Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing (Hautboy Series Book 3) (2 page)

“If you pursue your singing career, divorcing Tate would be irrelevant,” I pointed out, fighting a smile.  “But I’ll leave that argument to him.  I need to get your sample to the lab.”

“Thank you,” said Cooper, politely.

I nodded and smiled, hoping she wasn’t the type that would cut me to pieces the second I walked out the door.  “The doctor should be in shortly.  He’s in delivery with another patient at the moment.  In the meantime, if you need anything, push the call button and ask for Paisley.”

“I like your name,” Cooper stated.

“I like yours too.”  I winked and walked out the door.

As I reached the nurses station, my phone vibrated.  I dropped the test tube and paperwork into the cartridge, loaded it into the pneumatic tube, sent it to the lab, and then pulled my phone from my pocket.  It was Henry, cancelling dinner, of course.

“
Need 2 cancel.  2 much pprwrk.
”

“
Squeeze in lunch? ;)
” I typed back, hopeful.

“
Can’t.  Need sleep.
”

Shot down again.  Perhaps Monica was right.  I should just go surprise him.  He wouldn’t complain.  No man would.  Christ, I was talking about sex, not lunch or dinner.

Damn if it didn’t sting.  It would be nice to be wanted in return.  Even if I didn’t want the whole kit and caboodle, I still wanted to feel…special, as if I mattered.

“Didn’t go well?” Speak of the devil.  Monica appeared on the other side of the counter.  She aimed for casual, but inside, I knew she was dying to hear the scoop on Tate Watkins.

“Henry cancelled dinner on me.”

“Fucker.”

“Yeah.”

“You going to his room later?”

“He shot me down there too.”

“Go anyhow.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m too tired for sex, said no man ever.”

“Seriously.”  I did all the work anyhow.  Henry was naturally passive.  I always took the lead.  The only effort he usually expended was when jack-rabbiting toward the end.

“That’s solved.  Now tell me about Tate Watkins.”

“He’s happily married and the fretting father-to-be.”

“This might be the perfect time to prey on his vulnerability.”

“You step one foot toward that room,” I warned,” and I might break your cankles.”

Monica drew back, as if I’d slapped her.  She wasn’t really offended.  “Bitch!  I don’t have cankles!”

“Then they’ll be easier to break.”

“But he’s right there,” she exclaimed, gesturing toward their room.  “The man I have dreamt about for the past ten years is like six yards from where I’m standing.”

“No.”

“But—”

“No!”

“I’m hurt,” Monica declared.  “I’ll never know the answers to so many questions.  For example, does he smell good?  Does he have big hands?  Are his hands calloused?  How would they feel against my tits?”

“I don’t know how you’ll sleep at night.”

“I won’t.  I’ll be busy developing carpel tunnel just like you.”  With a whirl and a fan of dark hair, Monica marched off.  Her back shook with laughter as her white clogs squeaked against the hardwood floors.

She was probably the closest friend I had.  Though, I’d consider her more of an acquaintance.  She was good for finding out the scoop on the latest scandal among the Udub staff, or going out for a drink after work, but that’s as far as things went.

Despite lusting after Tate Watkins, she was in a relationship, which meant that she was on a virtual tether.  She wasn’t available to act on a whim unless it included her boyfriend.  It was hard to find someone who could or would—on the spur of the moment—fly to Cancun to soak up some sun, or hop on a plane to Colorado for a weekend of skiing.  Not that I did it often.  But she didn’t do it
ever
.  I suppose that was a boundary set beyond the white picket fence.

“Excuse me.”  Turning, I found Dr. Watkins behind me.  She smiled warmly.  “How are you, Paisley?”

I worked in her office a very short time.  I worked in
many
offices a very short time.  I was still trying to find the right field to settle in.  Much like my personal life, I was aimless and undecided.  At least maternity offered a measure of reward.  While I didn't want children, and pregnancy held no appeal, I still found it fascinating.  Birth was a miracle that never ceased to amaze me.

“Hi Dr. Watkins.  I'm good, thank you.”

“Could you tell me what room I could find Tate?”

“Six twenty-one.  They're mine.”

“Oh, good!  What can you tell me?”

“She's doing well.  Vitals are normal.  The contractions are subsiding.  But we'll know more once the doctor checks for dilation.”

“From experience?”

I shook my head.  “They’ll want to monitor her for a few hours.  Multiple births are always a risk.  When they do release her, she’ll likely be on bedrest.”

“Through the duration?”

“Likely.”

Dr. Watkins winced.  “That’ll roll over well.”

“Her son?”  A toddler would be difficult to manage while on bedrest.

“He’s three.  He’s a good kid, but she’s pretty active with him.”

“That sucks.”

“Yes, it’s unfortunate.”

“Well, she won’t be running any relay races with him, but she might not need strict bed rest either.  Keep your fingers crossed.”

“You think it’s stress.”

“I’m not a doctor, but she was pretty upset about her tablet being hacked.”

Dr. Watkins’ lips pressed tightly together.  She glanced toward their room.  “She’s quit her voice rest, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d better get in there and see if I can salvage my hard work.  I didn’t barter my soul in exchange for that second surgery so that she could throw it all away.”

“You did a great job.  Her voice is beautiful.”  Dr. Watkins was the best otolaryngologists in the state.  If one of Tate Watkins’ psychotic fans was going to cut my throat, I’d want her as my surgeon.

“She hates it.”

I raised my eyebrows.  “She said that?”

“No, she would never.  She has manners.  But she lost that rasp.  She thought it made her sound sexy.”

“She did have that Etta James thing going on.”  I’d seen the video on the internet.  Everyone had by now.  Cooper Hale had what it took to make it as a vocalist.

“She was doing more harm than good,” Dr. Watkins argued.  “It only would’ve been a matter of time before she needed repair surgery, and now she’ll have a better range.”

“You can go in, but no stressing her out.”  Not only was Dr. Watkins Cooper’s doctor, she was her mother-in-law.  We all knew how overbearing they could be.

Dr. Watkins smiled wryly.  “I’m a doctor, Paisley.  I know how to manage a patient.”

“Just saying—right at the moment, my patient’s needs trump your patient’s needs.”  Looking up from my notes, I bit back a smile.  “I’ll tell Dr. Hopkinson on you.”

Dr. Watkins snorted in laughter and walked off.  She knew I was just giving her a hard time.  She had a wonderful bedside manner.  Besides, it wasn’t as if I could actually stop her from visiting.  She was family.  The most I could do was tattle on her, as warned.

A few short hours later, Cooper Hale was settling into a hospital bed for the night, under observation.  Her contractions had continued to slow until they ceased altogether.  We wanted to make sure they stayed that way before we allowed her to go home.  They’d even managed to coax her into voice rest.  Dr. Watkins gave the credit to me, claiming that my little pep talk had played a part in Cooper’s concession, but I couldn’t believe anything I said held any weight.

Taking Monica’s advice, I was on my way to surprise Henry.  The man lacked spontaneity anyhow.  He needed a lesson, and what better way to teach him?  I was going to consider it an exchange system.  Five minutes of time for five minutes of pleasure.  He’d sleep like a freakin’ baby when I was done with him.  Not to mention it was going to be a hit and run.  I had to grab some lunch before returning to work.  I wasn’t going to curl up at his side and suffocate him with after-sex conversation.

Two seconds after opening the door to his call room, I found that I couldn’t have been more wrong about Henry.  He looked up from whomever he was banging on the small bunk.  Our gazes met.  For a moment, we both stared in shock, but as his expression shifted to a look of pity, mine shifted to anger.  My face burned, straight to the tips of my ears.

“Oh my God,” gasped the girl beneath him.  Henry quickly withdrew his cock from her, and rolled to the side, shielding her with his body.

“Is that Hagatha?” I asked, recognizing the girl’s nasally tone.  Her real name was Agatha, but she had a face only a mother could love.  My ego took a punch.  Henry had chosen Hagatha over me.  It didn’t get much worse.

“Paisley,” Henry sighed.

“Oh, wait, am I acting immature?” I scoffed.  “Immature is not having the balls to break up with one girl before you start balling the next, Henry.”

“You have to be emotionally involved to be dating,” Henry argued.  “You made sure that wasn’t possible.  We had a physical relationship.  Nothing more.”

“We were exclusive, asshole!”  At least I thought we were.

“For no purpose other than precaution.”

“Fuck you!”

“Paisley, get out.”

“Did you?”

“What?”

“Double dip, fucker.”

“Paisley!  Leave!  Please!”

“Answer the question,” Hagatha demanded.  Up until then, I thought she hadn’t an ounce of competence.  She was the ‘other’ woman.  You’d think she’d be indignant or affronted.

“No,” Henry replied.  “I haven’t slept with her in weeks.”  He said this with regret, as if I were a blemish in his sexual history.  Bastard.  “I told you we were through.”

“More like keeping the opportunity open in case things weren’t greener on the other side of the fence,” I argued.  “We had plans for dinner tonight.”

“You had plans for dinner tonight?” Hagatha repeated.

“I cancelled!” Henry exclaimed.

“You shouldn’t have made them to begin with!” I snapped.  “You should’ve been mature and just said, ‘Sorry, Paisley, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.’”

“Point taken.  Now, can you leave?”

I suppressed a growl, and picked their clothes up off the floor.  I can’t say why I did it.  I didn’t love Henry.  Breaking up didn’t even truly affect me.  I should’ve been the bigger person and just walked away, but his infidelity pissed me off.  We were adults for God’s sake.  I could’ve taken rejection better than cheating.  So I grabbed the sheet puddled at the foot of the bed too, and I walked out.  As I marched down the hall, I threw them down the laundry chute.

Neither would get out of the room without making a spectacle.

Chapter 2
 

“
Y
ou threw his clothes along with his pager into the laundry chute,” my supervisor chastened.  “He missed several calls and pages before a nurse finally knocked on his door.  She had to retrieve him a set of scrubs before he could leave his room.”

“Is
he
being reprimanded?” I replied.

“You’re not being reprimanded,” she corrected with a sigh.  “You’re being fired.  This is a professional establishment.  Your behavior is unconducive to the environment.  When a department is short staffed because a resident can’t answer a call, it places our patients at risk for injury or death, and the hospital at risk for malpractice.  We do not hold a zero tolerance policy for workplace relationships, but we adamantly discourage them for precisely this reason.”

Fuck.  There went my bachelor’s degree.  Three fucking years I gave this place and one infraction and they sent me packing.  Meanwhile, all Henry received was a slap on the wrist.

“I’m sorry, Paisley.”

What a fucking joke.  Was I supposed to make excuses?  Was I supposed to grovel and beg?  Was I supposed to thank her for her outstanding empathy?  Nothing I said at this point was going to save my job.  For all I cared, she could take her apologies and shove them up her ass.

“I’ll clear out my locker.”  Rising from my seat, I dropped my ID badge onto her desk and turned to leave.

“I have contacts across Seattle.  I could pull some strings,” my supervisor offered.  “You were a good employee, Paisley.  You’ve just made a few bad decisions.”

Wincing inwardly, I paused.  I wanted to walk out with my head held high, but I had bills to pay, and jobs were scarce.  I would be stupid not to take up her offer.  “I’d appreciate that.  Thank you.”

“I have your number.  I’ll be in touch.”

“I might go away for a few days.”  I needed some time to think.  “You should be able to reach me on my cell.”

A few minutes later, I had my meager belongings packed.  I hadn’t said anything to anyone, especially Monica.  I didn’t want to answer her million questions.  I wanted to leave quietly, without making a scene.

She and the others could talk about me all they wanted after I left.  It would give them something to gossip about for weeks.  They could speculate endlessly over why the hospital had fired me.  I could only imagine the stories they’d conjure.

I admittedly liked the idea of being remembered.

Number three in a family of thirteen children, it was easy to fall between the cracks.  I had to fight for every ounce of attention I received, and I often did.  I over excelled, I rebelled, and I learned how to be loud.  It was tiring.  I felt like a poodle in a tutu, always putting on a show.

“Skipping out early?” someone asked.  Glancing over my shoulder, I found Cooper Hale being carted out in a wheelchair.  She had gotten the A-OK to go home, with a prescription for bed rest.

“Yeah, I’m going away for a few days.”  I forced out a smile.  She didn’t need to know the gory details.  Neither did the nurse pushing the wheelchair, nor Tate Watkins and the two large bodyguards flanking either side of him.  “Vacation.”

“Ooh!  Nice!”

“I can take you down if you’d like,” I offered.  “I’m on my way out anyhow.”

“Are you sure?”  The nurse looked more than happy to be relieved of the task.  She was clearly outside her comfort zone.  Her face was red, and not a pretty red.  She was blotchy and self-conscious.  She shouldn’t have been assisting Cooper out anyhow.  It was a volunteer’s job, but sometimes the patient would have to wait in line, and the management likely wanted to avoid that.  The last thing they wanted was bad publicity from a celebrity like Tate Watkins.

“It’s fine.  I don’t mind.”  As she passed the torch, Henry rounded the corner at a fast clip.  I sighed and pushed Cooper into the elevator, hoping to avoid him.

“Someone you don’t want to talk to?” Cooper inquired, observantly.

“Yes.”  I muscled the wheelchair around, facing the door, and waited impatiently for Tate Watkins and his armada to enter the elevator.  “Come on.  Come on.  Come on,” I muttered, pushing the door close button repeatedly.  The bell pinged, and the door began to slide closed.

“Paisley!” Henry shouted, jogging to catch the door.

I pushed the button a few more times, as if it would speed things up.

“Marshall,” said Cooper, behind me.  Next thing I knew, the larger of the two bodyguards placed his hand on my shoulder.  I stepped back, giving him space.  At the last second, Henry caught the door.

Winded, Henry stopped just outside the elevator, his foot shoved between the doors.  It kept pinging and trying to close on him.  He looked up at Marshall, wide-eyed.

“What do you want, Henry?” I asked.

Henry tore his eyes from Marshall, and peered around him.  “My phone.  You know I can’t manage without a calendar.”

“It’s
my
phone.”

“You threw mine down the laundry chute.  It’s ruined.”

Whatever.  It was on his plan.  We split the bill, but I really didn’t want any connection to him any longer.  Pulling the ridiculously oversized phone from the pocket of my purse, I dropped the thing when Henry reached to take it from me.  “Whoops, look at that, I dropped it.”

Henry scowled and bent to pick up the phone.  The screen was shattered.  “That’s real mature.”

“You’re going to scrutinize
my
morals?”

“We
weren’t
dating.”

I exhaled sharply.  “Enjoy Hagatha, Henry.  Goodbye.”

“Do you mind?” Marshall pressed his fingers to Henry’s chest, and gently pushed him away from the elevator.  The door pinged and glided closed.  A long stretch of silence amplified my chagrin, made me want to stick a knife in my ear.  It lasted probably a whole two seconds, but it felt like a lifetime.

“So where’re you going on vacation?” Cooper asked, sparing me of mortification.  I couldn’t even keep Henry, and she married Tate Watkins.  Why couldn’t I be that lucky?

“Hell,” I sighed.  “I heard it’s hot this time of year, and it has residents with higher morals than Henry Powell.”

“Bad break up?” Marshall inquired.

“Huh,” I snorted in conformation.  “I caught him in the act, with Hagatha, no less.  I’m never going to get the image out of my head.  She’s got more moles than the CIA.”

Cooper giggled, which caused the second bodyguard with the crewcut to scowl at her.  “Is that really her name?” Cooper asked, fighting a smile.  The exchange between the two must’ve been a private joke.

“No, it’s Agatha.”  Absently, I shook my head, still confounded over the thought.  “I’m sorry that you had to bear witness to that.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Cooper dismissed.  I supposed she had, and first hand, if what I’d read in the media was true.  Word was, she had an abusive ex that turned stalker after she left him.  He was also the father of her son.  He was also dead.  I glanced at her bodyguards, wondering if one of them had pulled the trigger.  Her ex had tried to ambush her at some restaurant in Ohio.  He had planned to take Cooper and their son out of the world.  If he couldn’t have them, no one would.  Great guy.  Yeah, I supposed I could’ve had it worse than Henry.

The bell pinged, and the door slid open.  Marshall stepped off the elevator, followed by the bodyguard with the crew cut, and Tate Watkins.  I pushed Cooper out.  We crossed the lobby to the main doors, where a large black SUV sat idling.  “It that yours?”  All three of the men nodded.  Marshall opened the rear door and stood to the side.  Eyeing the height of the vehicle with reservation, I squatted and folded the foot rests back on the wheelchair.  “Be careful getting into that thing.  It’s a big step.”

“That’s what Marshall’s here for,” Cooper dismissed.  “I usually make him lie on the ground so I can use him for a step.”

“She’s not kidding,” Marshall stated.  “She walks all over me.”  Despite the guy’s size, I didn’t doubt it.  I could tell by his demeanor that he was a pussycat.

Coop braced herself on the handrails and pushed herself out of the chair.  Tate watched attentively, his hand rising absently toward her elbow.  “You’re just pouting because I turned down your proposal.”  Rising to her toes, she stretched her neck, her shoulders and her back.

Marshall glanced at Tate, who met his stare.  “Oh, come on,” he objected.  “Do you need to keep bringing that up, Coop?  You know how he gets.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Coop replied.  A smirk toyed at her lips.  “Tate’s been nothing but generous.  He gave you a bonus so you could get your own place.”

“Yeah, and why do you think that is?”

“Because he knows that you’re secretly coveting my figure.”  Winking, she circled her belly with the palms of her hands.  While she was rotund, she was far from unattractive.  I would’ve given my right leg to have her looks.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Marshall objected, “You’re like a sister to me, Coop.  Anything I feel for you is completely platonic.  In fact, I’d prefer to refrain from any thoughts whatsoever of you and sex together in the same sentence.”

“Don’t you find that difficult considering I’m pregnant?”

“I like to think of it as the Immaculate Conception.”

Laughing, Coop waddled to the car, and stepped onto the running board to climb into the cab.  Tate stood behind her, and as she ducked her head, he totally copped a feel of her ass.

“Tate!”

“I’m just helping you in,” Tate claimed.  “I don’t want you to fall.”

“You’re going to
make
me fall!  Get your thumb out of my ass!”

Tate flashed a crooked smile that made even my face flush with color.  I could see why Cooper had fallen for him—other than him being rich and famous.  “I love your ass, and I’d never let you fall.”

Nevertheless, Coop stepped back down and swatted Tate’s hand away.  The two ended up lip locked, while somehow maintaining a smile.

“Why must I be submitted to this?” Marshall complained.  Rolling his eyes, he turned his back to them.  “I swear they love to torture me.”

“We should all be so lucky to be as happy as they are,” I observed.  There was nothing contrived about their affection for one another.  What they had was genuine.  In my experience, that was pretty damn rare.

“Don’t mind me.”  Marshall quickly waved off my scrutiny.  “I’m just busting their balls.  Trust me—they give as good as they get.”

“Sounds like my family.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

I smiled wryly.  “Because I give as good as I get, too.”

“Not unjustly.”

“This time,” I agreed.  I had my moments of treachery.  I did have twelve siblings after all.  It was hard to remember whether I had been the victim or the instigator.  Most of the time, anything I had done could be traced back to some sort of transgression against me, if I could remember that far.  I ruined his favorite shirt because he pulled the head from my Barbie.  He pulled the head from my Barbie because I kicked his knee.  I kicked his knee because he gave me a rug burn, and so on.  It was like a deranged game of Simon.  Unfortunately, I, like the rest of the human population, could rarely recall further than seven details, so if I wasn’t the first to tattle, I was the least likely to walk away unpunished.

“Are you going to be ok?” Marshall inquired, pulling me from my reverie.  “That guy…he won’t fuck with you, right?”

“No.” I would have laughed, but there was no humor in his expression.  “No.  Henry wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“You did break his phone.”

“It was
my
phone, and he’s more likely to cry than hit me.”

“All right.”  Satisfied with my assurance, he turned toward his employers, who were now safely in the cab of their SUV.

“Yeah, I should go.  Thanks for that in there.  It was unnecessary, but appreciated.”

“Look, if you want to get out tonight, a few of us will be heading to Funk 49.”

Was he asking me out?  And of all places,
Funk 49
?  Did he have any idea of what kind of place that was?  I didn’t know firsthand, because I didn’t have access to the private rooms, but I’d heard the rumors.  On second thought, I gave myself a mental smack on the forehead.  He was the bodyguard for a rock band.  I’m sure they knew all the hardcore bars and clubs.

“No no no no,” he quickly backtracked.  “I’m not coming onto your or anything.  I just meant to get out.  Instead of sulking over that schmuck.  Friends.  Nothing more.”

“Wow, two rejections in one day,” I teased.  “Way to bolster a girl’s esteem.”

“Sorry.  I feel like a jerk now.”  His face was red.  I’d never seen a guy blush.  Reaching up, he scrubbed the color from his face.  “But the last thing you need is a rebound.”

“You’re a good guy, Marshall.”

“I had a sister.”

Had
.  Lord, he really was a good guy.  He was defending me in the name of his deceased sister.  I couldn’t receive a higher compliment.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his wallet, and from it, a business card.  “Think about it.  Give me a call.  I won’t let you do anything stupid.”  He winked and climbed into the SUV.  With a quick wave, they drove off into the harsh glare of the afternoon sun.