“Uh, so did you know the day shift nurses have a group chat? And you’re a frequent topic?”
My head tilted. “Excuse me?”
She sauntered across the room and pulled out a chair at my table. She settled into it, then leaned in. “The name of the chat changes depending on which part of your body they’re obsessed with. I can’t tell you what last week’s chat was called, but this week it’sDr. Vaughn’s Forearms. It’s a whole situation.”
She sipped her coffee, painting on an innocent expression though her eyes were laughing.
“Jasmine, what the hell are you saying?”
“You’ve never seen how they stare at you? They’re not very good at hiding it. You rolled your sleeves up during a consult last week and Karina almost tipped a crash cart trying to look.”
If I could, I’d be blushing. “Jesus, Jas. I didn’t really need to know that.”
“I’m just saying. You’ve got adoring fans.” She studied me over the rim of her cup as she casually sipped, then added, “But that’s not why I’m glad I ran into you.”
I locked my phone and slid it into a pocket. “There’s more?”
“You’ve been on this floor a lot today. Hovering.”
I squinted, confused. “I’m down here all the time. This is where trauma patients are.”
“Mmmmm.” She smiled. “The group chat reports your eyes have been following Harper Sutton.”
My brows rose, but I said nothing.
“This is new behavior, Cole. One of the things the nurses notice is that you don’t pay anyone dust. You come in, you do your job, you get out. It makes them feel like you don’t favor one over the other, so there’s no hate or competition for attention. You feel me?”
I shrugged. “So now there’s hate and competition? Because I’ve been working?”
“We both know you’re a smart man, Dr. Vaughn. You been circling this floor like a vulture. And I want you to know I see you.”
Jasmine pushed off the table and stood, toting her cup with her. “I’m not judging. Just fair warning. Harper isn’t like the nurses who giggle when you walk by, who might have dreams of bagging a handsome doctor.”
“Watch it—my mother did that exact thing.”
“And I’m sure her husband is an amazing man, like his son. And I want hissonto know that Harper Sutton is not someone to play with.”
“I’m notplayingwith anyone.”
“Good. Harper doesn’t need any distractions. And you—” She pointed at me, playfully smirking, “can be very distracting when you want to be.”
“But I’m not trying to distract anyone, Jas.”
“Oh, you sweet summer child. It’s cute how naive you are.” She winked, then headed for the door, then stopped. “You don’t have to try to be distracting, Cole. You just are.”
Then she walked out of the room.
Well. That was interesting.
I checked my phone. No new messages, nothing that demanded my presence in this building. No fires to put out other than the apparent slow burn of the nurses at each other’s throats.
I cut through the corridor to my office, grabbed my bag, shrugged into my jacket and fished out my keys, then slipped out the side door and took the stairs to the parking garage.
The place was desolate. My footsteps echoed, joined by the drone of the sodium lights. Halfway to my car, the crash of glass meeting concrete rang out, followed by a hissing “Shit!”
I turned toward the sound. Harper stood by her car, staring down at her phone—or what was left of it. The screen looked like a windshield after a head-on collision. Spiderwebbed, black and glinting.
“Need a hand?” I called.
