Perfect Rivals.... Amy Ruttan

      On the outside Kyle had aged well. His heart and lungs, on the other hand, hadn’t. Which was why he was now a patient.

      He’d collapsed at a press conference in Los Angeles and had been brought straight to The Hollywood Hills Clinic, where it had quickly been established that Kyle Francis was dying.

      And that’s where Flo had stepped in.

      She was, after all, a world-renowned transplant surgeon, and that’s just what Kyle Francis needed. Actually, what he specifically needed was a heart and lung transplant.

      It was right up Flo’s alley. She’d done many, and on worse cases than Kyle, but if they let it go much longer, Kyle would be a worst-case scenario and it would make the job harder.

      She had been wheeling Kyle into the operating room to help stabilize him until she had been stopped.

      That was when Freya had dropped the bombshell on her that another surgeon was coming.

      “Another surgeon? Why was another surgeon called, Freya? I’m a damn good surgeon. I can do this surgery on my own. You’ve seen me do one.”

      “I know, but this is out of my hands, Flo. Mr. Francis’s management team has called in Dr. King from Manhattan. Dr. King’s the one who has been treating his failing heart and lungs for some time. There’s no negotiation. You’ll have to work with Dr. King.”

      Flo couldn’t really argue with that.

      So that’s why she was here, huddled in the elevator, waiting for the helicopter to land and deposit this Dr. King in her lap. He was probably some old-money type of surgeon, and she only hoped that he would be willing to work with her. Some of these big-city surgeons were a pain in the rump to deal with. They didn’t think someone who was only thirty had the skill to be an excellent or extraordinary surgeon and a transplant specialist to boot.

      The chopper landed and Flo ducked down, holding back the wisps of black hair that were escaping from her long braid as she headed out onto the helipad to greet this new doctor.

      Please, don’t be a jerk. Please, don’t be a jerk.

      She could deal with almost anyone but a jerk. Other surgeons tended to look down on her because of her size and her gender. That, and she looked a lot younger than her age. Even though she hoped this surgeon wasn’t a jerk, she’d been warned about his arrogance so she braced herself for it.

      The door of the chopper opened and her mouth almost dropped open in surprise. Dr. King was not at all what she had expected. He wasn’t old at all. Probably in his mid-thirties. Tall, tanned and muscular. His blond hair was tousled and short. His face was chiseled, and the well-tailored gray suit molded his broad chest and thick muscular thighs almost perfectly. He was an all-American high-school hottie. The kind of man who had probably got through med school on a football scholarship. The kind of man who would have ignored a perpetually sick, geeky wallflower like her at school dances. The kind of man she’d always secretly wished would look her way.

      Johnny had been good looking, but not like this, and look how that had turned out. Flo shook her ex from her thoughts. He’d been gone for a long time and there was no place for him in her mind today.

      Heat rushed to her cheeks when he turned to look at her. Light blue, almost ice-blue eyes fixed their hard gaze on her, as if assessing her and sizing her up in a matter of moments. It unnerved her, but also excited her. She almost wondered what it would be like steal a kiss from a man like this. And then she kicked herself mentally for thinking about the competition this way.

      No matter how attractive she thought he was, he was still the competition.

      All-American athletes like him were the kind of guy she’d always wanted to date. At least once in her life, because it wasn’t the type of guy her father or mother would like if she brought him home. They hadn’t been thrilled with Johnny either and he was a lawyer.

      Focus. He’s staring at you.

      It was then she realized the chopper had already left the helipad and was headed away from the clinic toward LAX.

      “Are you all right?” he asked.

      “Fine. Dr. King, I’m—”

      “I don’t have time for pleasantries. You need to take me to my patient.”

      Great. He’s a pompous jerk.

      Well, an arrogant surgeon she could deal with. Her father was an arrogant businessman in Beijing and Seattle. Flo’s mother, who was American, was the only one who could get him to toe the line, and she’d taught Flo well. She’d taught her not to cower to arrogant men and to stand up for herself. Especially in light of the fact that Flo had been sick her whole life and people tried to walk all over her.

      “As I was saying, I’m Dr. Chiu and I’m head of transplant surgery here at The Hollywood Hills Clinic. I’ve been treating Mr. Francis since his collapse last night.”

      Dr. King’s eyes widened in shock. “Is that so?”

      “Yes. Now, if you will follow me, Dr. King, I will take you to our patient.” She got into the elevator and when he also entered, she pushed the button for the wing that housed Kyle Francis. It was the wing that had the most security to guarantee privacy for high-profile patients.

      “Did you say ‘our’ patient, Dr. Chiu?”

      “I did.”

      “I have to say I’m a bit confused. Kyle Francis has been my patient for a couple of years now. I’m the one who put him on the transplant list. He’s my patient.”

      She grinned at him sardonically. “Oh, no. He’s our patient. Mr. Francis’s management team may have flown you in here, but the transplant wing is my wing. I’m granting you surgical privileges here, buster, and don’t you forget it.”

      He grinned at her, amused, or at least she hoped so as those ice-blue eyes were twinkling. “Buster? I’ve never heard that one before.”

      Flo rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Sorry. Something I picked up from my mother.”

      The elevator doors opened up and Flo swiped her security card to open the doors to allow them entry to the high-security wing. Kyle’s large suite was at the end of the hall.

      “So, when he arrived he was bradycardic. We got his breathing and rhythm stabilized, but it’s apparent to me that his heart is failing and his time is running out. He needs to be put on a left ventricular assist device.”

      “An LVAD?” Dr. King nodded. “I can see why you would think that, but let’s not jump to conclusions. We don’t know what caused the collapse. He was stable when he left New York last week. And putting him on a left ventricular assist device complicates his transplant further.”

      “I am aware of that. I’m not jumping to conclusions. I’ve performed a heart and lung transplant before, Dr. King. I know what I’m doing. I know what I’m seeing.”

      “Then if you know what it is, why isn’t he on a left ventricular assist device?”

      Really?

      “I was about to have him prepped for the OR when his management team put a stop to the procedure and insisted on flying you out here, Dr. King.”

      “Nate.”

      “Pardon?” Flo said as she picked up a tablet to bring up Kyle’s chart.

      “My name is Nathaniel, but you can call me Nate. And what can I call you, Dr. Chiu?”

      “You can call me Dr. Chiu.” She tried to step past him, but he blocked her path.

      “If you knew my patient, you would know that he likes everything to be informal. It puts him at ease. So I think it’s in the best interests of the patient that we address each other by our given names.”

      “My name is Florence, but everyone calls me Flo.” She handed him the tablet with