Dirty Doctor

“Sure,” I made a mental note to write neater over the next few months. “I’ll go over it with you in about ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and walked over to the new desk, her bright red heels clicking across my marble floors and it took everything in me to act like a complete professional and not utter a word about how sexy she was. This was only my second time being around her and she’d managed to make me ten times more aroused than when I’d first seen her at the end of her tour. I was already ten times more drawn to her than any other woman I’d ever met.

Thankfully, she was a complete professional for the rest of the day, and that made it somewhat easier for me to follow suit. I patiently answered all of her well-researched questions, let her sit in a therapy session with a client who didn’t mind, and even offered to treat her to a light dinner at the end of the day.

She declined.

So, I offered to do the same thing on her second day.

She declined again. Then she declined for the next four working days in a row, so I didn’t go for a fifth.

Still, as the first days of her residency played out, I realized just how much I actually needed the additional help, just how beneficial having someone else at my side was. (Although, I would never admit this to the other doctors. Their twelve to one vote was still bullshit.)

It didn’t hit me until the second week of the residency, that something about Natalie was completely off. At least, to me.

Even though I made sure to keep my incessant thoughts of bending her over my chaise or taking her against my window at the back of my mind, anytime I attempted to make basic small talk with her, she changed the subject. As if she was incapable of even addressing the weather or accepting my suggestion of trying NewYorkMinute if she wanted to meet new people outside of the practice. If I happened to walk into the break lounge when she was sitting alone, she would simply smile at me, get up, and immediately leave.

She went out of her way to make sure that we were never alone together, unless we were in my office, and I honestly wanted to pull her to the side and tell her to relax. Sexy as hell or not, I doubted I would ever sleep with someone I worked with. I’d long considered that to be out of the question, and she wouldn’t be an exception.

I allowed another full week to go by while witnessing her strange behavior and vowed to ask her what was wrong the following Monday when she came in.

“Dr. Ashton!” Emily called me from the reception desk long after Natalie left for the weekend. “Dr. Ashton!”

I groaned and headed out to the main desk. “Yes? Are the office phones not working anymore?”

“They are, but three insurance representatives have me on hold via those lines right now, so I had no choice.” She pointed to her desk phone. “Anyway, Natalie just called me from a payphone, panicking. She thinks she left her cell-phone in your office. Can you call it and check for me?”

“Sure.” I started to head back toward my office, but I stopped and turned around. “I don’t have her cell phone number.”

“Ah, right.” She scribbled it down on a yellow post-it, just as an insurer returned to the call.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed the number, walking to my office. The second I stepped inside, I heard it vibrating and spotted it hiding beneath a stack of folders.

Grabbing it, I headed back toward Emily, but I glanced down at her screen and everything stopped. Everything in me was certain that this had to be some type of joke.

The words “D-DOCTOR calling ... Answer? Decline?” were front and center, and the second the call ended, I called her phone again to be sure I was seeing this shit correctly.

Sure enough, her screen lit up again with “D-DOCTOR” as the second call came through.

Needing further proof, I went to her call log and deleted my last two calls so she’d never know I was on to her. Then, against my better judgment, I sifted through her apps, just to confirm the things that were running through my mind.

I pressed the familiar, mini Brooklyn Bridge cartoon icon that led straight into the NewYorkMinute dating app, and the second it opened, the words, “Welcome back, JERSEYGIRL7!” popped up onto her screen.

What the fuck?! She’s been here? All this goddamn time ...

“Dr. Ashton!” Emily called from the reception desk again. “I’ve still got Natalie on hold at the payphone out here! Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes.” I stared at her phone and logged out of the app. “I found exactly what I was looking for ...”

THE RESIDENT

New York, New York

Natalie

“So, you’re saying that you’re never going to tell him it was you who stood him up?” Shannon sat across from me at our favorite coffee shop. “I really don’t think it would be that big of a deal, and maybe he’d laugh about it. You know?”

“No, I don’t see a point anymore.” I sipped my latte. “We have a really good working relationship right now, and I actually like working in a private practice, way more than I thought I would. It’s been great.”

“Well, good for you. Is he a good boss?”

“Yeah, actually. He’s been nothing but nice and patient with me when it comes to all the charting I have to do, and I really don’t want to mess that up. I can’t afford to mess that up.”

“I guess. So, by working alongside him are you any less attracted to him?”

Hell no ... “Yeah, a little bit.” I lied because I couldn’t bring myself to admit the truth about Dr. Ashton. The man was basically walking, breathing sex and everyone in that office knew it. Hell, even his patients knew it. In fact, I was pretty sure twenty percent of his patients were perfectly normal and only booking his three-hundred-dollar per hour therapy sessions so they could flirt and stare at him. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">