Page 2 of Late Harvest

“No. He should have,” Remy bit out. “It’s only his damn job,” she muttered under her breath, fighting to regain her Zen.

Troy stood unmoving, except for his weaselly eyes visible over his mask, narrowing at her.

“Step it up or get out of my OR.” Her voice was iron, and Troy had the wherewithal, at least, to snap to attention.

“Of course. Ma’am.” The snark in his delivery was another strike against him.

She’d already overheard him in the OR lounge grousing about having to work with ‘the bitchy chick doc,’ and had made a note to visit Brinder’s office later that day with her feedback on Truculent Troy. She stifled an internal snicker at the moniker she’d assigned him in her head. He’d earned it about zero-point-two seconds after meeting him, when he’d made an inappropriate comment to Lucia, referring to her as the ‘PA girl.’

Her circulating nurse, Jacob, made eye contact and reached for the phone—reading Remy’s mind to have Lucia paged to the OR stat.

Troy adjusted the draping under Remy’s watchful eye. She glanced at the clock. They were now ten minutes behind. And Troy had made it abundantly clear he didn’t have what it took to dance in her ballet.

He finally finished, and with obsequious drama, stepped to the side and motioned to the draping with a flourish. “How is that, Dr. Remington?”

Remy forced herself not to snap at the disrespect. She’d handle him later, privately. For now, they were well past start time.

Checking the draping, she nodded curtly. “Excellent. It’s important to get these things correct the first time, Troy.” She intentionally hit his first name hard. Forget catching more flies with honey. Right now, vinegar was all she had on the menu.

Remy was distinctly aware of the way others referred to her as the Ice Queen. It was less about her chilly OR temperature and more a reflection of her demeanor. She wasn’t there to make friends or coddle unprepared OR team members. She had a job to do and do well. She inhaled another calming breath, fighting to regain her Zen.

Remy had known other surgeons who threw things in the OR—it was hideous and inexcusable. She herself had a scalpel flung at her by a sexist, temperamental surgeon during her training. No. There were better ways to get a point across. Her OR and her span of control—meaning the entire orthopedics department—needed to be grounded in competence and respect. And every person who worked with her or near her knew she didn’t tolerate anything but their best work and a respectful work environment. She’d worked hard to carve out her niche, finally rising to chief this last year. She didn’t tolerate sloppiness or thoughtlessness.

And she’d never tolerate violence of any sort—physical or verbal.

A frisson of a harsh, unwanted memory poked at the edges of her mind. Remy quickly compartmentalized it in fluid habit. She wasn’t giving any peace-disruptors one more moment of her precious time or mental bandwidth. “And be respectful to Shukri,” she growled, her voice oddly warped by the hood, creating a satisfying Lord Vader effect that she wasn’t afraid to deploy. “I hear one more inappropriate peep out of you, and you won’t get a job selling waterfront timeshares in the Sahara much less have the honor to work in a setting that changes our patients’ lives.”

Darth Vadress. She devil. In addition to Ice Queen, she’d heard it all. Been called it all. Not to mention—especially in the early days as a female in a male-dominated specialty— sweetheart, babe, darling, girl.

It all rolled off her. She’d heard much worse.

Not letting any of that bullshit dance in my ballet. I don’t have room for fools in my life. No wonder I haven’t bothered to get laid in more than two years. Most men are fools. And dangerous.

Focus, Remy.

She inhaled deeply, taking in the soothing scents of antiseptic and sterilization chemicals. Her heart rate settled to a steady cadence, her body shifting by rote into position. Remy scanned her team—all but one personally trained by her. Each was poised at the ready. Her circulating nurse had already paged Lucia. She nodded appreciatively. He knew when Remy was going to sneeze before she did.

A quick time check, and then Remy took a cleansing breath and began.

Chapter Two

My daughter is studying to be a surgeon. I just hope she makes the cut.

—From Bash’s dad joke collection

Bash

“Dr. Desai is still with his previous appointment. Do you want to wait for him in here?” The formidable woman assessed him as she motioned to the waiting room behind him. “Or would you prefer to meet him in our café?”

Bash leaned against the doorframe, somehow sensing that his trademark flirtatious grin would have exactly zero impact on his brother-in-law’s executive assistant.

“Amani,” he began, a quick, subtle scan of her name plate verifying the identity of the no-nonsense Cerberus stand-in—minus the extra heads and the whole doggish thing—who was currently gatekeeping Brinder’s office. Her eyebrows shot up. “I hope it’s ok to call you by your first name. It’s just that I feel like I know you. Brinder speaks so highly of you. Says you are the glue who keeps him together at work.”

There.

He saw it.

A subtle softening of her lips.