Diagnosis: Love

Chapter 2: First day and I said what?

Jenny

First days of anything are not fun for me.

I've always been like this. I threw up every first day of classes all during high school and college. By nature, I'm not an anxious person, but new situations and people make my nerves jump.

So, although I'm really excited about this new job and can't wait to get started, on the morning I'm scheduled to go in for the first time, I'm kind to my stomach and stick to peppermint tea for breakfast. The last thing I need is to toss my cookies on the drive over or worse, all over the desk of the HR rep.

I'm ready to leave a full hour ahead of my scheduled appointment time. The new oncology wing at St. Agnes doesn't open for another month, but the hospital's human resource department asked me to come down early, as they want the staff to be fully integrated in the set-up and running of this venture. Today, though, I'm going in for my official face-to-face interview and to sign my contract. My hiring was provisional, based on my resume, my recommendations and a telephone interview. Still, the man who I talked to during that phone call had promised that today is just a formality. I've got the job-and that's a dang good thing, considering I up-ended my life in Virginia and moved my ass down here based on that promise.

When I leave the house, I'm careful to set the alarm just as Nico showed me, and I smile, remembering his teasing yesterday. He kept his promise and texted me a little after midnight to say that he'd made it safely to Atlanta. It was such quick, short text-Made it to Atl-that I'd swallowed a lump of disappointment and started on my usual self-lecture: he's never going to think of you as anything but his honorary little sister, Jen. Snap out of it, woman. Nothing is ever going to happen there. Get over him already.

And then the phone dinged again, and I saw that he'd followed up with another message: Hope you enjoyed your, uh, swim. Did I mention that there are cameras in the house and I have access to the footage?

Before I could begin to panic, thinking that my little melt-down crying jag after he'd left had been captured on film, he'd added, Just kidding. No cameras.

In my relief, I'd responded only by saying, Ha ha ha. You still think you're so funny. Safe travels, N.

It wasn't exactly the sort of bantering, flirty exchange that would possibly take our relationship to the next level, but at least I hadn't sounded desperate or needy. I'd just kept to the same brother-sister vibe we always have. The one I'm dying to change . . .

With a sigh and a little shake, I get out of the house and lock the door behind me, determined to forget about my hopeless crush and concentrate on the job at hand . . . which is getting to the hospital so that I have a job.

The drive from Nico's house-my house, I remind myself-isn't long, but since the property is kind of on the outskirts of town, I've left plenty of time just in case I get turned around or there's traffic or something. But as I cruise the route my navigation has laid out, I realize I've been way over-cautious. I was aware that Harper Springs is a small town, but I didn't know until now just how small. There're about three blocks of a main street, where I pass a hardware store, a diner, a hair dresser and a barber shop, along with assorted other offices. And that's it when it comes to commerce, apparently. Not exactly a bustling metropolis.

I make a turn, and there's the hospital, right in front of me. I'd seen pictures on-line, but in person, it's . . . not exactly impressive. St. Agnes looks like a walk-in clinic compared to the places where I've worked-big city medical centers and massive hospital campuses. I drive around to the back, following what are obviously brand-new signs to the soon-to-open wing-and I have to admit that now I am impressed. Whoever designed the addition somehow made the new part flow seamlessly from the original structure, so that even though it's clearly more modern, nothing looks out of place.

I find a spot to park my car, and with a deep breath, I head inside. Finding the HR office isn't rocket science, and I'm there in the miniscule waiting area a full forty minutes ahead of my appointment.

There's no one ahead of me, though, so I'm not totally surprised when, after I've waited only ten minutes or so, a tall woman with steel gray hair summons me to her desk.

"Maybelle Cosgraves." She offers me her hand and points me to an empty chair. "Sit down, Ms. Ward. Let's go over this paperwork." Her lips are pinched together, and she doesn't exactly exude warmth and friendliness.

I feel like I'm twelve years old, terrified in the principal's office. Mrs. Cosgraves-a thin, no-nonsense gold band is on her left hand-flips through papers on her desk blotter, her eyes behind rimless glasses moving over the words with alacrity.

She reads out highlights from my education and previous job experience, and I'm not certain if she expects me to comment or confirm. I stay quiet until she finally looks up at me again.

"Ms. Ward." Her tone is chilly, and I'm wondering what the hell I could have done to offend someone I've never met. "I'm not sure you're aware of this, but this oncology wing is a very special, very important project-both to the hospital and to those of us who have been involved in its creation. I've been working with Dr. Hudson from the beginning, and he has very specific requirements for those who will work in this department."

I nod. "I understand that. I mean, it's got to be-"

Mrs. Cosgraves goes on as if I hadn't spoken. "Those are both professional and personal requirements. Dr. Hudson is looking for highly qualified candidates to staff the wing. And we will not have the sort of environment one sees on those ridiculous television dramas. We won't have doctors sneaking into break rooms with nurses for clandestine activities." Her lips thin out even more. "And we will not hire anyone based on a questionable recommendation."

I'm totally at a loss here, my mind scrambling to try to figure out where all of this is coming from. I have a spotless record in my past jobs. I didn't ever indulge in clandestine activities at work. I never had the time! But I don't have a chance to say that, because she's plowing ahead, this time tapping on a sheet of paper that I can't read upside down.

"I'm sorry to inform you that no one is going to, ah, 'sleep'-" Her voice leaves no doubt as to the implied air quotes around that word. "-her way to a job here. We have too many qualified candidates to allow that-and frankly, I will not approve the hiring of anyone who thinks she can do that. The oncology wing is too important to allow it."

"Mrs. Cosgraves." I finally manage to speak through my shock. "I don't know what you've heard-but clearly there's been some kind of misunderstanding. I never have and never would do what you're implying." My hand is shaking as I stretch out my fingers. "What are you talking about? What's on that page?"

The woman's eyes shrink to slits. "It's your recommendation from one Mr. Ken Skaggs. It arrived in our office after your telephone interview. If I had seen it before then, I never would have approved your provisional hiring."

I shake my head. "I've never even heard of a Ken Skaggs. Who is he? And what does he have to do with me or anyone sleeping her way into a job?"

Mrs. Cosgraves huffs out a breath. "Ken Skaggs, as if you didn't know, is a member of the hospital's board of directors-and he's got an unsavory reputation for his . . . proclivities." She lifts the offending paper. "And his recommendation on your behalf is glowing. Why would he write something like this if he didn't know you?" Her emphasis on the word know makes it clear that she's talking about more than professional acquaintance.

But it's now all becoming clear to me. Nico, in his efforts to help me get the job, asked someone he knew through work to recommend me-someone who he'd said would have influence at the hospital. Of course, Nico wouldn't have known that this favor would backfire so magnificently.

"Mrs. Cosgraves." I draw myself up to sit straight. "I see what happened. A friend of mine asked someone he knew casually through his job to write me a letter of recommendation. I'm sure he had no idea about Mr. Skaggs' reputation. I promise you, I haven't ever met the man himself. I wouldn't know him if I passed him on the street." I throw up my hands. "I mean, I only got here yesterday. I've never been in this part of Florida before now. How on earth would I have managed to have s*x with this guy when we weren't even in the same zip code?"

She leans back a little, and some of the tension eases from her expression. Still, she's wary. "I did wonder about that, but Ken Skaggs travels quite a bit. It wouldn't have been impossible that he met you along the way and traded one favor for another." She adjusts the blotter on her desk. "You're young, and you're single. Attractive, unattached female doctors and nurses can be dangerous in a hospital environment. I know we're not supposed to discriminate based on marital status or gender, but this project is too important to risk hiring the wrong people."

For as long as I live, I won't ever understand what prompted the words that tumbled out of my lips next. I can only blame my desperation to hold onto the job I assumed was mine already.

"But I'm not single." I cringe inwardly even as I hear myself speaking. "I've got a serious boyfriend. I'm in a relationship." And in case that isn't enough both to convince the battle-axe in front of me and to damn myself for lying, I add, "A committed relationship. We're practically engaged."

Now, Mrs. Cosgraves does look happier. The last remnants of suspicious fall away, and she brightens. "You are? You do?"

"Oh, yeah." I nod vigorously even as I spin more of my tall tale. "We've been talking about marriage, but then I got this job offer, so we didn't want to do anything until he can figure out his work situation. But I'm sure once he's down here with me, it'll be a done deal." I wave my left hand, as though it's already sporting a diamond.

"Well." Mrs. Cosgraves beams. "That's a relief, I won't lie." She picks up the recommendation from Ken Skaggs by one corner, as if it might infect her by its odiousness. "And you promise you didn't have anything to do with Skaggs?"

I hold up my right hand. "As God is my witness."

"Hmmm. I tend to believe you now, but how he wrote it certainly seemed as though he was intimately acquainted with you."

Something occurs to me. I wonder if Nico wrote the recommendation and then gave it to Ken Skaggs to send under his name. If that's the case, then I'd love to read what's on that page. But before I can make the request, Mrs. Cosgraves shakes her head.

"Until and unless I see something else to make me change my mind, I'll take your word, Ms. Ward." She slides the paper into a shredder alongside her desk, and I watch as it's destroyed. I stifle a sigh of disappointment and console myself by musing that it's probably for the best. I don't need anything else to help me fan the flames of my crush.

"I'll get the contract for you to sign, and then we'll go on a tour of the new wing." Mrs. Cosgraves stands and turns to a filing cabinet. She pauses as she slides out a drawer, glancing at me over her shoulder. "By the way, what did you say your boyfriend's name is?"

This part, I can blame on a pure brain misfire and the fact that he's been so much on my mind over last day. Or maybe it's a manifestation of extreme wishful thinking. Whatever. It happens.

"Nico." I smile as I say his name. "Nico Angelos."'