Harper gasped, shooting up, hissing as she lurched toward her phone. “Shit! I needed to make sure Rowan ordered a few things for my new office. They’re moving us tomorrow?—”
I caught her by the waist before she could tumble off the mattress, rolling her so I was on top. “Baby, it’s Sunday. Leave them alone. Besides, I thought we were celebrating.”
“I’ll forget. I’m going to just text them.”
She half-twisted in my grip, reaching for her phone on the nightstand with one hand, swatting my hands away with the other. Sleep scarf slipping to the side, face set in determined concentration. She was the world’s most beautiful workaholic.
“You done?” I asked, snatching the device from her hands and tossing it to the other side of the nightstand.
“Yes,” she answered, flopping back as if out of breath. “If they don’t enter the supply request first thing, it’ll get kicked to next week and I want them this week.”
She sighed, finally relaxing again. I was close enough to kiss her…but didn’t. Instead, I leaned on one elbow, dragging the sheet down so I could get a better look at her nude form. I wasn’t mad at the view.
Harper flashed me a suspicious look. I almost never delayed a session of morning sex.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Dr. Webb, actually,” I answered, after a few moments of hesitation.
She cringed, frowning. “You’re in bed with me on a Sunday morning? Thinking about that man who couldn’t even have your back when your ass was on the line?”
“It’s just…we were talking about Dr. Rice and I remembered that he called me Friday. He wanted to tell me about his decision to retire.”
Harper gasped and started to sit up, moving so rapidly that it threw me off of her. She propped herself up so we were face to face. “You thought he might. He’s doing it, then?”
I bobbed my head in a nod. “End of the quarter.”
“Did he ask you to take over as department chair?”
“He mentioned it. He said he has a lot of pull in who RMC chooses.”
“And?”
“And…” I paused, bobbing my head. “I turned him down.”
Harper went still, almost holding her breath. “Cole. That’s?—”
“I know. I know it would be?—”
“—the job you’ve been working toward your whole career.”
“I thought that’s what I was working toward. What I wanted out of this whole move to this region, this job at this hospital. Turns out that’s not what I want.”
“Okay. News to me,” she replied. “What do you want, then?”
I reached for her, tugging her closer. “Well, this, mostly. But you know what I did last Thursday?”
She shook her head.
“I spent six hours in the OR with a nineteen-year-old kid. Motorcycle accident. Ruptured spleen, liver laceration, massive internal bleeding. Real touch-and-go type situation.”
“Oh. Did he make it?”
“We pulled it off. Kid’s hanging out in ICU, but he’s alive. I was there, doing what I’m trained to do. What I love to do.”
