The Playboy Doctor's Marriage Proposal. Fiona Lowe
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but I have an open-door policy so, please, don’t wait until Tuesdays at two to discuss something important. Honest and open communication is vital in a department like this.’
Honest and open. As long as it only pertained to work, she was off the hook. She couldn’t work at Warragurra Base if he knew how she really felt about him. She was embarrassed enough by it. She didn’t want to feel this way. She hated it that after everything she’d been through with Nathan, even though she knew she wasn’t ready for another relationship, she couldn’t control her body’s reaction to Linton.
‘Right, I promise I won’t let anything fester.’ She held out her arms. ‘Are they for me?’
He winked. ‘Just a bit of light reading. We’re in the middle of a policy review.’
‘Policy review?’ A vision of reading long into the night popped into her brain. Not that she slept that well, with Linton always hovering in her dreams. ‘Did you just happen to conveniently forget to tell me that when you were twisting my arm in the woolshed?’
His eyes widened in feigned outrage. ‘Twisting your arm? I don’t coerce my staff, Emily.’ He dumped the folders into her outstretched arms. ‘By the way, have you enrolled for your Master’s?’
‘That would be the arm-twisting Master’s?’ She clutched the folders to her chest.
His mouth twitched smugly. ‘All I did was provide you with an opportunity to do something you’ve wanted to do for a while.’ He lowered himself on the corner of his desk, his eyes full of curiosity, appraising her. ‘So, which subject are you starting off with?’
Surprise hit her so hard she swayed on her feet. She stared back at his face, so unexpectedly full of genuine interest. She hadn’t expected that. ‘I, um, I’m starting off with “Interpersonal Relationships in the Clinical Environment”.’
Otherwise known as how to survive working closely with a boss whose presence turns your mind to mush and your heart into a quivering mess.
He rubbed his chin in thought. ‘That sounds meaty. There’s lots of scope there on so many levels—patient-staff, staff-staff, patient-relative, relative-staff.’
His gaze settled back on her, unnerving her with its solicitude. The fun-loving charmer seemed to have taken a back seat. She’d never known him to take such an interest in her before. Her usual approach of friendly mockery didn’t seem right. She managed to stammer out, ‘I—I thought so.’
‘In a high-octane environment like A and E it can be pretty fraught at times, which is why staff wellbeing is high on my agenda.’ He walked her to the door. ‘Let’s do drinks at the end of the shift.’
She almost dropped the folders as blood rushed to her feet, making her fingers numb. He’s inviting you out for a drink.
Not a good idea, Emily.
But common sense had no chance against the endorphin rush. All thoughts of staying detached and professional got swept away by the sheer joy that exploded inside her. Her feet wanted to happy dance and her hands wanted to high-five.
Stay cool and calm. ‘That would—’
‘Emily, Linton, you’re needed,’ Sally, the desk clerk, called them to Reception.
Jodie dashed past, holding two kidney dishes. ‘Gastro in cubicles one, two, three and four.’
Emily picked up the histories and noted the patients all had the same surname. ‘Looks like it’s one family.’ She handed out the histories. ‘Jason, you and Patti share Mr Peterson and Jodie’s in with Mrs Peterson. Get base-line obs and assess for dehydration.’
Linton took the remaining histories. ‘You examine the teenager and then join me with the eight-year-old.’ He shot her a cheeky grin. ‘Your hair colour will convince him you’re a clown and he’ll relax while I’m inserting an IV.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Ha, ha, very funny. I think I just have my first example for my Master’s of interpersonal relationships with staff and harassment.’ She jokingly tapped his chest with her forefinger. ‘Be nice or I might not help.’
She turned away and pushed open the curtain to see a fourteen-year-old boy heaving into a bowl, his ashen face beaded with sweat. ‘David, I’m Emily.’
He fell back against the pillow, exhausted. ‘I feel terrible.’
‘You don’t look too flash.’ She picked up his wrist and her fingers quickly located his pulse, which beat thinly and rapidly under her fingertips. She pushed an observation chart under the metal clip of the folder and recorded his pulse, respirations, blood pressure and temperature. ‘When did the vomiting start?’
‘After lunch.’ He flinched and gripped his stomach, pulling his legs up. ‘Arrgh, it really hurts.’ His quavering voice stripped away the usual teenage façade of bravado.
She hated seeing people in distress. ‘I can give you something to help with the spasms but first I have to insert a drip, which means a needle in your arm.’
‘Oh, man.’
She stroked his arm. ‘It won’t hurt as much as the cramps. Tell me, what did you eat for lunch?’
‘Sausages and chops.’ He grabbed the bowl again, gagging.
‘Take long, slow deep breaths, it really helps.’ Emily quickly primed the IV. ‘When was the meat cooked?’
‘Dad and I barbequed it and then we ate it straight away.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I think I can smell the smoke from the fire on your clothes.’
‘Yeah, it was an awesome bonfire. I’d been collecting the wood for a week.’
What was it about men, testosterone and fire? Her brothers loved nothing better than a midwinter bonfire. ‘Was it a special occasion?’
He nodded weakly. ‘Dad’s birthday. Mum even bought coleslaw and potato salad.’
Wrapping the tourniquet around his arm, she kept mental notes of the food. ‘Did you have cake?’
‘Yeah, one of those mud cakes from the supermarket.’
Swabbing the inner aspect of his left arm she kept talking. ‘Sounds like a lovely party.’
‘It was, until we all started vomiting.’ His arm stiffened as the needle slid into his vein.
‘Sorry.’ She whipped the trocar out of the cannula and attached the Hartmann’s solution. ‘Now I can get you something to lessen the nausea.’
David stiffened on the trolley, his eyes suddenly wide and large.
‘What’s wrong?’
He flushed bright pink. ‘I need to go…now.’
‘Right.’ She grabbed a bedpan from under the trolley and helped him into position. ‘Here’s the bell, ring when you’re done.’ She backed out of the cubicle, feeling sorry for the boy who had left his dignity at the door.
‘Emily, how’s your patient?’ Linton stood at the desk, writing up a drug chart.
‘I’ve inserted a Hartmann’s drip. Can I have a Maxalon order, please?’ She slid her chart next to his.
‘No problem.’ His lean fingers gripped his silver pen as his almost illegible scrawl raced across the paper. ‘So does he have diarrhoea, vomiting and stomach cramps?’
‘Yes, all three, poor guy. He’s pretty miserable. It sounds like a birthday party gone wrong.’ She opened a syringe and assembled it, attaching it to the needle. ‘David said his mum bought coleslaw and potato salad. Mayonnaise can harbour E. coli so I’m wondering if we should ring the health inspector to check out the deli.’ She snapped open the ampoule of Maxalon.
‘Good