Page 37 of Auctioned to the Billionaire Surgeon

“Yes?” I grabbed my purse and came out from behind the reception desk. He didn’t say anything. I turned to look at him. He was leaning against the wall, wearing his white coat, and had his muscular arms crossed over his chest. God, he looked hot as fuck. He was stupidly, unfairly handsome, and I swear sometimes I found it difficult even to talk to him.“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No. I was just… well, I noticed that several of the male employees seem to hang out in here since you started working here.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.“Are you saying I’m doing something wrong?”

“No.” He ran a hand through his thick, dark brown hair.“It’s not that. You know you can’t fraternize with other workershere at the hospital, right?”

I raised my eyebrows and tried not to smile.

“What?”

“I was told this week that rule only applies within each department. Not for the entire hospital.”

He frowned.“Oh.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ve got to get to the cafeteria before they run out of turkey Cobb salads.” I had my hand on the door when he spoke again.

“I’ve also had a few of the mothers complain that their husbands can’t seem to leave you alone.”

I stopped in my tracks and turned to look over my shoulder.“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“And what should I do about that? Not speak to patients’parents if they’re male?”

“You might address the mothers only.”

Anger washed over me.“Are you accusing me of something?”

“No, not at all. I was simply suggesting…”

“If my behavior is bothering you, let me know. Otherwise, this sounds like their problem, not mine. I don’t flirt with the dads. I don’t show preference for them over the moms. I don’t wear my scrubs tight or low-cut like some of the nurses around here. If you have something to say, just say it.”

He closed his eyes, sighed, and leaned his head back against the door.“You’re right. I’m sorry. You’re not doing anything wrong. You can’t help that you’re…” his eyes opened and locked with mine,“so beautiful.”

For just a moment, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room and there was just the two of us in the whole entire hospital.

Then I took a deep breath, shook my head to clear it, and said,“Right. Thanks for admitting I’m not doing anything wrong. I’ll see you afterlunch.”

“See you.”

I barely heard him say it as I left to go to the cafeteria. Before I could get there, my phone rang. I saw it was the university.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ray Ann Pinkoe?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, this is Sally Goode from West Bay University’s PA program. I had a message to call you back about the requirements for the six-month internship, including clinical rotations, before you can graduate as a physician’s assistant.”

“Yes, I just… that’s a long internship to be unpaid. And the hours are so long it will be difficult to work every evening to try to make enough for my apartment, car payment, groceries—things like that.”

“Yes, we get this complaint a good bit. All I can do is to direct you to the office of financial aid. Most of our students take out loans for at least the last six months of the program because of this.”

“Is there no other way?” I asked, frustrated. I’d made such good money at Sugar I’d paid for school out of pocket so far. I didn’t want any loans, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask my grandparents for money.

“No, I’m sorry. If you don’t have the money from a source like a family member, the best thing we can suggest is financial aid.”