Chapter 2
TERRIBLE SECOND IMPRESSIONS
EVAN
The OR Head Nurse, Carmen Santiago, finds me by the sink, not ten minutes after the debacle. We met a month ago, and when I came down here for a meet-and-greet after I was offered the job. She was one of the many people here at Bayview with whom I was impressed.
“Doctor Vincenzo.”
Her voice lands like a judge’s gavel.
Fuck. I messed up. I knew it the moment I started going off on that nurse, Navya.
At first, I thought she was the one who’d commented on my looks. Then she spoke, and I realized it hadn’t been her at all—it was the other nurse. But by then, the damage was done.
I wasn’t in the right headspace this morning. I’d walked into the OR raw and exhausted, still carrying the weight of Florence and my grandmother’s funeral. Being ogled like a piece of meat by the staff didn’t help, but that was no excuse.
Calling Navya incompetent in front of the entire team was a line I knew I’d crossed the second the words left my mouth.
I’ve been told I have a temper—every attending I’ve ever worked under has given me that feedback.
Add that flaw to fresh grief, jet lag, and a brand-new hospital, and it explains why the head nurse at my new job is now looking at me like she’s deciding how to bury the body.
I shut off the water and look up slowly, because I already know what this is about—and because moving too fast feels like it might crack me in half.
“Yes, Carmen?”
She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t have to. She has presence. She flexes it. “Your office. Now.”
I dry my hands and follow her two doors down to my office without argument. Whatever is coming my way, I deserve it.
I hold the door open for her, and she steps inside and sits down on one of the guest chairs. I close the door behind me and take my seat across from her.
Carmen, from what I’ve been told, is protective of her nurses, competent, and does not give a shit about attending surgeons like me and their egos.
“What the hell was that?” she asks.
I arch an eyebrow. Just because she’s in a snit—and maybe it’s my fault—doesn’t mean I’m going to lie down and show her my belly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“I was in the observation gallery,” she says in explanation.
Right.
Okay, Evan, get off your high horse and eat crow. You’ve earned it.
I open my mouth, then close it again. I honestly have no idea what to say—and I’m aware that the mood I’m in, whatever will come out will only dig the hole deeper.
“That nurse whom you treated like a punching bag,” she continues, eyes sharp, “is one of my best.”
I scrub a hand over my face. I’m exhausted. My body, my mind, everything is vibrating.
I can’t remember half the stuff I said in the OR. I remember every step in the surgery, but the rest feels like it’s buried under sixty feet of cotton.
“I lost my temper.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “And you decided to unload on her?”
“Your nurse isn’t perfect,” I say defensively and then growl, “Damn it, I know I screwed up.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re not doing me a favor by admitting the truth, so stop behaving like you are.”
Alright, so her reputation is on point. When they told me she would call me out on my bullshit, it wasn’t hyperbole.
“I know.”
Fuck, do I know!
She waits. I know what she’s doing, using silence as pressure. I do it all the time. And it’s much nicer to be on the other end of that stare.
“I…this is not an excuse but an explanation,” I preface.
“I’m glad you know the distinction.”
She’s a good-looking woman. Early fifties, is my guess. Trim. Fit. Probably works out. It’s in her posture. Even in scrubs and no makeup, she’s well put together. She speaks with clarity and a faint Latin accent. Not Spanish. Mexican.
“I got back this morning…having buried my grandmother."
Carmen’s expression shifts. She doesn’t soften, but recalibrates. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I flew in overnight,” I continue, because once I start, it all spills out. “I landed at six. I came straight here because we had the surgery and…well, I had to be here.”
She studies me, eyes narrowing slightly. “That explains the mood.”
“And then…. Anyway, I heard a remark made about me, and I thought it was that nurse…Navya, and it wasn’t, it was the other….” I trail off because telling her I got annoyed when a nurse called me “handsome” sounds fucking stupid.
Carmen’s lips twitch. “Deanna speaks without thinking…a lot.”
I give her a measured look. “You couldn’t have heard her all the way from the observation deck.”
She shrugs. “No, but I know my nurses, so I can guess. Did she say you were hot?”
I shake my head and let out a long breath. “It doesn’t matter what she said, what matters is that I lost my temper and went off on a nurse for things that I usually…wouldn’t….”
She regards me with quiet consideration. “Dr. Vincenzo—”
“Please, call me Evan, especially when you’re dressing me down.”
That makes her grin. “Evan, then, you were close to your grandmother?”
That question surprises me.
The truth is that Nonna raised me because my parents were too busy building empires and reputations, and thank God for that. My brother and I were fortunate to have her. She was warmth and love. She was home.
She died a week ago, and I wasn’t there. Thankfully, Leo, my brother, and his wife were.
Nonna knew me—fondly called me testardo*. She told me to loosen up, not put up so many walls, and to let people in.
She’d be disappointed to know that I humiliated a young nurse because I didn’t know where to put my grief. If Nonno found out, he’d kick my ass. Thinking about him, now not in the best of health, is just another slash through my heart.
“I was very close to her,” I tell her. “She was”—I pause because tears clog my throat—“special. She and my grandfather raised me.”
Carmen leans back in her chair. “I can only imagine how difficult this time is for you.”
“It is, but…it’s no excuse for taking that out on Navya.”
She seems surprised by my admission. “Usually, when I come to have this kind of conversation with a doctor, they’re a lot more defensive than you are, and they usually start by blaming my nurse.”
“I have no defense.”
The hard edges in her expression ease. “You seem sincere.”
“I am.” My throat tightens. “I was cruel. And she didn’t deserve it.”
“I expect you to apologize to her.”
“I will.”
She stands up and walks to my door. When she reaches it, she turns back. “Evan, I am truly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Carmen. I appreciate it.”
“And for what it’s worth, Navya doesn’t hold a grudge.”
“That’s generous of her.”
I stare at the closed door after she leaves.
I replay the OR in my head—not the procedure, but her, the nurse, Navya.
Her eyes were large and brown. She’s of Indian descent; her name and appearance give that away. But her accent is not. So, probably born and raised here.
She kept her voice steady while I tried to destabilize her. She didn’t crumble, even when I wanted her to.
I rub my temples.
I have a few people to apologize to. I will start with Nurse Rana and work my way to Dr. Klein.
Christ!
A new surgeon with his head up his ass—that’s going to be my reputation, and it’s going to take a lot of effort to clean that up.
I make a mental note to book an appointment with my therapist. I obviously need some help right now.
I go looking for Nurse Rana and find her in Carmen’s office.
I saw her briefly without her mask, but not clearly.
She’s not beautiful, not in the traditional sense, but she is attractive. Nurses and doctors spend their lives in scrubs, without makeup or even jewelry. It’s after or before their shift that you get to see them as they want to be seen.
Her hair is lush. I couldn’t see it under her surgical cap before. She’s tied it in a ponytail.
Unbidden, an image of riding her while holding that ponytail, forms in my head.
Where the fuck did that come from?
When I ask to speak with her alone, Carmen rips me another new one.
“I was out of line. I need to apologize,” I say flatly.
Navya’s mouth curves into a smile that is absolutely not friendly…but sexy as fuck. “Well, then, Dr. Vincenzo, go ahead and apologize.”
She stuns me with that challenge, issued so cockily.
I look pointedly at Carmen, who gives me a dry look, not bothering to hide her irritation.
“Navya, come see me later,” she instructs, gives me a warning glare, and leaves her office.
Navya crosses her arms and smiles at me.
There’s something mischievous about her—and it’s endearing. She’s hurt. She’s angry. But somehow she’s maintaining her sense of humor about the situation. My respect for her grows.
“I’m sorry for how I treated you today in the OR.”
She nods, remains silent.
Smiling now wouldn’t help my cause, so I refrain. But she is making me want to, very much. This woman has the most expressive face, and even though she’s silent, I can read her.
The apology surprises her.
She’s not used to being apologized to.
She also wants more of it because I was that much of an ass.
“I made…a terrible first impression. My behavior was reprehensible. I spoke to you in a way that was unprofessional, unfair, and frankly—unacceptable.”
Her expression fractures, surprise slipping through the cracks.
She didn’t expect that. Good!
“I was wrong,” I continue. “About how I talked to you in the OR. About your competence. About everything.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Everything?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. “You handled yourself with restraint and professionalism under pressure. I should have thanked you, not targeted you.”
Her expressive face now tells me she’s uncomfortable.
“I…just came back from my grandmother’s funeral and…I was…am not in a good place.”
Sorrow fills her eyes, and I feel like a douchebag for playing on what I’m discovering is someone who is deeply empathetic.
“That doesn’t excuse anything,” I say hurriedly, “but it does explain why I shouldn’t have been in that OR. I let my personal life bleed into my work, and you paid the price for it.”
Her arms drop, and those expressive eyes of hers fill with tears. “I’m so sorry. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. I…lost my mother last year, and I can tell you I was difficult to deal with for the next several weeks.”
I doubt that very much. This woman, with her chocolate brown eyes, wouldn’t know how to be difficult if she read books about it.
“Thank you. It’s so kind of you to say that. But, Navya, I am truly sorry.” I can’t stop looking at her face because she hides nothing. Isn’t she afraid to let people see so much? “If there’s anything I can do to make this right, I will.”
She studies me for a long moment. And then…she snorts. Actually snorts.
“Oh my God,” she mutters. “You apologize hard, Dr. Vincenzo.”
“I screw up a lot, so I have practice,” I deadpan.
Navya bursts out laughing at that. “I’ll tell you this. No one has ever apologized this much, or this…intensely to me.”
A spark of relief lights in my chest. This is a good person. I was a jackass to her, and… she is making this so easy for me.
“Well then, am I forgiven?”
She gives me a look full of unfiltered pleasure, and I feel the need to reach out to Carmen’s desk for support because it jolts me.
“Yes, you’re forgiven. Just don’t do it again and…if you’re gonna, just warn me that you’re having a shitty day.”
I smile at her because she’s a complete delight. “And how would I do that?”
She tosses her shoulder. “I don’t know, wear a hat that says, ‘Moody Doctor Working’ or something like that?”
I chuckle. “I can do that.”
She straightens, and I know she’s going to leave, let this go. As Carmen said, Navya isn’t someone who holds a grudge.
“Are you sure I’m forgiven?”
Her eyes go wide. “Yes, of course.”
“Prove it.” The words are out before I can stop them.
A puzzled crease forms between her eyebrows. “Prove what?”
“That I’m forgiven.”
Her eyes twinkle with confusion and amusement. “And how would I do that?”
“Let me take you out to dinner.”
Che cavolo*? What are you doing, Evan?
She stares at me as if I’ve just said the impossible. “Excuse me?”
“Let me take you out to dinner to make up for being an ass.”
She definitely seems to be caught off guard…but she’s considering it.
I hope she won’t ask if it’s a date because I’d have to tell her the truth, that it is, because she intrigues me.
Even though I don’t date colleagues. I did once, a doctor, and after we broke up, she was a nightmare, throwing tantrums in the fucking OR.
Since then, I’ve had a hard-and-fast rule of not finding my bedmates at work. And yet…
Was I an ass to her because I noticed her? Was being rude part of my defense mechanism?
She squints. “Will it be a fancy place, or are you planning on taking me to the food truck in the parking lot?”
“Define fancy.”
She seems to think about it. “Well, they have to have white tablecloths. And proper crystal and silverware.” She winks at me. “And snobby servers who will call me Madam.”
“It’ll be a fancy place,” I assure her. I want to see her deal with a snobby server. I desperately want to see that.
She becomes serious, and I see it happen, the retraction, the stepping back. “Look, Doctor Vincenzo, dinner isn’t needed. I’m just teasing. I appreciate your apology and…let’s leave it at that.”
I let out a breath in mock exasperation. “So…you don’t really forgive me, is that it?”
She shakes her head. “No, no, please don’t—”
“Then have dinner with me.” I step closer to her.
I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but fuck it, I want to. She’s young. God, how much younger than me is she? I’d peg her at mid-twenties…that’s nearly ten years to my thirty-six.
She looks lost for a minute and licks her lips. They are pouty, and I feel lost, imagining them on my skin.
“O-okay.”
“Good girl,” I murmur.
Her eyes go wider than I thought possible, and a flush rises in her cheeks. Now I want to say those exact words after I make her come.
I wonder if her cheeks will go pink, just like they are now.
“Ah…I have to go.” She is flustered, and I like it. I like it a whole hell of a lot.
I hand her my phone. “Put your contact information in so I can text you dinner details.”
She nods uneasily but types steadily. Her fingers don’t shake, but the tension radiating from her could light up a full-body scan.
Right before she steps out the door, I say softly, “Thank you, Navya, for accepting my apology.”
She flashes a smile that needs a warning label for its blinding dazzle. “Thank you for apologizing, Evan.”
My name on her lips sounds good.
Cazzo*, I’m so screwed.
* Hotheaded (Italian)
* What the heck? (Italian)
* Fuck (Italian)