Second Chance at Love Page 4

  So much for being nervous about the first day on the new job. Technically he wasn’t due to arrive until next week, but he thought he’d pop in and see how the staff worked when the boss wasn’t around. He wanted an honest view of what he was getting into, not the rosy picture they’d given him during the interview process and his tour.

  He would’ve been even more infuriated about the accident if…she hadn’t smelled so good. As soon as he’d approached her, the scent of lilac and jasmine that clung to her skin invaded his senses. It wasn’t a perfume. It was more the subtle smell of an essential oil, and it immediately made him relax. He’d abandoned his righteous indignation almost immediately, even though he’d been known to dig in his heels when he felt he was right. Still, the nerve of her accusing him of being reckless. He took pride in being a good, responsible driver. He had his kids with him everywhere he went, and their safety was his main priority. She had no right to say he was some flashy elitist who zipped around in an expensive SUV putting other people’s lives in danger. He was a doctor. It was against his nature to anything that would put another person’s life in danger.

  And was the “overdressed” critique about his clothing really necessary? Since when was looking pristine and professional a crime? That was the problem with people these days. They didn’t take the time to dress their best. He was a heart surgeon—wearing a pair of khakis and a polo shirt wouldn’t cut it. The old adage the suit makes the man was absolutely true, and he believed in it wholeheartedly.

  Still, it was hard not to notice how pretty she was. The conservative yet stylish ensemble caressed every curve she had, but for some reason she didn’t look comfortable in her duds. The wild, curly, brunette hair decorated with pretty barrettes was the giveaway. She might have been in a conservative disguise, but her tresses told the story of the free spirit within.

  Alex made the right turn into the huge medical campus, looking for the employee parking lot. He’d only been there a few times and wasn’t sure of the protocol. As he rounded yet another set of buildings, he saw a gate with a guard in the shack. He drove up and stopped.

  “Good morning I’m—”

  “Dr. Alex Popovich, the new head of cardiology,” he stated firmly.

  “Yes. How did you know who I was?”

  “The staff was sent your picture in anticipation of your arrival.”

  “Oh. I’m afraid I’m a couple of days early for my first official day.”

  “Not a problem, sir. Just drive on in and you’ll see your parking spot next to the main entrance.”

  “OK. Thanks.” Alex nodded, shifted into drive, and proceeded.

  A few minutes later, he was pulling into his new parking spot, which was indeed very close to the entrance. He snagged his briefcase out of the backseat and headed toward the building. It was one of the finest-manicured commercial properties he’d ever seen. The lawn was plush and green. There were colorful flowers strategically planted, and the benches were made of beautiful wrought iron. A closer look at the brick-lined path revealed the names of donors who’d contributed to the construction of the hospital.

  It was all very grand and opulent, but when he asked Grayson about the prestigious hospital’s community efforts, namely urgent care for people who weren’t millionaires but needed medical attention, his friend didn’t have a ready answer. Harper’s Grove may have been a quiet pinnacle for the rich and famous, but there were people in the town who didn’t have the same means. He didn’t want to rock the boat, but he did want to even the playing field for everyone to benefit from the technological advancements and medical expertise brimming on this campus.

  He walked into the main entrance and followed the sign to the reception area. He knew the hospital had strict security protocols, and he hadn’t received his ID badge yet. The receptionist was on the phone, but she quickly hung up and stood when she saw him coming.

  “Good Morning, Dr. Popovich. So nice to meet you. Welcome to Serenity Springs. I’m Vera.” She beamed and extended her hand.

  “Nice to meet you too, Vera.” He shook her hand. “Who do I have to thank for putting up my parking placard? I thought for sure I’d be parking two miles away for the first week.”

  “The human resources department is really on top of things. Wow. You have really soft hands.” She let out a nervous giggle.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret. You don’t want a surgeon with rough hands. Imagine someone’s calloused fingers touching something as fragile and valuable as your heart.”

  “You are so right,” she gushed and continued to clasp his hand.

  “Vera, if you don’t mind. I’d like to get to my office.”

  “Oh!” She touched her cheek. “I can show you to your office.”

  “No thanks.” He peered at the glass directory with white etching names. “I see I’m on the third floor. I can show myself up.”

  “Welcome to the Serenity Springs family, Dr. Popovich. Please let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  “Thanks, Vera.” Alex smiled as he headed over to the elevators. He punched the elevator button, then stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed. Too bad the woman who’d crashed into him this morning hadn’t been as friendly as Vera. Or friendly at all, for that matter.

  He stepped out carefully on the third floor. He looked around, and the floor was bustling with activity. Doctors and nurses flitted about. The support staff was working hard. He saw the sign for his office and followed the arrow. There were a few people engaged in intimate conversation along the corridor. He heard some flirting from two doctors wearing lab coats. And a nurse and an orderly were sharing a long look between the two of them.

  He didn’t know if the myth of the hospital romance started with soapy television dramas, but like Charisma said, hospitals were always a hotbed of passion. Since he wasn’t looking for passion, it ended up being a bit of an annoying distraction. He continued down the hall and saw an elderly woman in the doorway of a room in the cardiac ICU looking up and down the hall. She appeared weak and she was clutching the door frame.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  “I need a drink of water.”

  “I think I can help with that.” Alex cupped her elbow. “But first I’d like to get you back in the bed. Did you call the nurse’s station?”

  “Why bother them when I’m still so young and frisky?” she said with a laugh.

  Alex helped her back to bed and made sure she was comfortable. He locked the side rails in place, picked up her pitcher, and went in search of ice. He returned a few minutes later with it filled and poured up a cup. Then he picked up her chart.

  “Thank you,” she said. “What’s your name, handsome?”

  “Dr. Alex Popovich. Have you been waiting long for help, Mrs. Prendergast?” He glanced through her chart. She’d been admitted for chest pains and tests were being run, but she still shouldn’t have been walking around. He made a mental note of everyone listed in the chart that was assigned to her case.

  “No. I have to admit I’ve always been short on patience.” She took a sip of her water. “But it paid off. How else could I have run into such a handsome man in the corridor?”

  “I intend to see that the staff is especially attentive to energetic patients.” He winked and put his hand on her wrist to check her pulse.

  “What’s your given name?”

  “Aleksandr.”

  “Is it spelled A-l-e-k-s-a-n-d-r, the Russian Cyrillic way?”

  “On my birth certificate, yes. But it’s morphed into Alex with an X here in the states. It’s easier than explaining to people.” He pulled his stethoscope out of his bag. “Let’s get a listen at your heart.”

  “You remind me of an old flame. His name was Mikhail. He had those penetrating blue eyes and strong features, just like you.” She giggled. “We met when I was vacationing in Europe and fell madly in love. He proposed to me after dating for three months. I brought him home to my stuffy, autocratic father who
loathed him on sight. It was spectacular. The people in our social circle said I’d brought a Russian spy home. Back then the reigning stereotype about all Russians was that they were intelligence agents or ballet dancers.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve always found it odd that society felt perfectly comfortable cramming all of us into one or two stereotypes. So what happened with your Mikhail?”

  “Daddy ran him off. He threatened to have a friend of his from the state department vet his entire family going back three generations. I didn’t care. I expected he might disown me. But I didn’t want his family to be harassed in that way. So we said our proshchay.”

  “That’s terrible. You shouldn’t have been forced to make a choice like that.” He hung the scope around his neck and jotted a note in her chart.

  “I haven’t thought about him in a long time. You could be his twin.” She smiled. “If I were thirty years younger and you weren’t married, I’d ask you out on a date.”

  He glanced down at his ring finger. “Actually, I am a widower. My wife passed away a few of years ago.”

  “I am so sorry to hear that. You poor dear. Do you have kids?”

  “Two beautiful children.” He patted her hand before she could ask another question. “Enough about me. How are you feeling?”

  “Like a rat in a maze.” She pouted. “Do you like swing dancing?”

  “I’m afraid I have two left feet.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second. I bet you’re dynamite on the dance floor. I won a ballroom competition last spring.”

  “Sounds like you lead a very active life. My Uncle Anton would love you.”

  “Is he as handsome as you?”

  “Yabloko ne padayet daleko ot dereva,” he said. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “Eto chertovstvo rodoslovnoy.” Her smile made her eyes twinkle. “I’d love to see this family tree of yours.”

  He chuckled softly. “You were correct to get the tests done, and I’m sure we’ll have a comprehensive answer and corresponding treatment if necessary. But you sound very active, that’s what I like to hear from patients.”

  “Would you mind telling my family? They treat me like an invalid.”

  He fluffed her pillow. “I’m sure they’re just worried about you.”

  “Oh.” She waved a hand. “They just want my money.”

  “Well, I just want you to get well and get back to living your life. I’ll have someone come look in on you. In the meantime.” He reached behind her and handed her the control panel. “If you need anything, please press the call button. I don’t want to see you roaming the halls by yourself again. OK?”

  “OK. Will you stop by and visit me again?”

  “Yes. I’ll check in on you to make sure you’re behaving.” He picked up his bag and made a left turn out of the room and continued down the hall.

  A few minutes later, he’d reached an elegant suite. He knocked on the frosted glass door with his name on it, then opened it. An older woman was on the phone. She looked up and quickly ended the call.

  “Dr. Popovich, I’m Stella Simmons, your administrative assistant.” She rounded the desk and shook his hand. “I wasn’t expecting you until next week.”

  She was an older woman who was dressed impeccably. She was the first person to match his style of dress since he’d entered the hospital. She was petite and had perfectly coiffed gray hair. Her desk was clear, with the exception of a few file folders and a notepad. He had a good feeling about her.

  “My kids started school today, so I thought I’d get on with business.”

  “And the element of surprise is a good way to see what you’ve gotten yourself into?” Her smile was slightly mischievous.

  “Exactly.” He gave her a knowing grin. “But I have to admit, I’m glad I came early. I just found a patient, Mrs. Prendergast, in the hall looking for water.”

  “You did? Oh my gosh, that woman has more money than God. Her family will pull their donations to the hospital if they thought she was roaming the halls on her own. Give me one sec.” Stella got on the phone and began spouting orders to someone. Once she was done, she turned to him. “This never happens. I assure you, this is not the first impression we wanted to give you.”

  “I’m here to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I need to have a chat with everyone assigned to watch over her today.”

  “Of course.” She gulped and motioned for him to follow her down the hall. “Let me show you to your office.”

  Alex hadn’t taken a look at the office during the interviewing process because he hadn’t wanted to get ahead of himself. So when Stella opened the door, he was astonished to find something that looked like a wing in a museum. The taupe and beige walls with dim track lighting aimed strategically around the room gave a calm and comforting therapeutic effect. It was the perfect setting for talking to a patient about the health and status of their most vital organs. There was a small conference area, as well as casual couch seating, and an open door revealed a full bathroom with a shower. What caught his attention were the framed photographs on the wall. They were stunning landscape scenes of beaches and mountains. For some reason, they spoke to him. They perfectly complemented the décor. He dropped his bag in a chair and continued to walk around.

  “Wow. Is there a gift shop connected to this suite?”

  “I know it looks very fancy. But you will find that most of the hospital’s executive offices are decorated this way.”

  He stopped in his tracks when he saw a picture of him and the kids hanging on the wall behind his desk. It was an older photo blown up, but this was unnerving.

  “I did take the liberty of doing a little research to make you feel at home. Dr. Bennett was kind enough to provide me with a photo. If you have a more recent picture you prefer, I can replace that one.”

  “No, it’s fine.” He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “You have beautiful children. They have your eyes.”

  “They got everything else from their mother.” He sighed. “I’m still new in town and I don’t have a sitter. So they may be here in the afternoons. They are well-behaved, and I don’t tolerate them being disrespectful. They’ll sit on the couch and do their homework.”

  “Sure. I can find a nanny for you if you want. I know a service that a lot of the staff use.”

  “No, thank you. Call me old fashioned, but I’m more comfortable watching my kids myself. Whatever chaos ensues, I deal with it, but at least I know they’re safe. And I would never ask you to look after them. That’s not your job. I’m an old pro at the single dad thing.” He wanted to ease her mind that he wasn’t some disorganized widower who didn’t know how to raise his kids.

  “Can I be honest with you?”

  “I insist.”

  “When I heard you were a widower, I have to admit my heart went out to you immediately. I lost my husband some years ago, and it was out of the blue. I wasn’t prepared.” Stella straightened her posture. “What I’m saying is that I won’t treat you like a clueless TV sitcom widower.”

  “I appreciate that, Stella.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I will be meeting with everyone who works on this floor, but it’s just so I can acquaint myself with them.”

  “Well, I’ll fill you in on some of the basics. There is the obligatory mixer. We usually have something in the big conference room downstairs. Some of the admins for the other department heads have already called to schedule lunch dates. The staff is mostly cordial, but there are a ton of egos flying around, each bigger than the last. Jeff Cranford is the head of neurology. He’s been sniffing around, asking about you. Neurology is usually the biggest competitor to cardiology for funding. ‘Lunch date’ is usually the code phrase for golfing. And the annual fundraiser is right around the corner and that consists of rubbing elbows with the benefactors who donated the money for the hospital and may contribute more.”

  “Tell me.” He leaned against his new mahogany desk. “When will I h
ave time to see patients? I’d like to be put on the rotation as accepting new patients as soon as possible.”

  “Uh.” She closed the office door. “I read your credentials and thought it was odd that you wouldn’t want to be a more of a hands-on doctor.”

  “You would be right.”

  “Typically, the department heads do more socializing than actual practicing of medicine.”

  “What am I supposed to be doing?”

  “Supervising the hotshot residents and maintaining order. Things are pretty relaxed around here. You look wonderful in your suit, but I’m afraid they don’t always dress to the nines here either.”

  “I see you’re dressed very stylishly.”

  “It’s a dying art. I’m from an era when an immaculately dressed person put a patient at ease and helped the overall reputation of the hospital.”

  “Me too.” This had sounded like a plum job, but parts of it sounded like a nightmare for someone who was proud of the reputation he’d built for himself of being an excellent heart surgeon. And he wanted to continue to hone his craft. “I don’t intend to rest on my laurels, and neither should anyone who wants to continue to work for me. We’ll have to change some things around here.”

  “So I should hold off on your application to the yacht club? I’m afraid the country club membership has already been fast-tracked.” She bit back a smile.

  “Yes. I think that yacht has sailed.” He smiled back and rounded the desk, intending to sit down in the expensive-looking black leather chair. Instead, he paused and frowned, leaning against the side of the desk. “Can you start organizing the one-on-ones with the staff? Schedule the hotshot surgeons last; let them sweat for a bit. Pull the maintenance charts of all of the equipment, I want to verify myself that they’re all up to code. The last thing we need is a machine malfunctioning when a patient is in need. Staph infections are running rampant in hospitals across the country. I want someone re-testing all operating rooms by the end of the week, no matter the last date it was inspected. And I’d like the charts of all current patients and past admittances from the last two years to see the general pattern of care from admission to release. Just because we have a wealthy well to tap doesn’t mean we need to waste money.”