DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW...
Emma Trudeau ran from the employee parking lot across the street to the side entrance of Manhattan West General Hospital, unwinding her emerald-green scarf from around her neck. The forecast had been clear earlier in the day, but the weather changed fast in New York City in late November.
She pressed the badge on a lanyard around her neck to the reader beside the door, then pushed inside when the buzzer sounded. A wave of heat and antiseptic scent rushed over her. Hurrying down the well-lit hall toward the front lobby, the soles of her shoes squeaked on the shiny linoleum. For once, Emma wasn’t working today in the ER. As charge nurse, she’d picked up more than her fair share of overtime lately for the upcoming holiday season. She rounded the corner at the end of the hall into the spacious lobby area, with its atrium on one side and lots of seating beneath it. A large Christmas tree sat in one corner, adorned with homemade stars from one of the local charities. Kids with disabilities or illnesses that made it hard for them to have happy holidays made them, and people or businesses then chose a wish from the tree to fulfill. Every year, Manhattan West picked one special star to go all out on and this year, Emma was in charge of the project to create the magical wish of one child’s dream.
In fact, she was here now—on her day off—to meet with the hospital’s chief of staff and the HR director to fill them in on her plans thus far. And she was late.
After passing through security, Emma broke into a near-jog down the long hall toward the other side of the hospital and made it to the small waiting area in front of HR with thirty seconds to spare. She stopped to catch her breath, but before she got the chance an office door opened and the HR director, Jane Ayashi, stuck her head out. “Hi, Emma. Come on in.”
Emma tucked her scarf into the pocket of her coat, then smoothed a hand over her long, loose box braids before walking into the office to greet Manhattan West’s chief of staff. “Hello, Dr. Franklin.”
“Emma,” he said. The man was sixty-two if he was a day, but looked at least two decades younger, with a distinct resemblance to Denzel Washington and a deep booming voice like James Earl Jones. “I hope this meeting is worth being late to my granddaughter’s Thanksgiving pageant.”
“I believe it is, sir. I wanted to let you know my choice of partner on the wish project before the press conference tonight.” She took off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair, then sat, her stomach twisting slightly with anxiety. “I think this person will bring a lot to the table.”
“Wonderful!” Jane clasped her hands atop her desk. “Are they coming as well?”
Emma’s smile faltered. The person she’d chosen wasn’t coming to the meeting because Emma hadn’t asked them yet. But she would once she got the okay from Jane and Dr. Franklin. She gripped the folder in her lap tighter to hide her shaking fingers. She wasn’t nervous, really. Stress was her constant companion working in the fast-paced ER. No, this was more an adrenaline rush. This project was a big deal for her. If she pulled it off well, it could move her to the top of the list for the next big promotion in her department. Meaning more money, more benefits, and hopefully better hours. Now all she had to do was convince the man she wanted working beside her on this project to do it. A difficult task to be sure, considering his reputation around the hospital as the biggest Grinch around. But he had the resources and the clout to grant even the most extravagant wish a kid could ask for, and that’s all that was important.
“Uh, no. He won’t be here,” Emma said, swallowing hard. “In fact, I believe he’s upstairs now in surgery.”
Dr. Franklin frowned. “Who is it?”
“Dr. Thad Markson.”
For a long moment, both Jane and Dr. Franklin just blinked at her, their expressions blank. She began to worry they’d not heard her, but then Dr. Franklin laughed.
“You’re joking, right? Dr. Thaddeus Markson? The biggest cardiothoracic surgeon in the city? I’m sorry, Nurse Trudeau, but you better pick someone else. There’s no way he’s doing this project.”
Emma squared her shoulders. “I realize Dr. Markson is a very busy man, but...”
“It’s not that,” Dr. Franklin chuckled. “Though good luck finding a slot in his surgery schedule. But outside of work, the man’s an island. A virtual hermit. Not surprising since he has the charm of an angry polar bear. He’ll eat you up and spit you out.”
“I think what John is trying to say,” Jane said, cutting in, “is that there might be more suitable candidates to work with you on this important project, Emma.”
“No. I want Dr. Markson.” Emma lifted her chin. “I’m aware of his reputation as being disagreeable toward the staff, but I’ve done my research and I truly believe he’s the best partner for me on this project.”
“The Fifth Avenue Grinch? Granting Christmas wishes?” Dr. Franklin managed to get out between guffaws. “He hates the holidays with a passion. I can’t imagine his face when you asked him.”
Emma had never shied away from a challenge, and she wasn’t about to start, not with a possible promotion on the line. She lifted her chin. “He doesn’t know yet.”
Dr. Franklin sobered fast. “What?”
“I plan to go upstairs after this meeting to talk to him after he’s done with his surgery and bring him down to the press conference in the lobby.” Emma squared her shoulders. “I just wanted to let you both know first.”
“Nurse Trudeau, I’ve always liked you. You’re smart, hardworking, willing to take on anything we ask of you and do it with a smile,” Dr. Franklin said, sitting forward, his expression serious. “But please choose someone else for your partner on this. Trust me as someone who’s tried to work with him before. Dr. Markson will only make your life a living hell if you get him involved. He’s a brilliant surgeon, but he’s awful outside the OR. For a project like this one, you need someone with heart and soul, and there are people who’d deny he has either. I only tolerate him because we need his expertise and the privately funded clients he brings into our teaching hospital.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Dr. Franklin. I do. But I’m used to dealing with difficult people. Most patients in the ER come to see us at the worst moment of their lives.” Emma stood firm in her conviction that Dr. Thad Markson was the right man for her project. He just needed a little nudge in the right direction, a dose of sunshine to light his way. And Emma was nothing if not an optimist. “He’ll be my partner. Don’t worry. Just give me time.”
“The wish project must be completed on Christmas Eve,” Jane reminded her. “That’s only a month away.”
“I know. And that’s why I want Dr. Markson working with me on this. We need the wealthy donors and connections he can add to this project to make whatever wish our sick child wants granted a reality in such a short time.”
Several beats stretched out in silence, until finally, Dr. Franklin shook his head. “You are persistent, aren’t you, Nurse Trudeau? I still think it’s risky, if not impossible, but maybe he’ll say yes just to get you out of his hair.”
Now it was Emma’s turn to laugh. “Maybe. Just call me Cindy Lou Who.”
Jane grinned. “Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you, Emma. You worked twice as hard for half the pay as the rest of the nursing student intern friends to earn your first job on the swing shift in the ER. Once you have a goal in mind, Emma, you don’t stop until you achieve it.”
“Never.”
The two women exchanged a glance. Emma was dogged, true. She’d had to be. Raising her younger sister alone since the age of eighteen made her that way. Her strength had come at a price. Profound loss.
Besides, she’d worked far too hard for far too long to get where she was now and no way would one entitled, cranky hermit of a surgeon knock her off her game. “So, does that mean I can head upstairs to wait for Dr. Markson?”
Dr. Franklin and Jane looked at each other, then back to Emma. Dr. Franklin gave a curt nod. “Go. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. We’ll see you at the press conference in half an hour.”
Dr. Thaddeus Markson scowled up at the speaker in the elevator where incessant singers went on and on about halls and holly and fa-la-la-la-la—whatever the hell that meant—then jammed the button for his floor again, like that would make the thing move faster.
Christmas was nothing but an excuse to overspend, overindulge and generally overcompensate for all the other days of the year when you were grossly underwhelming. He hated it, more than any other day of the year. Thad would much rather be spectacular in the other 364 calendar boxes and ignore the twenty-fifth and all its overblown pageantry entirely. Which hopefully he’d be able to do just fine because he planned to work all that day, as usual.
Speaking of work, he was here at Manhattan West to perform a delicate surgery only he could do. As the city’s top cardiothoracic surgeon, he was used to getting called in when lives were on the line.
Finally, the bell dinged and the doors swished open and Thad stepped out onto the surgical floor.
“What have we got?” he asked Dr. Imrani, the surgeon who’d met him there and now walked with him to the staff locker room. The Iranian man had recently moved to Manhattan from the UK specifically to be part of the innovative cardiovascular team at Manhattan West. “We’re sure it’s an aortic dissection?” Aortic dissections were rare and involved a tear in the inner layer of the body’s main artery, the aorta. Without surgical intervention, the artery could rupture completely, and the patient would bleed to death internally. It was a long, delicate procedure that required steady hands and impeccable skills, both of which Thad possessed in abundance.
“Yes.” Dr. Imrani kept pace with Thad as they headed through a set of automatic double doors, and he gave Thad the rundown from the other side of the lockers while Thad changed out of his tailor-made suit and tugged on standard-issue blue cotton scrubs instead. “Patient is a sixty-one-year-old previously healthy male who presented to the emergency department complaining of chest discomfort and shortness of breath.”
Once he’d changed, Thad checked the app on his phone that monitored his blood sugar through a sensor Thad wore on his skin and was connected to the insulin pump he wore for long surgeries such as this one, which could last up to eight hours. As a type 1 diabetic, he’d spent years making sure his condition in no way impeded his abilities as a surgeon, and today was no different. He’d eaten right before he’d gotten called in for this procedure, so he should be good to go for a while.
“Any history of blunt force trauma?” Thad asked as he put his phone away, then closed the locker and joined the other doctor to go into a room with a long metal sink against one wall. He stepped on the lever bar below to start the water and washed his hands and forearms with surgical-grade antibacterial soap and hot water. “Car accident?”
“No.” The trauma surgeon chuckled. “Believe it or not, the patient was skiing and got hit in the chest by a snowboarder on the side of a mountain.” At Thad’s blank look, he fidgeted. “’Tis the season and all.”
He grunted, scowling as he started soaping up his left hand and lower arm. Another reason to dislike the holiday, apparently. Death by disaster. “What else?”
The trauma surgeon continued. “After the injury, patient got up without incident, developing pain along the left sternum about thirty minutes later, which he said quickly resolved. He then drove the approximate two to three hours home. Patient stated later that afternoon, he complained to his wife of a ‘hollow sensation’ in his chest that worsened with deep inhalation, and some mild shortness of breath with exertion. He presented this afternoon at the urging of his wife. On initial evaluation, he denied any nausea, vomiting, diaphoresis, back pain or fever, and was comfortable at rest. No neurologic complaints. He did note a contusion of his left lower leg from a fall on ice one week prior. No past medical history, no medications, nonsmoker, exercises regularly, and no family history of cardiac or connective tissue disease.” The other doctor scrolled through more notes on his tablet as Thad finished washing. “In triage, blood pressure was one hundred over eighty, pulse seventy, respiratory rate twenty. O-stats one hundred percent on room air, and temp ninety-nine point seven. Heart sounds normal on exam with no murmurs, lungs clear bilaterally, and no tenderness to palpation of the sternum or ribs or external signs of trauma. Abdomen non-tender. A small hematoma noted on the left calf. Neurologic examination grossly normal.”
Thad lifted his foot to shut off the water in the sink, then shook off the excess moisture from his hands. “And the EKG?”
“Normal sinus rhythm with minimal nonspecific T-wave abnormalities. No evidence of pneumothorax, pulmonary contusion, rib fractures or widened mediastinum on chest X-ray.”
Thad gave a curt nod. Chest X-rays were not reliable in diagnosing aortic trauma. “And what did the CTA show?”
“Bovine-type aortic arch with both carotid arteries arising from the brachiocephalic artery, and a type-A aortic dissection extending from the aortic root to beyond the bilateral renal arteries.” Which basically just meant two arteries shared the same starting point, like two branches off the same trunk, versus two separate trees. Not uncommon really, especially with patients of African descent, as was the current patient. The tear in the artery had occurred right at the point where the kidneys received their blood supply. Not good at all.
He backed out yet another door, arms held up in front of him, into the operating theater. A surgical tech suited him in a sterile gown, gloves and mask before Thad moved to the table where their patient was already under anesthesia and prepped for him to start.
Long procedures like this one took a team to complete, and Thad glanced at the men and women around the table as he took a scalpel from the surgical nurse. Because of the location of the injury, they would first need to perform an open bypass on the patient to ensure that Thad had a bloodless field in which to graft the damaged aorta. The surgical team included not only Thad but a second cardiac surgeon, interventional cardiologists, a thoracic surgeon, and vascular and interventional radiologists. All of them had roles to play as the procedure progressed.
With a curt nod, Thad stepped forward. “Let’s get started.”
Five hours in, he’d finally sewn a Dacron aortic graft into place on the man’s aorta and was currently reattaching the important blood vessels to it as the patient’s heart beat against the back of Thad’s right hand where it was held in a sling, safely out of the way. The patient had also been placed into hypothermic circulatory arrest, which was a fancy way of saying they’d lowered the man’s body temperature to slow the cellular activity and allow them to stop the blood flow temporarily, as needed. The constant low white noise of the heart-lung bypass machine keeping the patient alive helped Thad stay focused and alert as he raced against the clock.
He’d yet to lose a patient and wasn’t about to start now.
By the time they finally closed the patient up, the man’s heart was beating on its own again and his lungs worked fine. They’d keep him under general anesthesia for another four to six hours, then move him to the ICU for a day or two. If there were no complications, he’d spend seven to ten days at Manhattan West before going home.
Thad scrubbed down again, then returned to the locker room to change. It had been a long night, and a glance at his Omega watch showed it was well into the morning hours now. All he wanted was a hot shower and a long sleep. But what he found, waiting in front of his locker, was a smiling woman wearing a bright green sweater with a reindeer on the front, looking like she’d stepped off the front of a greeting card. For a second, Thad wondered if he’d slipped into some kind of glycemic hallucination without knowing it.
“Dr. Markson,” she said, cheerful as one of Santa’s elves, setting Thad’s teeth on edge. She seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t place from where and didn’t want to bother at that point. It had been a grueling day and he just wanted to go home.
“How did you get in here?” he said, moving past her to his locker. “Only hospital staff are allowed in this area. I could have you arrested for trespassing.”
Seemingly undeterred by his churlishness, she continued to smile. “I work here, Dr. Markson. Emma Trudeau.” She held out a hand to him, which he promptly ignored. “I’m a nurse in the emergency department here at Manhattan West. We’ve worked a couple of cases together in the ER.”
Well, that explained the familiarity then. Thad turned away to begin pulling out his clothes. “What do you want?”
Most people, when confronted with his brusque manner, either scurried away or simply gave up. It both impressed and irritated him that this petite woman did neither. He did not have the time or patience for this tonight. Normally, Thad would never disrobe in front of a stranger, but given she seemed to have no qualms about invading his personal boundaries, he gave little regard to hers and pulled off his scrub shirt, leaving him bare-chested.
“I...” She stopped when his shirt came off, her bright smile fading a little as her cheeks heated. Then she looked away fast and cleared her throat, her perky tone back in place. “I’ve been put in charge of the hospital’s holiday charity event this year, our Wish Star Program.”
“My condolences.”
His sarcasm bounced off her like sunlight off an icicle and she continued unfazed. “As part of my preplanning I was tasked with finding a partner to help me with the event. Someone whose qualities would complement my own and help to make this year’s Wish Star Program the best one ever.”
Thad paused in the middle of buttoning his dress shirt to stare at her, one brow raised. He didn’t like where this was headed one bit. “And that has anything to do with me how?”
“I’ve chosen you to be my partner.” She beamed at him like that was some kind of honor. In other circumstances, Thad might have found her attractive, might have said her smile was nice. Very nice. Now it was one more nuisance he didn’t need.
“No.” He undid the tie at the waist of his scrub pants. “And unless you’d like a full strip show, I suggest you turn around.”
Her wide dark eyes flickered down to his lower half then back up before she swiftly pivoted away, her cheeks pink again. Thad couldn’t say the last time he’d met a woman who blushed. Would’ve been endearing if this whole situation wasn’t so annoying. The pump at his lower back beeped a notification, signaling he needed to eat soon. He quickly pulled on his suit pants and tucked in his shirt before zipping up and buckling his Italian leather belt. He did not have time for this nonsense.
“No?” she asked, the word emerging as more of a squeak from where she faced away from him.
“No,” Thad repeated as he sat down to put on his shoes. With her turned away, he had a chance to assess her. Slim, with a slight curviness to her hips and behind. Long dark hair, braided neatly, hanging down her back. For a second he wondered if those braids felt as soft as they looked before he shoved that silliness aside. He was exhausted and hungry, that’s all. “I have neither the time nor the interest to participate in your little project, Nurse...”
“Trudeau,” she said, a tad firmer this time. “Emma Trudeau.”
Thad took a deep breath, then tugged on his suit coat and grabbed his phone before closing his locker and tossing his dirty scrubs into a biohazard laundry bin nearby before heading for the exit. She probably wanted money. That seemed to be the most common “quality” people saw in him. “I’ll write you a check. How much?”
“Excuse me?” she said, following him.
“If it’s over a hundred thousand, it will take longer because I’ll have to go through my accountants to liquidate some assets.” Thad walked out into the brightly lit hall and toward the elevators, not slowing down for her at all. “If it’s under that amount, I’ll have someone drop off a check tomorrow. Who should I make it out to? The hospital or the charity?”
“I don’t want your money, Dr. Markson,” Nurse Trudeau said, waiting with him at the elevators. She was harder to shake than a two-ton snow globe. Her voice held an edge of steel now, her posture stiffer. “I want your help with this project. The planning, the preparing, the execution.”
Thad sighed, staring at the metal doors in front of him. “And I’ve told you what I can do.”
“No, you haven’t.” She stepped a little closer, invading his personal space, a hint of her spicy-sweet scent surrounding him. “Dr. Markson, I realize this might be a foreign concept to a man such as yourself, but sometimes actual physical participation is a good thing.”
Thad scowled. “Physical participation?”
“Being present. Being involved. That’s what I mean. Getting your hands dirty.”
The elevator dinged and Thad hurried onboard, hoping to get away from his new, bothersome shadow, but no such luck. The woman followed him onto the elevator, then shut the doors on them, effectively locking him inside with her. “I need your help. I’ve already discussed it with the HR director and the chief of staff in a meeting earlier and they agree it would be good for you to participate. You have connections within the city to get this done quickly, and that’s what I need. The wish is due on Christmas Eve, so only a month away. That’s not long to help a child in need.”
Again with Christmas. Why was it haunting him this year? He stared at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the compartment across from him. Connections. She wanted his connections. Of course she did. Thad had learned from a young age that wealth meant power, and power brought out the worst in people. Everyone wanted something from him, even if it was just to disappear off the face of the earth, like his own father had. Well, Thad was through granting favors.
“A check. That’s the extent of my offer to you, Nurse Trudeau. Take it or leave it. I have time for nothing else.”
They arrived at the lobby and the doors opened. Thad walked out with Nurse Trudeau on his heels and headed toward the side exit, past the atrium. As he passed the Christmas tree, he found himself herded toward a small crowd gathered there, with lights blazing and cameras whirring.
“What the—?” He tried to pull free of Nurse Trudeau’s grip on his arm but found her harder to evade than he’d first guessed. “Unhand me!”
She let him go then, her smile back in place as they faced Dr. John Franklin and Jane Ayashi from HR.
“I’d like to file a formal complaint against this woman.” He pointed at Nurse Trudeau. “She’s been accosting me since I left the OR about some charity thing I want nothing to do with.”
“Later,” John said, nudging Thad to turn around and face the crowd. A lectern had been set up in front of them. “After the press conference.”
“Press conference?” Thad’s voice grew louder than the blood pounding in his ears. He felt out of control at that moment and hated it. “I’m not doing any press conference. I’ve not agreed to anything. My time is too valuable to waste on toy shopping or pizza parties.” He glared over at Nurse Trudeau, who now stood shoulder to shoulder with him as they formed a line behind the lectern. “And you can forget about the check now, too.”
“Never wanted it in the first place,” she shot back, her gaze straight ahead, her smile firm. “Help, Dr. Markson. You’re going to help me, and help a sick child, whether you like it or not. It’ll be good for you.”
“How dare you—” Thad blustered, only to be cut off by Dr. Franklin stepping up to the lectern.
“Thank you all for coming,” Dr. Franklin said, his deep voice echoing through the atrium like a herald of angels on high. “Our two Manhattan representatives, Nurse Emma Trudeau and Dr. Thaddeus Markson, are partnering this year to make one lucky child’s holiday wish come true on behalf of Manhattan West General Hospital. Nurse Trudeau, if you’d like to select a wish star...”
All eyes turned to the woman beside Thad, and she swallowed hard. Was she suddenly nervous? Good. Thad hoped she was after putting him through all this. He lived like a hermit for a reason and that was to avoid situations exactly like this one. How dare she impose herself like this on him? Who did she think she was?
He watched as she stepped up to the massive tree in the atrium. The thing had to be at least thirty feet high to reach the top. And the lower third was covered with stars handmade by kids in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit here at Manhattan West. All colors and sizes and shapes of wrapping paper and glitter-covered cardboard. Thad’s chest constricted even more, this time from painful memories of creating a star like this himself when he’d been little. Not that he’d needed charity, but his caregivers had insisted he make one anyway...
In an instant he was back in that cold, lonely hospital room, staring out the window at the snow falling and wishing he was anywhere else but there...
Applause broke out as Nurse Trudeau selected a star, jarring Thad back to the present.
She walked over to Dr. Franklin at the lectern.
“Which child’s is it?” one of the reporters asked. “What did they wish for?”
Nurse Trudeau stepped up to the microphone. “This year’s Wish Star recipient is Ricky Lynch,” she said. “He’s nine and he’s got a brain tumor.” She blinked down at the star in her hands. From where Thad stood he could see the painstakingly neatly printed bold block letters. “He wants a carnival, with free candy and games and a carousel, for all the kids in the Manhattan West Pediatric Intensive Care Unit to ride.”
The words slowly penetrated the fog of adrenaline in Thad’s brain. Oh God. A carnival?
He’d wished for something similar on his star all those years ago. A tiny pinch pricked from the center of Thad’s chest, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
No. No, no, no.
He refused to allow his past to rule over him again. He’d spent far too long locking it away where it belonged. And certainly not for some woman who’d bamboozled him into this whole situation in the first place.
Not happening.
Cameras clicked and reporters shouted more questions at them, but Thad didn’t care about any of it. He only cared about getting out of there and away from all of this horrible mess and even more so away from the woman who was now standing beside him again, smiling and holding his arm like he was a willing participant in all this. Worst of all, it felt nice, her touching him. Oddly comforting. As if he wasn’t alone anymore, as he’d been alone so long. And that’s when he knew he needed to leave. Now.
With more force than was probably necessary, Thad yanked free and walked away from the crowd, ignoring the calls of his name behind him. All he wanted was to get back to the safety of his town house, get away from these people, get locked away in his study and never come out again. He was Thad Markson, of the New York Marksons, and he did not have time to deal with organizing a charity event or making a kid’s wish come true or the most annoyingly attractive woman he’d met in years. Maybe ever.
“Dr. Markson,” Nurse Trudeau called after him, but he was already out the door.
Bah humbug indeed.