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‘Ellen, can you get an IV line in, oxygen monitor and an Ambu bag,’ Damien instructed, as he lowered the bed before continuing chest compressions.
Abi kicked off her shoes and stepped forward, ready to help. She hitched her skirt up to give her room to move, wondering why on earth she’d thought it was a good idea to wear a suit, and climbed up on the bed. She tipped the patient’s head back, opening her airway. She was ready to breathe for her the moment Damien paused in his compressions. They worked at a steady rate for two minutes until the AED machine interrupted them.
Stop CPR, analysing.
Shock advised.
‘Clear.’ Damien repeated the process to deliver a second shock.
Their patient was pale and clammy and she was starting to go a little blue around the mouth and jaw. Abi and Damien continued another round of CPR but this time Abi used the Ambu bag, squeezing air into the patient’s lungs after each set of thirty compressions. Another two minutes passed.
Stop CPR, analysing.
Shock advised.
They stood clear again as once more Damien pressed the red flashing button and this time a normal heart rhythm was restored.
Abi’s shoulders sagged as she slid off the bed and all three of them breathed a collective sigh of relief as they watched the heartbeat on the little screen.
Ellen removed the electrodes of the AED and replaced them with ECG leads as a second team, who Abi could only assume were the resus team, moved further into the room. Abi hadn’t noticed their arrival in all the chaos and they departed as swiftly and silently as they had arrived. Accompanied by Ellen, they wheeled the patient out of the room, no doubt taking her to the definitive observation unit, and Abi was left alone with Damien.
Now that the drama was over she didn’t know where to look or what to do. She stood in the middle of the room and tried to avoid looking at Damien. She studied her surroundings instead. The oversized hospital bed was gone but the room was far from empty. In front of a large window that overlooked a courtyard was a carpeted lounge area complete with a leather sofa, an armchair upholstered in a rich cream fabric and a marble-topped coffee table. She wandered over to the window, the carpet thick and plush under her stockinged feet, and took in the view over the courtyard. It offered complete privacy but even so the glass was tinted. Abi could see out but no one could see in. An en-suite bathroom was tucked into the far corner of the room and Abi could just glimpse a marble vanity in the mirrored reflection. The medical equipment was all tucked away discreetly, Abi assumed into purpose-built storage, and the room looked and felt like a hotel suite. The surroundings might be very different to what she was used to but the patients were the same. They all had lives that needed to be improved, or even saved, and that was her job. It didn’t matter if they were civilian or military, she just had to do what she was trained for.
‘Thanks for your help.’ Damien was standing beside her. ‘It was a good outcome,’ he added with a slight nod of his head.
Was that all the acknowledgement she was going to get?
She supposed she was only doing her job, she didn’t need to be congratulated for that, but she felt a little short-changed that he wasn’t more effusive, particularly after his previous criticism and questions relating to her medical qualifications. Surely she’d put some of his doubts to rest now?
She was pleased with how she’d coped. She hadn’t panicked, hadn’t felt stressed, she’d simply just clicked into gear. Her medical skills were as precise as ever. It was like riding a bike and she was thrilled to know that she hadn’t lost her touch in that regard. Her personal life might be a disaster, her self-belief might have taken a pounding and she might be struggling to cope out in the big wide world, but in the familiar environment of a hospital it seemed she’d lost none of her confidence. It was a reassuring discovery but it didn’t take away the disappointment that Damien didn’t seem quite so impressed.
‘I’d like to retract my earlier comment,’ he added.
‘What?’
‘When I questioned your qualifications. I jumped to conclusions and I’m sorry for that.’
‘Thank you.’ That was all she’d wanted. Some recognition of a job well done. Her day had just got a little bit brighter.
She could do this.
‘It’s obvious you can think on your feet and cope under pressure. Your defence-force experience means that you are undoubtedly qualified to cope with anything we can throw at you, as you’ve capably demonstrated, and I apologise,’ he said, and then he smiled.
Abi’s knees went weak. She sat down hard on the sofa as she tried to pretend that it was the adrenalin from the resuscitation that was flooding her system and making her knees wobble but she knew it was Damien’s smile. Suddenly he lost his serious, intense expression. His smile transformed his face and now he looked like a man who knew how to have a good time, who knew how to laugh.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s grab a coffee and catch our breath. We can finish the tour later.’
He extended his hand to help her up from the sofa and the touch of his palm as Abi placed her hand in his created a current of electricity so strong that it couldn’t be contained and it shot out of her to ignite the air surrounding them until it seemed to glow. She could feel the air around them moving. It crackled and swirled like a living, breathing entity, creating a fire that sucked the air from her lungs and made it impossible to breathe. She pulled herself up on wobbly legs. Her vision was blurred around the edges and she felt dizzy and light headed. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
‘Are you okay?’ Damien asked as he let go of her hand.
Released from his hold, abruptly disconnected from him, she found she was able to breathe again. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, as she smoothed down the front of her skirt and stepped into her shoes. She closed her eyes briefly and took a quick deep breath to make sure she really was all right before she followed him out of the room. As they walked along the corridor she made sure she kept a couple of feet between them. Touching him again was out of the question.
* * *
Damien drank his coffee as quickly as possible without being impolite. He had taken Abi into the staff kitchen to make coffee but the room felt too small for both of them. He was having trouble breathing and it had nothing to do with the emergency he’d just averted and everything to do with a slim brunette who sat opposite him. He’d been dismissive of her without cause earlier and he felt badly about that, but now he was having trouble remembering exactly what his issue had been.
He could smell fresh peaches and he knew that was her fragrance he was inhaling. Was it any wonder he was having difficulty breathing? Every breath was like inhaling the essence of Abi and it was sweet torture. She made him think of the golden days of summer. Her amber eyes glowed like the late afternoon sun and she shimmered as if there was an energy within her that was too big to contain, although a sixth sense told him that something had happened that had diminished her glow. Something had damaged her, something had given her an air of fragility. She was only a waif of a girl but it wasn’t just about her size and he wondered what had happened in her past. But he didn’t have the time or energy to worry about her psyche; he had enough of his own issues to deal with. He didn’t have time for distractions and that was what she was.
He needed to breathe, he needed to leave.
He drained the dregs of his coffee, pushed his chair back and stood. ‘Will you be able to find your way back to your office? I need to speak to Freya.’ He knew he was making excuses but he needed to get away. He needed to break the spell he could feel her casting over him.
His departure was abrupt, and he could see from Abi’s puzzled expression that she thought so too but she didn’t complain or argue. She just nodded silently. It appeared she wasn’t much of a talker.
He did genuinely want to speak to Freya—he felt she needed to know about Clementine Jones, though he knew she would have heard the alarm and the code-blue call—but he suffered a moment of guilt over his hasty exit. He pushed those thoughts to one side as he knocked on Freya’s door and then brought her up to speed on the emergency.
‘Clementine was booked in for a breast enlargement but she has a long-standing eating disorder that probably triggered her cardiac arrest. She’s in the DOU under Geoff’s care now, but she needs counselling. I know you’re only taking on a handful of clients but this girl needs to be included on your list. She’s playing Russian roulette at the moment. It’s only a matter of time before she’s a statistic instead of a person. If she won’t see you then she needs to see another psychologist. James is her admitting surgeon but I’m sure he’ll agree.’
Freya nodded. ‘I’ll take care of it.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘So you were first on the scene?’
‘With Abi.’ He had to give credit where it was due.
‘You resuscitated her together?’
Damien nodded.
‘Now do you think she can handle the job?’
He needed Abi to pull her weight. He’d fought to have an extra surgeon on staff to ease some of his caseload but his first impressions had worried him. He hadn’t thought her old enough or strong enough to help him but he had to admit he had revised his opinion. He would give her the benefit of the doubt now after the composure she had displayed during the emergency. ‘I’ll agree I’m more confident now,’ he replied.
‘Good.’ Freya nodded. ‘Because James wants her to assist you in Theatre tomorrow. That will give her a feel for how the clinic runs and also give you a chance to assess her skills. Once you’re happy we’ll start to give her patients of her own, which will free up some of your time.’
Damien was happy with that. He was exhausted and had far too much on his plate. There were far too many things fighting for his attention. He had too much else to think about at the moment. He was virtually a single parent, raising a young daughter, and he had more work than he could handle. He couldn’t work twenty-four-seven—it wasn’t feasible and it was not what he wanted. Abi’s appointment needed to be successful. She had to work out and if she didn’t she’d have to go. It was as simple as that.
* * *
Abi’s head was spinning as she pulled her 4x4 into the driveway and hit the button for the automatic garage door. She needed time to think about her day and what had happened. What she’d seen, what she’d done, who she’d met. She would collect Jonty and they’d go for a walk. That would give her time to sort through her thoughts on the clinic, on Freya and on Damien.
The motor of the garage door made a distinctive whine as it kicked into gear and Abi could see Jonty racing across the lawn to greet her as she eased her car forward. A wave of guilt washed over her as she saw how eager he was to welcome her home. This was the first day that she and Jonty had been parted. She wondered if his day had been less eventful than hers. Was this how working mothers felt? At least she’d organised company for him. He shouldn’t have been lonely but she still hoped he’d missed her.
She closed the door and made a beeline for her landlords’ bungalow at the front of the property. Her landlords, George and Irma, were a retired couple in their late sixties and Abi rented their converted garage apartment. She had moved in about six weeks ago and had since found herself adopted by George and Irma as part of the family. She didn’t mind; she was enjoying feeling like she was part of a family. They had adopted her dog too, offering to keep him company while Abi returned to work. She wished she’d been able to take Jonty with her, for her sake more than his, but the clinic was no place for a large, hairy, golden retriever.
‘How did your first day go?’ Irma asked as Abi stepped onto the back porch. ‘Not quite what I expected,’ she replied. ‘But I’m sure it will be okay.’ She still needed time to process the day’s events. The Hills was different from what she was used to, very different, and even if she wasn’t sure that she would be suited to working there she suspected it would be interesting, albeit slightly more routine than the army. But perhaps that was just what she needed—ordinary and routine, excluding the odd cardiac arrest, of course.
‘I’ve made an extra-large pot of chilli beef. Would you like to eat with us tonight? You must be tired.’
Abi was more than happy to be looked after by Irma. She knew her fridge was bare and dinner at her place was likely to be toast and maybe a packet soup. But more than the dinners it was the feeling that someone was interested in her and cared enough to make sure she was fed. She’d never experienced that on a regular basis. Growing up, her family life had been erratic, to say the least. Swings and roundabouts. Her mother had done her best at times but she really hadn’t coped with the real world and Abi didn’t remember her father. And army life, while she’d been looked after, she suspected was also very different to normal family life. George and Irma missed the company of their children and Abi enjoyed filling that void. It was nice to feel normal.
‘That sounds delicious. Have I got time to take Jonty for a quick walk first?’
‘Of course.’
Above the garage George had added a bedroom, small bathroom and a kitchen/living area that opened out onto a deck that overlooked a small park. Jonty loved exploring the park but Abi avoided it once the sun had set. She needed milk for her morning coffee so she changed quickly into a pair of black exercise leggings, a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a bright pink, puffy, padded, insulated vest. She wrapped an orange scarf around her neck, shoved her phone and some coins into her pocket and clipped Jonty’s lead to his collar. They’d make a quick dash to the mini-mart two blocks away. She let Jonty go to the toilet before they left as once he had his coat on he would know not to stop unless she directed him to. She fastened his coat around his body and headed out to the street.
Jonty had been assigned to Abi on her return from Afghanistan, on her psychologist’s recommendation. According to Caroline, many of her patients who had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder found that an assistance dog brought enormous benefits, and Abi had to admit that she was grateful for Jonty’s companionship. She’d never had a dog, she’d never had any pets before, but she had very quickly grown attached to Jonty. She was a dog person, she’d decided.
Jonty had been assigned to help calm her and to increase her confidence in her ability to cope with the outside world, but nervousness still made her heart rate increase as they approached the supermarket. Ever since the incident in Afghanistan she had been exceedingly nervous in new or crowded environments until she’d had a chance to check out the lie of the land.
She quickly scanned the interior of the shop and only when she could see that it was relatively quiet, with few customers, did she step inside, taking Jonty with her. He was allowed to accompany her so long as he was wearing the coat that identified him as an assistance dog. They headed to the milk fridge at the back of the store, Abi wishing, not for the first time, that the shopkeeper would keep the milk near the front. Having to go to the far corner of the store always bothered her, even though she knew where the emergency exit was.
A dark-haired man stood in front of the open fridge door. He was reaching for the same milk that Abi wanted. She thought about asking him to grab one for her too but that would mean initiating a conversation with a stranger. Even with Jonty beside her she wasn’t comfortable doing that. She waited as the man closed the fridge door and turned around.
‘Dr Thompson!’
Abi’s heart skipped a beat as a voice that had become almost familiar in just one day uttered her name. She lifted her eyes.
He was tall and lean. His thick black hair was expertly styled to look effortlessly casual and a day’s worth of stubble darkened his square jaw and contrasted with the smooth olive skin of his forehead and cheeks. He was watching her with eyes so dark they were almost black. He was gorgeous.
Damien.
His serious expression vanished, to be replaced by his wide smile, showcasing perfect white teeth. Did this man have any physical flaws?
‘You need milk?’ he asked.
‘For my coffee,’ she replied, as if he’d care why she needed it.
He took a second carton from the fridge and passed it to her, not checking which one she wanted. ‘Do you live near here?’
‘A couple of blocks that way,’ she said, pointing east.
‘We’re two blocks south.’
She wondered who ‘we’ meant. Was he married? He didn’t wear a wedding ring.
She glanced at his left hand, double-checking, but she knew she was right. What she didn’t know was when she’d noticed and why. Not that it mattered. Lots of surgeons didn’t wear rings and his marital status was of no concern to her.
‘Is this your dog?’
She nodded. ‘This is Jonty.’
‘An assistance dog?’
‘It’s a project I’m involved with,’ she said. She didn’t see any need to mention that the project was personal and involved trying to fix her fragile psyche. There was no need to mention that her psychologist had recommended the programme. She didn’t intend to share tales about her private life with her new boss.
Finding out he was practically her neighbour was enough to deal with. He didn’t need to know anything more about her. She was used to mixing her work and her social life, there wasn’t another option in the military really, but things had changed recently. She had changed. She had become more reserved, more introverted, and that was part of the reason that Caroline had suggested Jonty. She’d hoped it would help to restore Abi’s confidence and alleviate some of her fears about the world. Bad things weren’t always going to happen. Abi needed to experience the world and remember the good things.
Damien insisted on paying for her milk, along with his own, and they left the shop together. As they stepped onto the pavement he pulled a set of keys from his pocket and pressed a button. Abi heard the sound of doors unlocking and saw the lights flash on a black, luxury SUV that was parked out the front of the shop. ‘Can I give you a lift?’ he offered.
It seemed he had the charming personality to match his very appealing features. But Abi knew how dangerous a weapon charm could be in a good-looking man. She looked at his car. There was not a speck of dirt or a scratch or dent on it. Its paintwork was immaculate and it suited him. It was shiny, sleek perfection and so different from her old soft-top. She couldn’t imagine hopping into something so tidy, let alone putting her hairy, thirty-kilogram companion in there too. Had he forgotten about Jonty?
‘No, thank you. We need the exercise.’ And she needed more time to think.
He was good-looking and charming, there was no denying that, but that was no reason to let him drive her home. She’d had good-looking, charming bosses before and things hadn’t turned out so well for her the last time. In fact, things had gone terribly pear-shaped and she was still recovering. She needed time to herself, time to heal. There was no room in her life or in her head for anything other than surviving. Her goal was to achieve emotional stability and financial security. She didn’t need any complications and she knew all too well how complicated men could make things. Besides, he was part of a ‘we’ and that was all she needed to know about him to ensure she kept her distance. Single men were one thing but men with other commitments were definitely off her list. That was one path she knew she would avoid at all costs. Being pleasant at work was one thing, mixing socially was another, but men with baggage were a definite no.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b268575a-a5dd-5c09-a008-7ed546f823ce)
ABI ARRIVED AT The Hills on her second day wearing her smartest dress, a simple black jersey wrap, and nude-colored heels. She had a thin gold chain around her neck but she still wasn’t sure if she was dressed smartly enough. Freya had arranged a morning tea yesterday to introduce Abi to everyone and all the staff she had met had seemed extraordinarily beautiful and impressively well-dressed.
She supposed it made sense given that the clinic serviced the wealthy and elite of Los Angeles society but she wasn’t sure how, or if, she measured up by comparison. She suspected both her wardrobe and her looks were severely lacking and decided she’d have to wow them with her medical talents instead.
She found her way to her office, where she was greeted by Jennifer, the secretary who took care of her and Damien, and the news that Damien had requested an eight-thirty meeting.
A white doctor’s coat was hanging behind her office door. Still unsure about her outfit, she took the coat off the hook and slipped it over her clothes. She would feel more comfortable and in control if she was already in scrubs but this would have to do. Perhaps she could engineer her diary to ensure she spent most of her time in Theatre—she felt at home in that environment and in that uniform. She checked her reflection in the mirror on the wall and saw that the coat had The Hills’ intertwined double H logo monogrammed on the breast pocket. Like everything else in the clinic, even the coats had been taken to the next level.
Damien’s door was open. She took a moment to check him out before she knocked. He was wearing a different suit today, dark navy with a pale blue shirt and a red silk tie embroidered with blue fleurs-de-lis, but he still looked as if he’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Abi pulled the white coat more firmly around her as she knocked and entered. Her whole outfit had cost no more than a hundred dollars; Damien’s tie alone had probably cost twice that.
There was a coffee waiting for her and Damien slid it across his desk as she sank into the leather seat by the window. His office was identical to hers in size and also looked out onto an internal courtyard complete with a bubbling water feature that had a stunning metal sculpture as its centrepiece. Everything about this place was slick and professional and for the first time since the previous day Abi relaxed slightly. It would be nice to be associated with this clinic. This move could turn out to be a good decision and having something work out right for her would be a pleasant change.
‘Milk?’ he asked, making a reference to their unexpected meeting last night. His voice was deep but it lightened when he smiled. She’d noticed how it changed with his mood, from serious surgeon to friendly colleague to charming shopper, and she wondered which one was the real Damien.
She nodded but Damien was already adding it for her. ‘Do you know how our patient from yesterday is? Clementine?’ she queried. She’d been worried all night about the young woman who’d gone into cardiac arrest.
‘She’s in a stable condition. I just spoke to Geoff, our cardiologist. He’s monitoring her closely but he’s happy. She wasn’t physically strong enough to undergo surgery so, in a way, this is not a bad outcome. She’s had a long-standing eating disorder that her parents thought was being managed but it appears not. Clementine needs to agree to get more help,’ Damien replied.
‘What was she booked in for?’
‘A breast enlargement,’ Damien explained. ‘James had been delaying her operation, telling her she had to put on weight because her body wouldn’t cope with an anaesthetic, but I have no idea if this episode will make any difference. From what I understand, she’s had intervention and therapy many times before. Freya is going to see her with her psychologist’s hat on—she has a special interest in patients who have eating disorders—but if Clementine isn’t receptive she’ll be transferred to another facility. Apparently Clementine wants to stay here and her parents have agreed so that will be the carrot Freya dangles.’
James Rothsberg was the head of the clinic and also a reconstructive and plastic surgeon, and Abi was relieved to hear that he had put the patient’s well-being first but surprised to hear that Clementine had been scheduled for a breast enlargement. ‘Do you do a lot of cosmetic surgery here?’
‘We are in Hollywood.’
‘I realise that.’
‘It’s not all we do,’ Damien continued, ‘but you’re assisting me in Theatre today and it’s what’s on our list and what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘We’re doing cosmetic surgery? That’s not what I expected.’ She was a specialist in the field of plastic and reconstructive surgery but her experience was in the reconstructive side of things. Cosmetic surgery wasn’t her forte.
‘It’s awards season in Hollywood,’ Damien said as he shrugged his shoulders in his bespoke suit jacket. ‘The film industry awards are only twelve days away, which makes this our busiest time of the year. Everyone wants something done without anyone knowing about it. James can’t possibly keep up with the demand so I lend a hand.
‘Don’t worry, no one will know you’ve relaxed your ethics,’ he added, making her wonder if he’d had another look at her résumé and refreshed his knowledge of her background. ‘The celebrities don’t want anyone to know they’ve had surgical assistance to look their best on awards night. We have a lot of rather wealthy and sometimes reclusive patients who demand privacy and anonymity. They won’t mention your name and they expect the same consideration from you.’
He smiled again and Abi’s breath caught in her throat. ‘All your recognition will come from your reconstructive work and there will be plenty of that. We have an arrangement with the Bright Hope Clinic to do some charitable work for the underprivileged children who are treated there and that, along with the other external referrals that come to us for reconstructive surgery, will keep you occupied most of the time. But this cosmetic work on the celebrities and their partners, and the Hollywood heavy hitters and their mistresses, wives and girlfriends, and the cash they are prepared to part with for the best medical care and for our discretion means that we are able to do that charity work, and I suspect that will appeal to you.
‘You will get paid for any charity work that you do but The Hills, by which I mean James, absorbs those expenses. We are strong believers in giving back to the community. It’s a win-win situation. So, does that make you feel better about today’s list?’
Abi nodded. She hadn’t really thought about the ramifications of the clinic’s location on the client base but Damien’s explanation did ease her conscience. Besides, the surgical procedures were the same no matter what you called them. Although the surgeries were performed for different reasons, aesthetics or function, the actual operations were similar and giving them labels such as cosmetic or reconstructive was really just semantics.
