Doctor Desirable
Anjelica Grace
Copyright © 2020 by Anjelica Grace and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Karen Hrdlicka of Barren Acres Editing
Proofreading by: Karen Hrdlicka of Barren Acres Editing
Formatted by: Emma Nichole – Literary Graphic Designs
This one’s for Brian. You’ve always believed in me, wanted nothing but the best for me, and been there through the good times, bad times, and everything in between. This book is yours. Just like you’ve always been there for me, I’m not going anywhere either. We’re gonna beat this thing. And you’re going to kick its ass and show it you won’t back down. We won’t back down.
I love you.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
EPILOGUE
THE END
Doctor Desirable is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s British Bedmate. It's published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward's New York Times bestselling series.
One
Dee
I’ve never lived away from my home state. Not in college, not for my doctoral program, not for anything. The farthest I’ve ever been from my family is the hour drive between Denver and Colorado Springs.
Until now.
I’m not sure how I feel about living on the other side of the country yet. I’m not sure I’ll fit in here, I’m worried I won’t make friends, it’s complete and total culture shock compared to being back home. Yet, here I stand in my tiny, one-bedroom apartment in the middle of Rhode Island.
Rhode Island. Small, far east, bordered by an ocean on one side, not landlocked, Rhode Island. It’s so different from home sweet Colorado. Yet, it isn’t awful. In fact, parts are downright beautiful, and I don’t hate being able to access a beach without having to jump on an airplane. But not seeing the mountains is odd. It feels wrong to look west and not see the Rockies. It feels wrong not driving back into Colorado Springs, past the Air Force Academy on my way to my house—rather—my old house.
But I will adjust. I’ll get used to this and I’ll fulfill my contract before I make any permanent decisions about whether I’ll stay here for good, or whether I’ll seek employment elsewhere. Maybe back at home.
Tomorrow, I start my very first day of my career, and while I’m excited beyond words, I’m scared shitless. I did all of my orientation stuff, I’ve got my shiny badge on the retractable holder, I have a meal plan set up at the hospital for lunches. I did everything I could possibly do to be ready for tomorrow.
I’m still terrified I made a terrible decision coming out here alone.
The worst part of all of this? I don’t even have my best friend here to give me confidence and remind me I can do this. She got me through the final push to complete school; she helped me pick here to work. She believed in me when I had a meltdown on the phone last night, telling her I couldn’t do this. I just wish I had her here with me to drink a bottle of nerve-calming wine and to share my day with in person tomorrow night.
But I don’t. She’s back home, in Colorado Springs, with her soon-to-be husband and their adorable little girl. So it’s time for me to pull up my big girl panties and face my new beginning head-on.
I’ve got this.
I am capable.
I am smart.
I am going to own this shit… And hopefully not make a fool out of myself on my first day of work.
I repeat those over and over in my head as I drink my glass of wine, check my locks, shut down all my lights, and make my way to bed.
****
I walk into the hospital with my head held high and smooth out my new clothes as I pass under the entrance and make my way to the elevator. Even for an early morning hour, the hospital is already buzzing. Patients, their loved ones, other doctors and nurses are already in the cafeteria filling up on food and caffeine for the day. The security guard at the front desk is tipping back his own steaming mug of coffee, and new patients are already at the check-in desks, preparing for their procedures or stays at the hospital for treatment.
In this regard, my new home here at Memorial Hospital is very much like being back in the same sort of environment at the hospital in Colorado, where I did my clinicals. The walls have the same light colors and tones, and a sterile smell hits my nose the moment I step into the elevator and press the button for the second floor.
I take in a deep breath and embrace the typical medical facility scent, calming my nerves just as the elevator doors open and I step off, taking in the floor, the moment. This is where my new life begins.
With a slight shake of my head, and one more deep breath, I clasp my water bottle tighter in my hand and head down the hallway toward the physical therapy room and offices.
This is it, Dee. You’ve got this. Stay strong and show them what you are made of.
I pull the door open and step inside, looking around, trying to find my supervisor.
“You’re early,” Miranda calls across the room while she cleans up some of our equipment.
“It’s important to plan accordingly, show up early, get the lay of the land before I’m supposed to be here. Had I been on time, I would have been late.” I walk over to the counter that houses our desk and computers, then find an empty chair to lay my coat over and set my bottle down.
“You’re making a good first impression already, Dr. Parker.” Miranda walks over toward me, smile firmly in place on her lips, and props her elbows up on the counter.
“I like how that sounds.” Dr. Parker, it’s a title I worked damn hard for. And while I may not be an MD, I took classes year-round, loaded up credit hours every semester, to finish the program in just under three years.
“Don’t get used to it,” she answers, sighing a little. “While I admire and respect the hard work you put into getting your Doctorate in Physical Therapy, our hospital has strict rules in place to prevent the patients from getting confused. We don’t introduce ourselves as doctor, simply use your first name and make sure the patient knows you are a physical therapist.”
“Right.”
I knew that was policy here. It makes sense, but still, there is something sucky about not being able to claim the title I worked so hard to achieve.
“Don’t worry. You’ll find patients relax more around you using your first name, rather than Dr. Parker, anyway. It’s less intimidating, and they don’t think you are on some pedestal looking down on them. Or, that’s my experience at least.”
“That’s good to know,” I admit. Then look down at my clothes, reminding me of a question I thought of when I was walking in. “Who wears the dark, almost navy blue scrubs?”
“Those would be the surgeons.”
“Noted.” I rub my hands together and look around the big therapy room. “So where do we start?”
Two
Nate
“Have no fear, Mrs. Potter, everything went great and you’ll be back up on your feet and chasing after those grandbabies of yours again in no time.” I squeeze her hand and give her my warmest smile, then step back, turning on my heel to exit her room.
“Dr. Alexander?”
I turn back to face Mrs. Potter and angle my head. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Thank you, thank you so much. I was so worried about all of this, but you have been such a great help.” She blinks a couple times and wipes away at her tears.
“It was my pleasure. My scheduler will call you to set a follow-up appointment in the next week or two.”
“Okay, thank you.”
With a final smile and a tip of my head, I step out of her room and into the bustling hall of the medical surgery unit. I slip my hand beneath the hand sanitizer and wait for the foamy substance to coat my palm and then vigorously scrub them together. When I look up, two of the floor nurses are watching me with those stupid grins on their faces.
You know the ones. They shout their thoughts loud and clear. I know they’re imagining me rubbing my hands over them. I know they’re taking in every inch of me, from head to toe. It might sound arrogant to say, but it’s true. Plenty of women who work here have subtly and overtly asked me out, made comments, and flirted. Even my Physician’s Assistant, April, had her moment to not shine one night, and asked.
It’s a common occurrence.
One I couldn’t care less about. I have no interest in any of them, or any workplace flings whatsoever. They are nothing but trouble. I learned that lesson in my residency after a breakup went terribly wrong, and I will not make that colossal mistake again. No way. No how.
I give the gawking nurses a curt nod and make my escape down the hall, shaking my head when I hear the giggles and ‘Oh my Gods’ chasing after me all the way to the elevator.
Why would anyone think mixing workplace and personal life together would be a good idea? There’s no escape from the touchy feely, sugary sweet whispers. There is no privacy or personal space. It’s all too much. Work and life aren’t meant to be shared so completely. And when you inevitably break up because you find out they were just using you? Yeah, that shit is nearly impossible to avoid working together.
I’d much rather focus on what I’m here to do. Fix bones, ligaments, muscles, change lives, and help people heal. That’s all. As one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the nation, I can say with absolute certainty I am accomplishing that, and I’m keeping my personal life to myself, with no drama to speak of.
Plus, there are things in my life, people and situations, I don’t want shared. I don’t want to be the center of hospital gossip. We are grown-ass adults, not uncontrollable, hormonal teens who can’t help but have diarrhea of the mouth. Or we should be. But I have found that isn’t actually the case. So… I keep me and my business to myself. Simple. Effective.
Who cares if everyone questions whether I’m gay? What do I care if they call me an asshole?
Which I am; an asshole that is. Not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I just like women too much.
Again, this isn’t anyone else’s business. And they sure as fuck don’t need more encouragement to flirt and gawk. Even the coffee lady can’t seem to quit staring right now. I turned heads from the elevator to the café when I step off too. It’s ridiculous. So, if the women here want to discuss my being into men and it deters them—some of them at least—from hitting on me or thinking they have a chance, I’m all for it. No skin off my back.
I’m not here to make friends, or find a life partner. I’m here to change lives and help people who need orthopedic work so their quality of life is as great as it can be.
I’m damn great at doing just that. It is with that thought in mind, I take my phone out to pull up my schedule and see what I have this afternoon, as I walk back to the elevator bank, and wait for one to open so I can get upstairs and back to work.
****
Dee
Today has been such a rush. I’ve seen patients, I’ve met colleagues, I haven’t stopped moving since I walked in this morning. It’s been five hours of nonstop work, helping, and learning the ropes. And I am famished. I don’t have a long break, but it is long enough for me to go down to the cafeteria and grab a quick bite, maybe take a look at the meditation garden they have in the courtyard outside the hospital.
As I wait for the elevator to descend, I tap my watch, curious how many steps I’m at on the day already and smiling proudly down at my wrist when the number glows brightly up at me.
Not too bad.
When the door dings, I step forward to exit, barely having time to pick my head up before I’m running right into a solid mass.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I look up to see the unamused face of the man I just walked into staring back down at me, teeth clenched.
“It’s no problem,” he grunts in a quiet, irritated voice. “I should have waited for anyone inside to step out first.”
“Oh, right. I probably could have look—” Without being able to finish another word, he sidesteps around me and gets into the elevator, not paying me any more attention.
As the doors start to slide shut, I turn to take one last look at him. He’s wearing dark blue scrubs, and a white coat over what felt like a very defined, solid body. His head is down and focused on his phone. He has light brown, nearly dirty blond hair, a chiseled jaw, and broad shoulders. And the faint smell of his soap still lingers in the air around me.
He’s gorgeous. But he clearly has the bedside manner of a dry sponge—meaning none whatsoever. I’m not sure he could’ve been ruder if he tried.
He’s also completely oblivious to my staring as the doors close and the sound of the elevator moving into action rings out from the other side.
“Sorry again,” I say, as a quiet murmur to myself then shake my head.
“Don’t mind him.” I raise my head and look around for the source of the comment just made, trying to decide if it was meant for me or purely coincidental.
A nurse, based on her badge and scrub color, with caramel-colored hair and green eyes is standing across from the elevator with her own phone in hand.
“I’m sorry?”
“Dr. Alexander.” She slides her phone into her pocket and smiles at me. “The grunting doctor who just bumped and dashed? His name is Dr. Nathan Alexander, and he’s known around here as a bit of a stiff hard-ass. Don’t let his abrupt exit and lack of manners get to you.”
I let out a little chuckle and take a breath. “That’s good to know, thank you. Today’s my first day, and the last thing I want to do is make waves or anger any of the heavy hitters.”
“Your first?” She steps closer so we aren’t speaking so loudly. “What department?”
“PT.” It’s simple and to the point, but I still feel a sense of pride letting those two little letters slip past my lips.
“You have a great team up there.”
“I agree. They’re all pretty great, and it’s been fun, even if a little overwhelming too.”
“First days always are. You will do fine though.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you didn’t just trip all over yourself talki
ng to Dr. Alexander. Most of the women here do. You were professional and kept your composure. That is not easy to do around him.”
“You seem to be unfazed.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to point that out, but it seems like an important note to make about this woman.
“I’m happily taken.” She lifts her left hand and wiggles her fingers, letting me see the glow of a ring.
“That’s stunning,” I admit honestly, watching her pull her hand back and smiling wide as can be.
“Thank you. It, he, is why I’m not worried about Dr. Alexander. I have my own doctor walking these halls who I go home with.”
That makes me laugh and I step out of the way of others heading toward the elevator banks. “Good for you. I’m Dee, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You as well, Dee. I’m Bridget.” She holds an arm out, pointing toward the main lobby and cafeteria. “Were you getting lunch? I would be happy to sit with you so you aren’t alone on your first day.”
“Thank you. I think I’d like that.”
Three
Nate
Today was complete and total shit. Every single second of it. From the speeding ticket on the way to work this morning, to the staff meeting that set my schedule behind all day, to running into the obnoxiously gorgeous, inconsiderate woman who bumped me just hard enough to fuck everything up. Her undeniable allure distracted me long enough to make me send an unfinished email to the Chief of Surgery, an email I had no business sending. That email was meant to sit as a draft until my anger subsided and I was able to go back and edit it to be less demanding and more professional. But that didn’t happen.
Add in the heated discussion I had with the Chief at the end of my insanely long, overbooked shift about the email I never meant to send him, and it was shittastic. After all of that, I’m ready for a drink and some ESPN to put the day behind me.
Doctor Desirable: A Hero Club Novel Page 1
