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Chapter Eight
“Great job.” Tyler congratulated his assistants in the OR and indicated the nurse could remove the small stretcher. “I’ll check on him in Recovery.”
Mending a toddler’s heart and working in the OR for three hours had forced him to concentrate on the life and death situation and forget his own meaningless problems. With his mind at peace after a good night’s sleep peppered with cheerful dreams about Dalia and exciting fantasies about Sienna, he’d started his day off on the right foot.
After discarding his surgical gear, he strolled into his office to call Sienna and reassure her.
“I’m done with my first surgery. Hopefully, the kid will make it and live a long, healthy life. Let me say good morning to Dalia.”
He chatted with the little girl for a few minutes before she handed the phone back to Sienna.
“Any news from last night’s patient?”
“None. I didn’t bother to ask, and I don’t want to know.”
“Great.” Her voice resonated with relief.
“Don’t overdo it today. I’m heading to breakfast.”
“Okay. Wishing you an uneventful day.”
“Uneventful and boring. Nothing would please me more.” They both chuckled. “I’ll call you this evening. Bye.”
In need of strong coffee before the next surgery, he sprinted to the cafeteria.
“Hey, Dr. Kent, wait up.” Tyler recognized his boss’s nasal tone. As usual, Dr. Carl Thomason had the worst possible timing.
Tyler stopped short and turned. “I’m just out of surgery and on my way to the cafeteria for breakfast and strong coffee.”
“Perfect. I have coffee and donuts in my office. Follow me. We need to talk.”
Carl tossed him a sarcastic smirk that didn’t bode well.
“Great.” Damn it, what now?
“Come in,Dr. Kent. Help yourself. Freshly brewed coffee and a box of donuts, compliments of the senior medical class at NYU.”
Tyler took his time pouring the steamy coffee and filling a disposable plate with two pieces of pastry.
“So, Tyler, what’s going on?” Dr. Thomason settled behind his massive desk and indicated the chair across from him.
Determined to enjoy his coffee, Tyler flopped into the chair. “Delicious, thank you.”
Was the old snake expecting him to bare his soul?
“Well? Should I congratulate you on your wedding or console you on being dumped?”
As he’d expected, the gossip network had done its job.
“Neither. At the last minute, we decided we wouldn’t suit. Better late than never.”
“You left her at the altar?”
“Not exactly. I arrived at City Hall late because of an emergency patient—a ruptured appendix—and she told me to go to hell. I obeyed and left. Apparently, she hadn’t meant it literally, but it was too late. I suddenly had cold feet and prefer to remain a fun-loving bachelor. And everyone lived happily ever after.”
Dr. Thomason roared with laughter.
“Oh man, the way you tell the story. Women could hate you.”
