Heart Like Mine (3 page)

She really did need to ditch the pearls, though.

“I can't just go down there, Megan.” Delaney felt a tingle at the base of her neck, just thinking of walking onto the pediatric floor. No, she definitely couldn't go down there.

“Well, he's obviously not coming to
you
.”

“How can he just ignore my messages like this? It's downright rude.”

“Or he's downright busy. Have you seen the bed count on pediatrics this week?”

“No.” Delaney cringed. It wasn't the kind of thing she kept track of on a daily basis.

“There is always the possibility that he's not intentionally ignoring you. Just saying.”

“I'll check.” Delaney clicked into the system that listed current inpatient numbers. When she got to the pediatric floor, her eyes widened. “Holy—”

“Exactly.” Megan raised her eyebrows.

“We don't even
have
that many pediatric beds.”

“I know. They had to move a couple of the teenagers up to adult floors to make space.”

Delaney clicked back through the past month, and the patient counts went up and down a little bit, but not much.

“I'm just saying—this could be why Dr. Mackenzie hasn't called back.” Megan leaned close to Delaney and plucked open her top button. “Which means you, third floor, this afternoon. He's clearly isn't coming to you.”

Delaney felt the chills creep down her spine. She had never actually been on Mercy's pediatric floor—had never been on
any
pediatric floor—not since Parker had died.

“Delaney? You okay?” Megan's brow creased as she studied Delaney's face. “You are six shades of white, girl. Does talking to non-executive-suite people make you
this
scared?”

“No.” Delaney's voice came out in a whisper.

“Oh.” Megan's hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, God. I'm sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking.”

Delaney nodded slowly. “It's okay. It's been—a long time since he died. Not like you would think of it.”

“But I should have. I'm really sorry.” Megan tried to look into her eyes, but Delaney's felt all shifty. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, Meg. I don't want to go at all.”

“But—”

“I know. He's not coming to me.” She took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. Maybe it wouldn't be horrible. Maybe she wouldn't melt into a panic-puddle at the elevator doors. Maybe she wouldn't see Parker everywhere she looked.

Maybe pigs flew.

She looked left, looked right, picked up a pile of papers on her desk, put them back down three inches from their original spot when she noticed her hands were shaking.

Dammit.

She had a job to do, and in order to do that job, she needed Dr. Mackenzie's cooperation. And in order to
get
his cooperation, apparently she was going to have to hunt the man down on his own turf.

She took a deep breath. She had to just—go. Get in that elevator, punch the three, and brace herself.

“I'll be okay. I will.” She stood up.

“You're going
now
?”

“I have to.” Delaney put a hand on her stomach, trying to hold in the grasshoppers she pictured trying to body-slam their way out. “I've got a deadline. Dr. Mackenzie's not really giving me a choice.”

“You sure you don't want me to come?”

Delaney smiled at her, but it was forced, and she knew Megan could see right through her. “The executive suite already takes enough crap for being disconnected from the realities of everyday life at Mercy. I probably shouldn't risk people thinking I need an escort to find my way to the third floor.”

“I'm your assistant, though. It would look completely normal for me to come with you—to take notes, or whatever.”

“I appreciate it. Really. But I need to go by myself. I should have done it long ago. I'll be fine.”

Megan didn't comment—just sent her eyebrows upward.

“Okay, I won't be fine. I'll survive. Better?”

“More honest, at least. Yes.” Megan pulled Delaney's notebook from her desk. “Do you have your list of target cuts?”

“I thought we decided I would play nice for the first meeting.”

“That was our strategy three days ago, honey. We're running out of time for
nice
. You're going to have to go for broke, I'm afraid.”

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, Delaney held her breath as the elevator descended to the third floor. As it sank by the fourth floor, she rebuttoned her top button, which kept popping open. No way was she resorting to Megan's tactics, at least not this early in the process.

When the door opened, she paused, her breaths suddenly coming too fast. The tingly feeling seeped up her spine again, and she was sorely tempted to press the Close Door button and try again later.

Every day when she came to work, she parked in the employee lot, walked a quarter mile across visitor lots, strolled through the lobby, and pressed the top-floor button inside the elevator. Never in five years had she done anything but coast by the third floor on her way up or down.

Unfortunately, she had no idea whether she could do it today.

Finally, she made herself step out, but jumped nervously when the elevator doors swished closed behind her. She took three steps, locking her hands together to prevent herself from turning around to press the Up button. The wall ahead of her was painted with colorful jungle animals, and red, green, and yellow stripes ran along the floors.

She had a sudden vision of Parker on a tricycle, madly pedaling along a green stripe like this one, then falling off when he ran out of breath.

Delaney swallowed, looking left and right, trying to push Parker to the back of her mind. Which way was Dr. Mackenzie's office?

As far as she could tell, a group of offices and conference rooms occupied the center of the wing, with patient rooms running down the left and right hallways. The floors were polished to a high sheen, and as she stood there, she was struck by the ceaseless motion everywhere.

Nurses in colorful scrubs practically flew in and out of patient rooms, and Delaney spotted a small herd of med students looking like they were trying to appear official-ish. Their brand-new white coats were a dead giveaway, though.

Her dad had told her so many stories over the years about his surgical residents that she knew she'd
never
trust one with her own health. Every July, she did her best
not
to hurt herself or get sick, knowing every hospital in the United States was full of brand-new residents with lots of book knowledge but absolutely
no
patient smarts.

These guys looked no different. As she walked down the hallway, an officious-looking nurse put a hand on each of their arms and pointed them toward a conference room. “If you're going to look useless, do it somewhere where we can't see you.”

Delaney winced even as she felt a small smile creep up. Apparently her father wasn't the only one who hated July.

Then the nurse turned and spotted her, and Delaney could swear her lips tightened. She was a dead ringer for Betty White—without the sweet smile. “Help you?” she asked, but her posture said she might … or might not.

“Yes, thanks.” Delaney tried to employ just the right amount of confidence and warmth in her tone. “I'm Delaney Blair. I'm looking for Dr. Mackenzie.”

The nurse narrowed her eyes, and Delaney hitched her shaky chin up a notch. “You from the finance office?”

“Yes.” She put out her hand, and the nurse shook it firmly.

“Millie Swan. I think he's in his office.” She pointed down the hallway. “Third door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

Delaney started walking toward the office, but stopped when the nurse continued. “We've got a floor full of really sick kids today. Appreciate it if you'd keep it short.”

Delaney nodded slowly, put firmly in her place before she'd even started. “I'll—do my best.”

When she got to Dr. Mackenzie's door, it was partially open, but he was bent over a pile of paperwork on his desk, so he didn't immediately see her.

Good thing, since her lower jaw had just opened of its own accord.

At Megan's urging, she'd checked out his hospital profile this morning, but his official ID pic had
nothing
on the real-life man. His dark, dark hair was neatly trimmed, but a perfect stubble colored his cheeks. When he sent a frustrated hand through his hair, she swallowed involuntarily. With a just-right sprinkling of dark hair and strong, sinewy forearm muscles, she could imagine those hands doing—
God
—any number of things.

Looking at him in a smoky-blue Oxford that she'd be willing to bet matched his eyes, she was suddenly convinced that the Fates hated her. She'd dealt with a gazillion doddery, old, crotchety doctors during her tenure here at Mercy, but the first time she got paired with one she could imagine—
gulp
—in bed, she had to tell him she was about to make his life a living hell.

 

Chapter 3

Josh heard heels clicking down the hallway, and his gut clenched. The nurses on this floor favored shoes that made soft, shuffling sounds as they cruised through the hallways. These, on the other hand, sounded like the kind of heels more suited to the carpeted executive suite. Had Delaney Blair finally given up on waiting for him? Was she here to read him the riot act for tossing her messages?

He was in no mood to talk about finances today. Check that—he was in no mood to talk about them
any
day, especially with somebody who sat up in a windowed office and crunched numbers while the real work got done on the other five floors of the hospital. The only reason anybody from finance ever showed up on a patient floor was to tell you what you were doing wrong … or to tell you they were taking something away.

Or both.

The heels slowed outside his door, but he didn't look up. Passive-aggressive parry number one. Maybe he hadn't been at this game for long, but he already had
some
moves. He was busy, dammit. She could wait.

And then she knocked, but it wasn't the authoritative, I'm-from-finance-so-show-some-respect sound he expected. Rather, it was almost tentative. And then a soft voice followed.

“Dr. Mackenzie?”

He looked up. Framed in the doorway was a woman in her late twenties or early thirties—he couldn't quite tell. She had wavy brown hair that fell just past her shoulders, and her body was trapped in a suit-type thing that marked her as a sixth-floor tenant even more than the sound of her shoes.

Before he'd heard those heels—which, now that he checked, were black, high, and sexy as hell—he'd expected Delaney Blair to be some old biddy with geriatric shoes and a pantsuit that was too tight in all the wrong places.

Sometimes it was good to be dead wrong.

He stood up and put out his hand. “You must be Ms. Blair.”

She shook his hand, and he noted the just-right, just-long-enough grip. He also noted that there was nothing sparkling on her left hand, then shook his head internally, cursing himself for looking.

She smiled. “I'm sorry to bother you. I've left a couple of messages, but I wasn't sure whether you'd gotten them.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You've left six messages, and yes, I got them.”

“Oh. But you decided—not to answer them?”

He pointed at the piles on his desk. “Just haven't had time. Sorry.”

“May I sit? Do you have a moment?”

He nodded, then watched as she folded herself gracefully into his guest chair. She tucked her hair behind one tiny ear, but a stubborn strand quickly escaped, and he found himself almost reaching out to fix it. As she adjusted herself and pulled a small pile of folders out of her bag, he took a deep breath, pulling a notepad out from under one of the many piles on his desk. Delaney Blair looked like she meant business, and he'd better pretend he wasn't too tired to do the same.

He sat back. “So what brings you down from the hallowed halls of finance?”

Oops. Tone.

She uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again, looking inordinately uncomfortable. And pale. Was she nervous? Finally, she took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

“I'm here to talk about your budget.” He closed his eyes.
Shocker.
“I have an assignment.”

She paused, and he could tell she was trying to formulate just the right words. He almost felt sympathetic. Almost.

“Does your assignment include making cuts to my budget?”

“Yes.”

Well. Points for directness.

“How
many
cuts?”

“As many as possible.” She raised her eyebrows. “And I have thirty days to do it. Actually, twenty-eight. I had thirty when I left you the first message.”

Touché.

Josh fought the urge to stand up and swear. Instead, he shifted his weight forward, leaning his elbows on the desk, feigning nonchalance.

She continued, her voice shaking a little bit. “I need to examine your budget and look for overruns, areas where we could trim, you know. Just general fluff cutting.”

“We have no fluff down here.”

“Every—everybody has fluff.”

“Not here, we don't.” Josh shook his head. “Where's this coming from?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “Look, I know this is never fun to hear, but believe me, it's not fun to deliver, either.” Her left eye twitched, and he took a tiny bit of pleasure in knowing she was uncomfortable.

“Ms. Blair—”

“It's Delaney. Please.”

“Delaney, this department is the tightest ship in the entire hospital, and I can't imagine you don't already know that, being that you have your fingers on the pulse of the place all day long.”