Finding Her Prince. Robyn Donald

Nathan headed down the hall toward administration, he was mentally fine-tuning his case to hire extra staff for the NICU. For the past week things had been nuts. Gladiator, aka Dylan Mason, was the first of some really sick babies. The staff in the unit was working their asses off and he wanted more bodies to care for his patients. Still, it wouldn’t be easy to convince the powers-that-be to spend more money, and he braced for the coming battle.

      But when he walked into the outer office and saw Cindy at the desk, battles of the sexy sort took center stage. Probably because she’d refused every request to let him call her.

      He’d never worked that hard for a phone number and, frankly, the struggle made him even more determined to get to the bottom of her resistance.

      Cindy watched warily as he moved closer then settled his hip on the corner of her desk. There were two metal-framed chairs in front of it, but invading her space was more appealing. And this place could use a healthy dose of interesting. The ocean scenes on the beige walls made it generic decorating. With her blond hair and warm brown eyes, she sure brightened up her surroundings.

      “Is there any job in this hospital that you don’t do?” he asked.

      “Brain surgery.”

      He laughed and that hadn’t been his expectation on his way to the administration offices. “So, can I ask what you’re doing here?”

      “You can ask.” The way her full mouth curved up in a teasing smile finished the implication that she didn’t have to answer. “I’m an administrative intern.”

      “Right. I remember. In addition to your other job?”

      She nodded. “After the fall semester, I’ll have my degree in hospital administration. This summer was a good time to get the internship part accomplished.”

      “Busy girl.”

      She shrugged and the movement did amazing things to her breasts under the pink, silky blouse. By peeking over the desk he could see her black slacks. The business attire was buttoned-down professional. He’d also seen her in plain housekeeping clothes. But by far his favorite look was that short, strapless dress he’d first seen her in. The memory caused a very physical reaction that was a good indication his desire to see her out of it hadn’t gone away.

      “So,” she said, tapping her pen on the desk. “I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re here to see Mr. Ryan. And not stalking me.”

      “You would be correct. I have a staffing issue to discuss with him.”

      “Specifically?”

      “There’s a lot of work in the NICU. We’re going nuts up there.”

      “And you want more help,” she guessed.

      “Right in one.”

      She swiveled her chair to the right and faced the computer monitor, then clicked away on the keyboard until data scrolled onto the screen. After studying it for a moment, she turned back and looked up.

      “Good luck with that.”

      He stared at her for several moments, then said, “What?”

      “I’m pretty sure Mr. Ryan won’t give his approval to hire any more people.”

      “You can tell that by looking at the computer?”

      “Yes.”

      He stood and looked down. “What is it? The great and powerful Oz?”

      She grinned. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

      “Seriously? How can a computer tell you we’re not up to our necks in alligators?”

      “All the productivity information is here. It’s about FTEs—”

      “No acronyms, please.”

      “Full time equivalents. Then there are RVUs—” She noticed his frown and her full mouth curved up. “Relative value units.”

      “Dumb it down for me.”

      He knew matching personnel to patient load was complicated but had deliberately steered clear of the minutiae because it wasn’t his problem. Now avoidance was paying off because she was talking to him.

      “There’s a formula to determine the percentage of staff hours per patient day for every hospital department. For example, if you’re allowed four hours to get the job done and do it in three hours and forty-five minutes, you’re over a hundred percent. That’s exactly where administration wants it and you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”

      “What if I want two more nurses?”

      She turned to the computer, clicked the keys and assimilated the information that popped up. “According to this, NICU productivity is at ninety-four percent.”

      “That sounds pretty good.”

      “Not really. It means you have to give up a nurse.”

      “You’re kidding,” he said.

      “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

      No, but she looked like she was enjoying this more than was absolutely necessary. She also looked like a woman who needed a full-body-contact kiss and he was just the relative value unit to give it to her.

      “So, what happens if the NICU is full and the perinatologist sends over a high-risk pregnancy patient who delivers a twenty-four-week baby? How do I get a nurse?”

      “The percentages are set at safe staffing levels. But in an extreme case, you contact the on-call nurse. If there’s a need for more help, you try to catch someone else at home and ask them to come in.”

      “And what if we can’t find someone?”

      “What if a brontosaurus walks in with two eggs and one of them cracks?” She folded her hands on the desk.

      He knew what she was getting at, but this spirited back and forth was the most fun he’d had since the last time they’d talked.

      “And your point is?” he asked, settling into the chair in front of her desk for a full-on view of her.

      “You can’t staff for ‘what if.’ In a perfect world, yes. But we go by averages, then adjust to the reality we’re dealing with.”

      “When I go in to see Ryan, am I going to get a rewind and play of this whole conversation?” It had been much more palatable coming from her, he realized.

      “Probably.”

      “Well, I’m already here.” And so was she. He had the testosterone rush to prove it. “Might as well go in and try to grind him down.”

      “Good luck.”

      Speaking of luck … It was time to stop talking shop and try again to grind her down. Or at least find out what her beef was with him.

      “I’m having a NICU meeting today at five o’clock. Nurses, respiratory therapy. You should come. Everyone who works in the unit is invited.”

      “I don’t work there.” Pink crept into her cheeks. “At least not on the babies.”

      “Consider this part of your administrative internship. Good experience to come and hear the opposing point of view.”

      “As tempting as that is …”

      That was a no without saying no. And he knew she really didn’t need to be there. Personnel and administration were like Democrats and Republicans. They’d never see eye to eye. He just wanted the opportunity to spend a little time with her.

      “I’d really like to see you.” He wasn’t talking about the meeting, and the way her eyes narrowed told him she knew it. “But this is me not using your phone number.”

      “Look, Nathan, I’m really flattered that you asked.