Who'd Have Thought

by G. Benson

Literal pee. There would be genuine pee from Luce. And worse, Hayden wouldn’t be able to tell them the truth, because even though she might be able to swear Luce to absolute secrecy, she couldn’t take any chances on this insane arrangement getting out somehow and Thomson refusing to pay after Hayden had put in all that effort.

  Which meant lying.

  “Okay.”

  “As for…compensation,” she paused here, and Hayden had no idea why, “I would pay you twenty thousand when we agree, and twenty thousand once the papers were signed and you were moved in.”

  Forty thousand? This would net her forty thousand? Plus not having to pay rent for at least a year?

  Was this all real? Was she dreaming?

  “Ah—”

  “And at the conclusion, a payment of two hundred thousand. I do understand that this is a large commitment—around a year of your life, not to mention other issues such as having to move out of your apartment and not dating for that time. Plus, there’s the deceit this entails.”

  Hayden barely heard anything after the words “two hundred thousand.” Two hundred thousand? Dollars? That type of money seemed like a joke. Hayden didn’t have two hundred cents in her account. Even as the city’s top neurosurgeon, how did Thomson have that much money just lying around? Did she keep it under her mattress?

  “I suggest you take a few days and think about it.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Holy crap. Hayden said that.

  “What?” Thomson actually sounded surprised. “I really believe you should think about it.”

  “No. I’ll do it.”

  Thomson might be her least favorite person in the hospital. This might all be absolutely insane. How would they live together? How did you occupy space with someone that you not only didn’t know, but didn’t even like?

  And they were actually going to have to appear to be dating for a month.

  And then appear married for a year?

  Ew.

  “Are you sure?” Thomson’s expression was, as usual, indiscernible.

  “Yes.” In fact, two hundred forty thousand dollars’ worth of yes.

  “This means pretending you can stand me.”

  Hayden grimaced. So she really hadn’t hidden her dislike well at work. Though it was interesting that Thomson had even noticed. “I can manage that, Thomson. I did some drama classes at school.”

  As if that could help.

  Thomson’s lips pursed, and Hayden, for a split second, thought she might be suppressing a smile. “And maybe use Samantha. Or, really, Sam.”

  Thoms—Sam—held her hand out across the table, and Hayden took it. They shook: Sam’s hand warm and firm.

  “Okay…Sam.” Already that sounded too personal.

  “Okay, Hayden.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Something cold was on Hayden’s nose.

  And it smelled like fish.

  Cat-food breath.

  Hayden opened her eyes and found herself eye-to-eye with Frank. He meowed plaintively in her face, the smell of cat-food breath intensifying dramatically. Foul. That was one word for it. She turned her head so hard her neck cricked. He meowed again, and she sleepily dropped her hand onto his back and moved it in some semblance of petting. He growled lightly and jumped off the bed, padding away. Another meow reached her, this time farther away and, if she wasn’t mistaken, from the kitchen, where he’d be standing next to his bowl.

  Which was no doubt half-full.

  He was such an asshole.

  Rubbing sleep from her eyes with one hand, she reached for her phone with the other. Her alarm was due to go off in four minutes. Right on time, Frank.

  She had one e-mail from her sister, asking when she was next going home to see their mom. Sighing, she exited out and went on Twitter instead. She could answer that later. After scrolling through boring things for five minutes, she opened her e-mail app again. There’d been another one, but the one from her sister had made her nope out way too quickly.

  It was Thomson.

  Oh God, what had Hayden agreed to?

  Samantha.

  Sam.

  Sam seemed too light for her. A nickname that didn’t quite sit right. There’d been barely anything from her last night—she had no real emotion going on about this. The epitome of cold-ass, no-nonsense surgeon. It had been strange seeing her outside of work. The light in the café had been dimmer, more orange than the blinding fluorescence of the hospital. Although unsure when she’d noticed it, Hayden remembered the woman had a light smattering of freckles over her nose. It had made her look more like a human than she did in the washed-out light and under the mask she plastered on at work.

  Well, it wasn’t really a mask. It seemed to be her face.

  Had Hayden really agreed to get married? Had that been an actual thing?

  And, the burning question, why did Thomson—damn it, Sam (that was really hard to break)—want to in the first place? Maybe she was going to lure Hayden in and axe-murder her inside her probably fancy-as-hell apartment?

  No more axe-murder thoughts. This was getting stupid.

  Also, no more late-night TV.

  Another drawn-out meow came from the kitchen.

  “I’m coming!”

  But she didn’t move. Instead, she opened the e-mail.

  Hayden,

  I feel we should arrange a time and place for the first “date.” We don’t have to do anything special. It’s just so we appear to have spent a month together before signing the papers. I’m aware even a month is quite short to convince people, but it should be sufficient.

  Also, I feel you agreed too readily. You should really think about this more. How do you know I will pay you? Why have you not asked more questions? You really need to be smarter about this.

  How is tomorrow night at seven o’clock? Perhaps we can leave from the hospital together, if you’re working. Better for appearances.

  Sam

  There it was, typed out: Sam. How strange.

  All of this was strange.

  Also, patronizing much? Of course Hayden needed to think about this more. Thank you very much, Samantha Thomson. And of course she had questions…like…

  Like.

  Okay, so maybe Hayden had been blinded by the money. But yes, now her thoughts were going overtime. How could she be sure she would get that money at the end? Could she get a contract?

  Would a contract like that hold any legal ground?

  Also, could there be a contract? Or would the existence of one prove their marriage a sham?

  Maybe it could be more like a prenup? If (when) the couple divorces, a one-off payment of 200,000 dollars will be made to the innocent party, but no further payments.

  Wait, what if Thomson—Sam—whatever—didn’t file for divorce? And left Hayden in some weird limbo land of married to someone she barely knew?

  Though after a year, they’d probably know each other.

  Hayden shuddered and ignored the plaintive meow that floated into her room again. Maybe they could make a prenup that meant Hayden got a one-off payment as soon as they were married. Was that even legal? Could she ask a lawyer these questions?

  So…hypothetically… I wanna marry someone for money?

  They’d probably charge two hundred dollars just for her stupid hypothetical question.

  This was all too hard. And stupid. But then, money…and money that would come her way soon.

  Forty thousand within a month?

  Hayden quickly scanned the e-mail again.

  Also, better for what appearances? If it wasn’t to convince green-card people, why did it matter? If they didn’t have anything to prove on a legal basis, why were they doing this?

  The meow that came from the kitchen sounded like a dying elephant, so Hayden rolled out of her bed and padded through to the kitchen, which took all of five seconds in her micro apartment. She replied to the e-mail, agreeing except to say that she’d need an extra half an hour in case the ER was a mess.


  And also to clean up, but Hayden would never admit that to Samantha Thomson. She was going on a “date” with the Ice Queen herself and would not be going out smelling of twelve-hour shift.

  All of a sudden, Hayden’s hands were clammy. Leave from the hospital? Oh no. The ER would be a gossip pit. Everyone would know. And yeah, okay, that was the point, but that meant this insanity was actually happening.

  She couldn’t even talk to anyone about it.

  Frank head-butted her leg and yowled.

  “Okay, okay.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Are you all right?”

  Hayden looked up from the chart she was filling out at the edge of the nurses’ station. Luce was staring at her.

  “What?” Hayden asked.

  “Are you okay? You’ve been spacey all day.”

  “Have not.”

  “Have too.”

  “I’m tired.” Hayden stretched out her back, casting an eye over the patients she could see. All were doing okay, and the boy with a broken arm had been wheeled to surgery moments earlier, his parents hovering over the bed and following them. The poor kid was four and had almost been in hysterics. Until the pain medication had set in, and he’d just been plain hilarious. He told stories about a fart monster that scared people by farting the loudest. So much like Hayden’s nephew. “Nothing else.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” Luce’s voice was pretty clear on the fact that they didn’t believe her. “I’m going to get a coffee. You want one?”

  “Please!” Hayden smirked, capping her pen. “I won’t offer to come. You need all the time you can get with Coffee Girl.”

  “She’s not on today.” Luce’s cheeks went red immediately, their skin tone making it a dusky color. “Not that I, you know, know that.”

  “Well, well, Luce is a stalker. You would never have known.”

  “I just happened to go by there this morning, that’s all.”

  “Sure, sure. I’ll post bail when you get arrested.”

  “Not funny!”

  Luce was already walking away. They really were hopeless with this coffee girl. It was tempting to just give her Luce’s number, but Luce would hate that. So would Hayden, so she couldn’t really blame them. She froze as she put the folder in its slot.

  Over a year of no dating.

  Okay, maybe Hayden wasn’t a Casanova, but she enjoyed dates and flirting and going out, even if that area of her life hadn’t been that active lately. She liked first kisses and first nights wrapped up in sheets.

  Over a year with none of that? Or, at least, without the opportunity of that?

  Maybe she should rethink this. And not only because of all that, but this would really be turning her life upside down for a year. But then…

  Two hundred forty thousand dollars. What she could do with that.

  On that thought, she needed to message her sister back. Or suck it up and call.

  “Hayden, Neuro will be here in five for that consult.”

  “Righto.” Hayden tried to ignore the way her stomach felt as if it had dropped out of her body. Normally, that comment just filled her with a slight annoyance. But that flop in her stomach? She would really need to get that under control. Would Thomson—damn it, Sam—expect her to be flirty here? Or at least, like, friendly? Would it be too weird? Would Sam actually be nice after essentially proposing?

  The insane image of Samantha Thomson on one knee and beaming up at her, holding out a hideous diamond ring invaded her mind, and she snorted, clapping her hand over her mouth and hoping no one noticed. The shift coordinator threw her a weird look, but Hayden just pretended she’d coughed.

  Grabbing the file for her neuro patient, Hayden shook her head. She needed to calm down. That’s what she needed to do. Not imagine strange things that were never going to happen.

  Her patient was laid out in her bed, dark skin sallow and her eyes nervous. Hayden touched her hand to hers. Her right eye was partially closed, the same side of her mouth drooping.

  “Hola, María. ¿Cómo te sientes?” Hayden asked, checking how she was. It was times like this she was grateful her abuela ensured she spoke Spanish and kept her connected to her Honduran roots.

  “Estoy…estoy bien.” María’s words were slurred, but her eyes had lit up when Hayden had switched straight to Spanish when she’d first come in two hours ago.

  “Bien—te vamos operar enseguida. ¿Está bien?”

  “Mi…familia no…está aquí…”

  She’d been worried about her family since she’d arrived. They still weren’t there.

  “¿Todavía no están aquí?” Hayden double-checked with her that they definitely still weren’t there.

  “No.”

  Hayden felt terrible for her, but she explained how important it was that María go to surgery as soon as possible and that maybe they could call them before she went.

  It was cold comfort to offer a phone call to someone going into surgery if their family didn’t arrive in time. A phone call that would do little for María or her family.

  “María Villanueva?”

  Not letting go of the hand gripping hers, Hayden turned her head to see that the surgical team had arrived. “Yes, this is María.”

  Sam didn’t even look up at the sound of her voice.

  “Folder?” Sam asked, and Hayden held it out and Sam scanned it quickly. “Any change?”

  “Stable since arrival by emergency flight after diagnosis of a large aneurysm.”

  “Good.”

  Sam—finally—walked around the edge of the bed. “I’m Dr. Thomson, the head of neurosurgery. I just need to check your eyes.”

  Hayden translated in rapid Spanish and Sam blinked at her.

  Sam turned back to María. “¿Está bien si miro en tus ojos?”

  It was Hayden’s turn to stare at her. Her accent was horrendous, and she spoke slowly and translated directly, but still. She knew Spanish?

  Sam moved her flashlight quickly, gaze roving over María’s face. She did a series of neurological tests, then put her flashlight away.

  “Can you translate?” When Hayden agreed, she said, “I have your scans. You’re on the emergency list, so your surgery will be within the next hour or so. My intern here will take you through the paperwork and answer any questions you have.”

  Hayden translated and María’s brow furrowed. “Mi familia—”

  “Nurse?”

  Hayden wrenched her head up. She abhorred being referred to that way. “Yes?”

  If Sam saw the anger in her eyes, she didn’t react. Her face was as impassive as ever, her gaze steady. “She’ll need neurological observations every fifteen minutes rather than thirty now. That scan was worrying.”

  And she turned and walked away, leaving Hayden wanting to throw something after her and María looking from Hayden to the same twitchy intern as the other day.

  The intern stepped forward. “She’s a bit scary, ma’am.” He started pulling forms out of the folder in his arms, consent forms for the surgery, most likely. “But she’s the best you could wish for.”

  Hayden translated that and, somehow, María’s grip on Hayden’s hand relaxed.

  Maybe she’d misread the twitchy intern.

  But seriously? Nurse?

  ~ ~ ~

  The next night, showered and wearing black jeans and a white buttoned-up shirt with her favorite black ankle boots, Hayden was still seething. Her e-mail was full of eight drafts she’d started to type out before exiting from the app, huffing. All were filled with the start of some attempt to cancel this plan—not just the dinner, but the entire thing.

  But dollar signs appeared behind her eyelids like a cartoon villain, and she couldn’t bring herself to hit send.

  So now she was hanging by the main entrance, throwing a wave to the odd coworker as they walked out, hoping Luce had left already and wouldn’t see her.

  “Hey, you look fancy.”

  Which, of course, was far too much to wish for.
/>   “Not really.” Hayden tried for casual with a one-shouldered shrug.

  “You have your date boots on.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, you do.” Luce leaned against the wall. “I was with you when you bought them. You tapped the heels together and said, ‘There’s no place like their bedroom,’ and laughed manically.”

  That was sadly true. Sometimes, Hayden thought her parents shouldn’t have let her do drama at school. It had brought out a side to her no one had known had existed.

  The thought of her parents as one entity made her stomach roll over.

  “They were the first thing I found this morning when I was getting dressed.”

  “Fine, whatever. Want to get a drink?”

  “I, uh, can’t. I have plans.”

  As Hayden had suspected they would, Luce’s eyes lit up. “So you do have a hot date.”

  “No, I—”

  “Hayden.”

  This was a freaking nightmare. Burying her hands in her leather jacket’s pockets, Hayden spun on her heel. “Thom—Sam. Hi.”

  Hayden didn’t need to turn around to know that Luce’s eyebrows had raised an inch. She could feel the eyeballs glaring into her back. Sam also wasn’t in her scrubs but rather dark denim jeans and a loose green shirt. Her collarbones were on show. Hayden hadn’t seen her own collarbones so clearly in a while. Not with her habit of enjoying food quite happily and doing little exercise besides walking. It had taken a few years of work on her self-esteem, but she’d ended up comfortable with her extra curves. She was certainly rocking them tonight with her boots.

  “Are you ready to go?” Sam asked.

  Hayden turned and almost wanted to laugh. Luce was gaping like a fish. They bounced back miraculously, though.

  “Hi, Dr. Thomson.”

  Sam started walking out, and Hayden fell into step with her, avoiding Luce’s eye. Within ten steps, she felt her phone vibrate. She ignored it, and they walked across the parking lot. It vibrated again. She would bet her last few dollars this would continue all night.

  Luckily, Hayden only planned to order a water and make short work of the night. She had no money to actually do anything more than that and no desire to spend more time with Sam.

  Apparently not one for small talk, Sam walked silently next to her. And somehow as they walked, that seething feeling grew. Their shoulders brushed, and the feeling was like electricity, going straight to the ball of anger in Hayden’s gut. How would they even manage all of this if Sam couldn’t even address her politely in the ER?