Daddy Heart M.D.: A Billionaire Baby Romance (Private School Bad Boys Book 1)

by Holly Jaymes

  Daddy Heart M.D.

  A BILLIONAIRE BABY ROMANCE

  Holly Jaymes

  Copyright © 2018 by Holly Jaymes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Sawyer

  2. Fay

  3. Sawyer

  4. Fay

  5. Sawyer

  6. Fay

  7. Sawyer

  8. Fay

  9. Sawyer

  10. Fay

  11. Sawyer

  12. Fay

  13. Sawyer

  14. Fay

  15. Sawyer

  16. Fay

  17. Sawyer

  18. Fay

  19. Sawyer

  20. Fay

  21. Sawyer

  22. Fay

  23. Sawyer

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Daddy Ivy League Prologue Preview

  Daddy Ivy League Chapter 1 Preview

  About the Author

  Also by Holly Jaymes

  Sawyer

  I’d just spent two straight hours in the operating room, and I was buzzed from the three espressos I’d been surviving on. I knew the open-heart surgery I’d just performed on the sixty-two-year-old man had gone well. There had been some complications, but I’d handled them, just like I’d been treating complications in the operating room for the past six years now. The key to it was not to panic and to think straight.

  I was excellent at not panicking. I made my job look easy. Heart surgeons had come and gone at St. Xavier’s Hospital in the past six years, and I’d come out on top. With the lowest rate of unsuccessful surgeries, I had earned myself the title of being the most sought-after cardiologist in Boston, and probably the country. There was no way I was going to be humble about it. I’d earned the praise. I’d earned my position as the Head of Cardiology at St. Xavier’s.

  I walked out of the operating room, still in my scrubs. These scrubs weren’t just an industry grade uniform, they looked fucking good on me!

  I knew I was making heads turn as I walked down the corridor towards the waiting room. The family of the man I just operated on was all assembled there, and they saw me approaching and jumped out of their seats in unison. I’d already met most of them earlier, before the surgery; to reassure them that I would take care of him. Now, I saw that a new member had joined the group.

  She was a skinny young blond, at least half a decade younger than me. She had to be in her mid-twenties, or was she even younger? She looked nervous as she stood there, at the front of the group and her eyes shone brightly as she followed my every move.

  “Doctor Barnhart!” the wife of the man zoomed towards me. The blond followed close on her heels.

  “How is he? How is my husband?” the woman asked. She had a tissue in her hand which she had scrunched into a ball from nervousness.

  This was the part I most enjoyed. Seeing the look of relief in the family's eyes as I told them the news. Relief that I was responsible for. These people usually looked at me like I was God when I told them stories of how I battled it out in the operating room. I had my eyes on the blond standing behind the woman now.

  “Mrs. Green,” I said and reached for the woman’s shoulders instead. She was peering at me longingly, I knew she wanted to be held. I looked straight into her eyes, focusing on her dilated pupils as I spoke to her.

  “Your husband is going to be fine. We’ve taken care of it,” I declared. A cheer of relief and joy rang out in the group that was standing behind her. They’d been waiting there with bated breath for me to give them the news.

  The blond stepped forward now.

  “Doctor Barnhart, I’m Jolie, I’m his daughter,” the girl stuck her hand out towards me. She had a broad smile on her face.

  “Call me Sawyer, I just operated on your dad, I think we’ve skipped past the formalities,” I told her with a laugh in my voice. I could see her staring at me, with that look on her face that most women got in these situations. Like I was their knight in shining armor.

  “Of course, Sawyer,” she said, and we shook hands. I noticed the way she tucked her blond hair behind her ears. Her cheeks were flushed, and she bit down on her lower lip. Her mother scooped in for some attention now.

  “Doctor Barnhart, Sawyer…oh gosh! We can’t thank you enough. We are so grateful for everything you've done. When can we see him?” Mrs. Green asked, and I smiled at her humbly.

  “It was my pleasure, I was going to make sure that I returned Martin safely to you,” I told Jolie’s mother, and I could sense her still looking at me, checking me out. I was hoping that she was just as grateful as her mother was.

  “You can see him in a few hours after he’s recovered. One of the nurses will give you a call when he’s awake. For now, I want you to go home, get some rest, get some sleep. Everything is all right, Mrs. Green,” I spoke to her in my usual calm deep voice, the one I used with families of the patients after successful surgery. Mrs. Green was smiling broadly with gratitude still, hugging the rest of her family.

  Jolie was still watching me, waiting for a break in the conversation so she could talk to me again.

  “Sawyer, if there is anything we can do, I can do, to show you our gratitude. We are all very thankful that you helped my dad,” Jolie was speaking with eagerness in her voice. I knew she meant every word she said.

  “It’s my job, Jolie, I’m glad that Martin is okay,” I told her, and she stepped up closer to me, her eyes roaming over my face.

  “Well then, tell me how I can show you just how much I appreciate that you did your job well,” she said, and her voice was sizzling. I looked over her shoulders at her family, who were still hugging each other with relief. Jolie had eyes only for me, and I looked back at her.

  “Well, now that your dad isn’t my patient anymore, you could have a drink with me,” I said, and she had parted her lips wide.

  “Where and when?” she asked. I could sense that she was holding her breath like she couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “Leave your number with my assistant, and I’ll get back to you,” I said and turned to her mother, I shook her hand and with a few other members of the family and walked away from them.

  As much as I would have enjoyed Jolie’s company tonight, I also needed my sleep.

  Fay

  Susan, my boss, the Susan Fairweather, who was the most-watched daytime talk show host in the country at the moment; was sitting on her makeup chair. We were thirty minutes from show-time and as usual, this was her most preferred time to talk to me about future show plans when I was busiest.

  A makeup artist fussed around Susan, while I stood there with a walkie-talkie in my hand, trying to coordinate with the people on set at the same time.

  Susan was reading a magazine, flipping through the pages.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there in a few minutes, thanks Kevin,” I spoke into the walkie-talkie, and Susan looked up at me lazily.

  “You need to concentrate on this conversation, Fay, focus!” she said, eyeing me threateningly. Sometimes I wished I had a couple of extra limbs and a few extra hours in the day. Perhaps then, Susan would be satisfied with my work. She was infamous for how difficult it was to please her, and I was her production assistant; which meant that I had to deal with the worst of her mood swings wh
ile meeting all her demands.

  “I’m here, Susan, let’s talk,” I told her, trying to keep my voice from not brimming over with frustration. This was the career I had chosen, I reminded myself. This was the kind of work that was going to get me places. Working with Susan Fairweather was a gift.

  “Okay, let’s talk ideas for Friday’s show. I need someone big, someone interesting to interview,” Susan said, and before I had even opened my mouth to speak, she shushed me into silence.

  “And I’m not talking about your ideas like that lifeguard from New York or that woman who has come up with an idea for first aid kits for kids,” she snapped.

  “That could potentially save a lot of lives, it’s an interesting idea, and she needs some sort of national recognition. She’s a woman trying to build a good business,” I argued. Susan rolled her eyes.

  “You’re my production assistant, Fay, you should know these things by now. My audience wants someone they can gossip about, not someone to admire. They can read a newspaper for that if they still make those things,” she said, putting me in my place.

  “I just think a change would be nice,” I retorted, holding my ground and Susan looked up at me like she was shocked to hear me say that.

  “Sometimes I think you’re too naive for this job,” she remarked, in a voice that sounded like she was seriously considering firing me.

  “Okay, let me just think about ideas and get back to you,” I replied, and Susan shook her head while she continued flipping the pages of the magazine.

  “I need one for Friday, Fay. We don’t really have time,” she said and then stopped, squinting her eyes at something she’d found on the page.

  “Hello, handsome!” she cried, in a high-pitched, excited voice. She lifted up the magazine, holding the page up for me to see. She tapped the picture of the man with her long freshly manicured nails.

  “You see him? Doctor Sawyer Barnhart, head of cardiology at St. Xavier’s. He’s been voted the most eligible bachelor in Boston. This is the kind of guest I’m talking about!” Susan was excited now. Her eyes scanned over the page some more.

  I tried to hold in my sigh. Fighting Susan on something like this, when she was in a bad mood, was going to be disastrous. I had to resist that urge, I needed to keep my opinions on celebrity doctors to myself.

  “Do you see him? Look at that jawline. Only thirty-two and already saved like thousands of lives. What could be more dreamy than that?” Susan sighed as she spoke.

  “Doctors aren’t supposed to be sex symbols. They need to be respected and admired for their work, not drooled over!” I couldn’t hold it back, the words tumbled out of my mouth. Susan looked up at me sharply, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “Why can’t we do both?” she asked, arching her eyebrows.

  “Because medicine is a respected profession, we shouldn’t be reducing a doctor to his looks and his personal life and his taste in women. I know about this Barnhart guy, he’s big on the party scene, has had a string of high-profile girlfriends…I’d hardly consider him a doctor!” I retorted, feeling my face beginning to flush to a deep red. I should have kept those opinions to myself. What was I thinking? Trying to fight Susan on this when she’d already made up her mind.

  “He’s a heart surgeon. Head of cardiology!” Susan pushed the makeup artist’s hands away from her face in anger. She was amped up for a fight now, and I sighed deeply.

  “Yeah, you’re right, he’d be an ideal candidate for Friday’s show,” I succumbed to her threatening glare. Susan’s eyes dimmed immediately. She loved getting her way, and around here, she always did.

  “Good. Get in touch with Dr. Barnheart offices, see if he’s available. I’m sure he’ll make himself available for me,” Susan picked up the magazine again, and I caught her staring at the picture of Sawyer Barnhart on the page.

  “Sure Susan, right away,” I said and started walking away from her.

  With every passing day, I was wondering more and more about why I was in this job. Besides the money and the potential for growth and working with someone who was as successful as Susan Fairweather…which were pretty convincing reasons—I was frustrated at this job. I wasn’t doing the kind of work that I’d always wanted to.

  In the past four years that I’d been working with Susan, I’d given up on all my dreams of producing documentaries. Now, I was stuck being the production assistant at a talk-show. I felt like I’d already sold my soul.

  Sawyer

  It was two days since that night I’d operated on Martin Green, and now his twenty-four-year-old daughter was lying in bed with me. I woke up feeling glad that I’d invited her to my place, instead of going to hers as I did the previous night. I liked waking up in my own bed, preferably alone.

  I had too much to drink last night, and after we had sex, I’d fallen asleep. I passed out stone cold without the energy to make up an excuse and get Jolie to leave instead of spending the night here.

  Now, she was lying next to me. Her super hot naked body was covered and yet so close to me. I sat up in bed while she continued sleeping. I looked around my bedroom to see clothes strewn everywhere. Getting her out of my penthouse was going to be a time-consuming challenge, I could sense that.

  We had gone for drinks just one night since we met, and already, Jolie was developing an attachment. She was grateful that I had saved her dad’s life and that emotion was mixed with her attraction to me. I’d seen it happen several times before, and now I was beginning to think that I needed to make a rule of not sleeping with relatives of patients.

  I tried to shift around in bed, but Jolie continued sleeping. It was still early morning, barely even six. I was an early riser, because of my erratic schedule. I’d been surviving on four hours of sleep since Med school. It was a difficult habit to kick. It was the same with my addiction to espressos.

  Giving up waking Jolie right now, I reached for my cell phone instead. I checked my schedule for the day. I had a consultation at the hospital at eleven, which meant that I needed to get Jolie out of the penthouse soon!

  I checked my emails, skipping through most of them until I saw an email from a woman called Fay Woods. The email said that she was the production assistant to Susan Fairweather, the talk-show host. They were interested in doing a show with me on Friday, which was the day after, and I needed to confirm as soon as possible.

  I’d done a few interviews with magazines before, but I’d never been on a talk show. I figured it was the result of that stupid poll that was conducted recently; something about who was the most eligible bachelor in Boston.

  I checked Friday’s schedule and decided that I would be available for a few hours in the afternoon. I fired out a quick reply to Fay Woods, just as I felt Jolie moving beside me.

  “Morning, Doctor,” she said groggily. She leaned towards me with a kiss. I turned my cheek to her and hurriedly slipped out of bed so that she wouldn’t get the wrong idea about morning hugs and cuddles.

  “What’s the rush?” she asked, allowing the covers to fall as she sat up in bed so that now her perfect small breasts were on full display for me. I clenched my jaws, trying to resist the temptation of round two, or was it round three? I couldn’t even remember the previous night; clearly, it was all shrouded by a fog of alcohol.

  “I have to get to the hospital,” I said, pulling up my pants from the previous night. Jolie checked the clock on my wall, as I zipped up.

  “It’s not even six!” she exclaimed and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles.

  “It’s an emergency, sorry,” I said, putting on my shirt.

  Jolie’s smile disappeared from her face.

  “I thought we could have breakfast together. I make a delicious omelet, and your kitchen looks really fancy,” she said huskily, with a hopeful lilt in her voice.

  “Yeah, I don’t really do breakfast. I usually just get an energy bar at the hospital or something,” I said, now fully dressed in the previous night’s attire.

  We stared at each
other in silence for a few moments.

  “Do you want me to leave?” she asked, pulling the covers up over her breasts now.

  “I need to be at the hospital in thirty minutes,” I said and ran a hand through my hair. Jolie’s nostrils flared, her cheeks turned red, and for a moment, I worried that she was going to burst into tears.

  “Wow. I really wasn’t expecting this from you! Typical!” she snapped, as she swung her legs over the bed.

  I watched her picking her clothes up off the floor and slowly beginning to put them on.

  “I apologize. It’s just that I have a crazy schedule these days,” I replied. Jolie shook her head as she got dressed. Her blond hair was a mess, the makeup on her face had become runny and smudged. In the light of the morning, I couldn’t remember why I’d slept with her in the first place.

  “You’re lying!” she snapped.

  “I have an emergency at the hospital,” I said, in a low, calm voice. Jolie was dressed now, clutching her purse to her chest.

  “I should have known! I shouldn’t have thought you were any different from all the other assholes I meet!” she raged and I walked to the bedroom door and held it open for her. Now that she had turned hostile, I had no intention of seeing her out.

  “Goodbye, Jolie. I’ll keep an eye on your dad’s recovery,” I said.

  “Fuck you!” she screeched before she stepped out of the door. I closed it behind her. I could hear her heels clicking on the marble, and then the front door opened and slammed shut.