need to talk about at this time of night?
And how dare he listen in on a private conversation and then judge it?
He stepped into the room, filling her space with his overbearing presence. ‘About Emma Wilson. I’ve just been reviewing her up on the ward and hear you’ve been called in to assess her.’
Ah. Their shared patient: a twenty-six-year-old woman with bad burns to her lower legs following a house fire. Ivy wasn’t sure what hackles were, but she felt hers immediately jump to attention. This wasn’t the first time they’d discussed appropriate treatment plans and timelines for shared patients, and it probably wasn’t going to be the last. He wanted to dive in early, Ivy wanted to make sure Emma was physically able to deal with any further intervention.
‘And...?’ she invited him to elucidate.
‘I want to operate. Tomorrow.’
‘Whoa. No way. Not so fast. I’ve only just been to see her.’ Ivy held up her palm. ‘I need to get to the bottom of her spiking temperatures and abdo pain before she has any more interventions.’
‘And I need to operate.’
‘I may need to, too.’ She huffed. ‘But I’m trying to avoid it if I can. She’s twenty-eight weeks pregnant with twins and only recently been brought out of an induced coma. She has a lot going on and it’s all a big draw on what little resources she has left. Surely plastic surgery can wait just a little bit longer until she’s stable.’
His eyes widened in what she took as irritation. Possibly anger. ‘It’s not as if this is a vanity project, Dr Hurst. Firstly, I need to debride some of her grafts because the infection risk is real. And secondly, post-burn hypertrophic scars are thick, and painful. This poor woman, who, as you say, has been through a lot already, is at risk of developing contractions that could lead to limited movement, even deformity. If we’re going to minimise long-term pain and scarring, time is of the essence.’
He had a point and, more, he seemed highly invested in Emma’s care. Clearly, she wasn’t the only doctor protective of her patients. She breathed out slowly in an effort to control her irritation. Why did she feel so combative around this man? There was something about him that rubbed her up the wrong way.
‘If we can get on top of this current crisis then you can start the reconstruction surgery but I’m in no position to give you a timeline. The abdominal pain doesn’t appear to be related to her pregnancy or accident, as far as we can tell. We’re waiting on scans, swabs and white cell count. As soon as we get those we can target with the right treatment and appropriate antibiotics.’
‘Thanks. I am aware of how to treat an infection, Dr Hurst.’ His intense brown eyes bored into her. There was a thick, almost tangible, energy in the air.
But she refused to back down or look away. ‘Good. Then you’ll understand my reluctance to allow any further infection risk. My registrar is looking after Emma tonight and will keep me informed of any changes. So, I’ll let you know as soon as I know.’
She turned back to face her monitor. Hopefully he’d get the hint and leave.
But his voice deepened. ‘Make it quick.’
‘Excuse me?’ As she whirled back to look at him Ivy Hurst’s dark eyes glittered with ill-concealed anger, her body tight and stiff. She jumped up, pushing back her office chair so brusquely she sent it barrelling towards him. ‘What did you say?’
Lucas cringed. As soon as the words had escaped his mouth he regretted them, but he’d been unable to stop them. There was something about her that brought out a niggly irritation in him. Who did she think she was to dictate when he should do his job?
Her caller had said she was too nice? Too forgiving? Ha! Not something he’d witnessed so far.
‘I said...it needs to be quick.’ He caught the chair as it slowed in front of him.
Her gaze drifted from him to the chair and back in mild interest. Then anything mild deserted her gaze the second she refocused on his face. ‘Dr Matthews, I appreciate the concern for your patient, but this is not the army...’ Her nostrils flared at that, then she added, ‘I do not take orders from anyone. And particularly not when it comes to the welfare of my patient.’
Great.
He huffed out a breath. Today had been hard enough without this spat. He’d lost a patient in the operating theatre and had another run-in with his parents over the guest list for their charity fundraiser. Was he bringing a plus one? Another veiled attempt at finding out whether he was settling down, and no doubt another opportunity to parade what they believed to be suitable eligible women in front of him, hoping he’d pick one and settle down.
No, thanks.
Plus, he’d missed a call from his younger sister, Flora. As always, the familiar guilt yawned inside him. He worked too many hours, stayed away from the family home too much for him to give her the attention she so deserved.
Now this. He closed his eyes and dredged up some calm. When he opened them again Dr Hurst was still staring at him as if he were the devil incarnate. He raised his hand to try to mollify her. ‘It wasn’t an order. Just a request. Look, we both want what’s best for Emma. We’re on the same page.’
‘Oh, trust me, we’re not even in the same book.’ She shoved a hand through her caramel-coloured bobbed hair and glared at him, her brown eyes glittering and sparking. This close he could see flashes of green and gold in her irises. An angry mouth. One triangle of her white cotton blouse hem had untucked from her short khaki linen skirt, which looked as if it had never seen an iron. She was ruffled in more ways than one.
She was petite and had to tilt her head to look up at him, but she had a distinct aura of authority. Given her seniority, she was probably around his age, and he knew how hard it was to work your way up the medical career ladder—she’d probably had to fight to get to the top. She wouldn’t take fools gladly and right now she was standing her ground.
Too forgiving, my arse.
Talking of... He glanced down...yes, he hadn’t noticed before—in truth, he’d never looked—but she had curves in all the right places. A formidable woman, passionate and fiery.
He stepped back. Because those kinds of thoughts about a colleague were inappropriate. ‘I’d like to think we could at least have a civil conversation.’
An eyebrow rose. ‘Why?’
‘So we can work together on the best outcomes for Emma. Surely it doesn’t have to be this difficult. I’m not averse to compromise, as long as it doesn’t negatively impact my patients.’
She looked away. Swallowed. Then turned back to him. ‘I am working with you. Trying to get her well enough for your surgery. This is all about Emma.’ She glanced down at the chair again. ‘You don’t need to barricade yourself in. I don’t bite.’
Oh, but she wanted to.
He held in a laugh. ‘I was trying to stop it from taking out both my legs.’
‘Hey!’ A frail man in a billowing hospital gown and wheeling an IV stand appeared at the door, one hand on the stand, the other a tight fist, which he thrust towards Dr Hurst. ‘Get out. Get out of here.’
Her eyes grew wide. ‘Mr Templeton? What on earth are you doing here...?’
The old man frowned, clearly confused and scared. His voice was wobbly and weak but laced with a thinly veiled threat. ‘Why are you in my house? You’d better get the hell off my property before I call the police.’
‘Mervyn, you’re in hospital. You’re recovering from an operation to your gallbladder. Look, we need to get you back to the ward. You need to rest and heal.’ Clearly snapping straight into assessment mode, Dr Hurst started to walk towards the man with both her palms up in a gesture of conciliation, but not before she threw a quick look towards Lucas that said, Join the hell in, why don’t you?
But he hadn’t liked the man’s deathly pallor, the shaking hands, and disorientation, so was already jabbing his phone. ‘Can we have a porter to the third-floor admin suite? Now, please? Wheelchair if that’s all you’ve got, but preferably a trolley. Now.’
‘And who the hell left all the lights on in the middle of the nigh...? Ugh...’ The man crumpled against the IV stand, gripping it, then tipping it as he fell to the floor. His IV line ripped from his arm, the stand crashing as it landed.
Lucas ran to him, joining Dr Hurst on the floor at Mervyn’s side. She pressed her fingers against his carotid feeling for a pulse. ‘Well, he’s still alive. But damn. What the hell...? I only operated on him yesterday—he shouldn’t be down here.’
‘He’s obviously confused, he must have wandered off the ward.’ Lucas pressed his fingers against the man’s IV site to stop the bleeding. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any sterile packs in your office? I’ll get this set up again in the other arm.’
‘No packs. But hit the crash button. Behind my desk.’
He dashed back into her office, hit the button and returned with her stethoscope and a digital blood-pressure machine he’d found on her desk. He wrapped the cuff around Mervyn’s thin arm.
‘Mervyn! Oh, Merv. Please help him.’ A frail voice came from behind them, followed by the sound of uncertain, halting steps.
‘Mrs Templeton, it’s not a good idea for you to be here seeing this.’ Dr Hurst looked over at the elderly lady walking towards them. ‘He’s had a fall; we’re just sorting him out.’
But the woman bent down and shook her husband’s shoulder. ‘Merv. Come on, get up.’ She glared at Dr Hurst. ‘What’s wrong with him? You said you’d fixed his tummy.’
Dr Hurst glanced at the lady and gave her a half-smile that exuded professionalism and compassion and not the slightest bit of irritation, which she must have been feeling because, by unwittingly interrupting, this old lady was well and truly preventing her husband from getting the best possible attention.
But Dr Hurst’s voice was soft and concerned...a million miles away from the way she’d spoken to Lucas. ‘Please, Mrs Templeton, take a step back. I’m trying to find out what’s going on.’
‘Hypotensive and tachycardic.’ Lucas chose to speak in medical jargon so as not to alert Mrs Templeton to the urgency of the situation. There was more going on here than a post-op faint.
A porter arrived with a stretcher then the crash team appeared, running down the corridor with the crash trolley. Mrs Templeton looked at them all and started to cry. ‘What’s going on?’
Dr Hurst stood and wrapped an arm around the older lady’s shoulder. ‘Mervyn’s had a faint and we’re trying to work out why. Is there anyone we can call to come and sit with you?’
Mrs Templeton worried the hem of her blouse. ‘No. Just me and Merv. What can I do?’
‘Let us do our job.’ Lucas helped attach ECG sticky pads to Mervyn’s chest and read the heart trace while Dr Hurst attached another bag of fluids to an IV she’d inserted in his inner elbow, saying, ‘I need to take him to Theatre and see what’s going on. It’s got to be something to do with the surgery.’
‘Don’t let him die.’ Mrs Templeton grabbed Dr Hurst’s arm. ‘You can’t let him die.’
‘Mrs Templeton, please let go of the doctor. We need to get him back to Theatre. That’s the only way we can save him right now. Come with me. Let’s go somewhere you can sit down. Maybe a cup of tea?’ Lucas gently peeled the woman’s fingers from the trolley, then caught Dr Hurst’s eye. As she mouthed the words thank you he saw gratitude soften her features. The faintest glimmer of a smile.
Or he might have been imagining it.
Either way he felt an easing of the tension between them.
For now, anyway. Because he was going to operate on Emma at the earliest opportunity whether Dr Hurst wanted him to or not.
He put his palm on Mrs Templeton’s shoulder and coaxed her away so the team could rush their patient towards the lift, but the old lady took a couple of faltering steps forward. ‘Mervyn. Please—’
Lucas walked slowly away from the stretcher gently bringing Mrs Wilson with him. ‘Dr Hurst will do everything she can to save him. I know she’s an excellent doctor.’
If the way she protected Emma was anything to go by she was thorough, dedicated, determined. Stubborn almost. And damned pretty when she smiled. Very pretty actually. Which shouldn’t have registered at all, but his skin prickled with something a lot like attraction.
Oh, no.
No way.
He closed his eyes briefly and the image of the corners of her mouth turning up because of something he’d said floated in front of his vision. The light in her eyes. The glint of grit and compassion. A heady mix. An alluring mix.
Just no. He was not going to be attracted to a firecracker like Ivy Hurst. Not when he was going to have to work with her.
That would only make his life a whole lot more difficult.
