Chapter 8 #3
“Front and center,” Grier croaked, nerves strangling her words.
She reached for her water and nearly tipped it over with her shaking hands.
Why was she so nervous? This award had no bearing on her, or her patient outcomes.
She knew it was unlikely she would win—the board would want to select someone they could market and profit from, more than what she brought in with her alternative, low-cost but definitely high-value treatments.
Still, she took a fortifying sip, eyes fixed on Elain Montgomery, chairwoman of the board, as she approached the podium.
Elain welcomed the crowd with polished poise, thanking their supporters and recognizing the wait staff with a round of applause before shifting gears. “Now,” she announced, “the moment most of us have been waiting for: Aetheridge Children’s Hospital’s Physician of the Year Award.”
Her words slowed, and a rare smile etched its way across her typically controlled face.
“This year’s selection was narrowed to five well-deserving candidates, each with countless hours of dedicated service to our hospital, community outreach, and continuing education.
The selection was not easy. But one factor weighed heavily this year, outlining a clear and distinct winner.
As always, we invited faculty and staff, as well as patients and their caregivers, to participate in our nomination process. ”
Grier’s core cinched tight. She felt a table of faces turn to look at her, hope and confidence in their eyes. Grant glowed; Delta bounced in her chair. Alix’s hand joined Maren’s on her other knee. Was this happening? Could this really be about her? Light-headedness washed over her.
“We received an outpouring of nominations for one particular individual,” Elain proceeded, swaying as she addressed different portions of the atrium.
“In the history of Aetheridge Children’s Hospital’s Physician of the Year Award, we have never received so many nominations for a single physician—or such detailed confessions of praise, and, disarmingly, of love from staff and patients alike.
This individual has garnered the respect of their colleagues and the hearts of their patients.
We as a Board are truly humbled to admit: a new bar has been set for future honorees. ”
A tense quiet hung over the atrium as everyone waited for the name.
“Please join me in celebrating this year’s honored physician: Dr. Grier Savage.”
The room erupted. Grier sat stunned—humbled and dazed. Maren and Alix hauled her to her feet. Delta launched herself into Grier’s arms with a chokehold hug. Grant kissed her cheek, his tears wet against her skin as he whispered, “Nora would be so proud of you.” He choked, “I am so proud of you!”
Grier somehow managed to make it to the stage. She could barely hear Elain’s continued praises—the pounding of blood in her head drowned out every sound, nearly paralyzing her in disbelief. She accepted the award from Elain and shook her hand.
Was she expected to say something? Should she? Shock pervaded her, and she couldn’t recall previous award ceremonies. Elain’s gesture toward the podium answered her panicked, internalized questions.
Clutching the plaque to her chest, Grier leaned toward the microphone.
“I am thoroughly shocked… and outrageously humbled for this honor. My sincerest thanks to my staff and colleagues—you’re the reason my days run smoothly and my head stays on my shoulders.
But more importantly, thank you to each patient and family member who took the time to honor me with their vote.
You are the reasons I strive to succeed in all I do, and the constant reminder of the power of alternative care in a cooperative setting.
Without you, I would lack the motivation to show up, to stand up, and to speak up.
“And finally, to my brother, Grant, and niece, Delta—thank you for tolerating my less-than-professional side that I reserve just for you. My doughnut and root beer float addictions and proclivity for stealing blankets are going nowhere anytime soon. I love you. Thank you.”
The crowd burst in another rowdy burst of applause. Grier glanced out just in time to catch the distinct frame of Victor Vanders storming through the double doors. She smirked to herself, hoping Alix was savoring his retreat.
The DJ kicked the music up as the lights dimmed. By the time Grier made it to her table, she was swallowed into the middle of a four-person hug. At last, she let the emotion of the evening escape in a happy sob.
“Girl, your makeup!” Alix teased, producing a handkerchief from their tuxedo pocket.
“Let’s get you cleaned up—look at me,” Maren said, already smoothing away her tears and blending her makeup. “That’s better! Now—drink or dance?”
“I’ve got so much adrenaline coursing through me. Let’s hit the dance floor so I can shake it out without looking like a fool.” Grier practically buzzed, desperate to expel the energy from her body.
“Oh, you’ll still look like a fool. You got moves, but they ain’t good,” Alix taunted her with a smirk.
“Shut up and dance!” Grier laughed, tugging her friends out to the dance floor with Delta close behind.
“I love this song!” Delta screamed as the recognizable beat of Miley Cyrus’s Party in the USA poured from the speakers. The crowd surged, bodies igniting to the dance anthem, and Grier let herself go—shaking out every shred of adrenaline into the rhythm of the room.
They danced for what felt like forever. At times, Grier felt as though she was being watched.
Each time she searched for the source—hoping against reason it might be the captain—she was left wanting.
No familiar frame in the crowd, no glimpse in her periphery.
She hadn’t seen Captain Parrish since her award either.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d been looking forward to a dance—but the sting of disappointment was sharp as the prospect unraveled into nothing more than an empty promise.
She wanted access to the captain—to press their bodies together, to let her hands roam. Heat surged through her as she accepted the missed opportunity and the likely indication that this was just another empty flirt that would lead nowhere.
The song changed to something slower, and Delta wandered over, drooping with fatigue. “It’s getting late, little girl. Are you ready to go home?” Grier asked.
“No, I just need a break. And I love this song. It’s Fearless by Taylor Swift.”
“Hmmm, well, come on in here, kiddo. Let’s dance.” Grier opened her arms, and Delta folded into her, hugging her waist and leaning against her as they swayed.
Grier closed her eyes, settling into the rhythm—only to snap them open at the sound of a familiar croon, awkwardly low at her waist.
“Mind if I cut in?”
The captain was crouched—as much as one could in stilettos— by Delta’s ear. Whether deliberate or happenstance, the position left Grier with no choice but to to look directly down the captain’s open, inviting cleavage—then lower still, her gaze trailing along the sleek line of her abdomen.
Grier sucked in a sharp breath, audibly, before jerking her gaze to Delta, who was ecstatic with the interruption. She nodded her consent emphatically before trotting back toward the refreshments, leaving Grier as exposed as the captain’s chest.
“Thanks, kid.” Grier muttered, watching the captain rise to her full height, her chest aligned perfectly with Grier’s eyes. She had to be at least six inches taller, and the difference was further accentuated by their heels.
The captain offered her hand. Grier accepted—and felt another hand wrap around her waist, once again claiming the spot on her open back.
Tingling surged from head to toe, and a welcome discomfort bloomed between her thighs.
She caught the peppery fougère scent of the captain’s cologne mingling with her skin—notes of ginger and cedar wood, intoxicating and arousing.
It wasn’t going to help her control her composure.
She let Captain Maes lead them, savoring the subtle surrender, her mind reveling at the way she led them around the room in those stilettos. Imaginings of the heels—and significantly fewer articles of clothing—flitted through her mind until she was disrupted by the captain’s voice.
“Congratulations, by the way.” Their eyes met, sincerity softening the captain’s gaze. “You were the obvious choice, it seems.”
“Thank you. I truly didn’t expect to win.”
“That was also rather obvious, judging by your reaction.” The captain smirked playfully.
Grier smiled bashfully and averted her eyes. “Ugh. Was it really that obvious?” She had hoped it wasn’t—but a familiar pang of lust washed over her at the captain’s admission that she’d been watching.
“Yes, but it was cute. Your reaction was genuine. And speaking from personal experience… the award is well deserved. My arm still feels great after you treated me. You are talented.”
The praise only fueled the growing desire coiling inside her.
In a rush to downplay her skills—and inject a little comic relief—Grier blurted without thinking, “Well, I am very good with my hands.” Her body stiffened instantly, regretting the same cheesy come-on line she’d used the first time they met.
The captain’s body shook as she suppressed a laugh. “You asserted the same claim last week,” she smirked. And a few elongated seconds later, she added, “I believe that now makes two body parts you’ve proffered for judgment this evening.”
Grier felt the world tilt beneath her and braced her body for the inevitable ground it was about to meet. But she stopped midair, confidently folded backward into a dramatic dip, orchestrated by the captain’s steady hands.
The fluttering in her stomach—typically present around the captain—contorted into a stampede.
In the history of her life, Grier had never been able to follow someone’s lead on the dance floor.
Now, dipped, her head swam, her heart raced, and that encouraging heat between her thighs emanated a deep, craving throb.