Page 1 of Getting Off

Today was one of those days at the hospital. A day that kept Dr. Brooklyn Foster running, too busy to slow down and eat more than a quick protein and greens shake and drink a cup of coffee before she rushed back into it.

She hurried through the hospital corridors between the elevator from the neurology clinic and the emergency room on the ground floor.

She’d been asked to consult on a patient in the ER.

Luckily, the coffee was kicking in. At this point in the day, her eyelids felt as though they were made of sandpaper.

But being a doctor meant helping people even when you were on the brink of exhaustion.

Besides, neurology was her passion, and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

“Excuse me, Dr. Foster?”

Brooklyn put on the brakes and managed to avoid running down the hospital’s chief of staff, Dr. Harvey Gibson. The thin, gray-haired chief of staff was watching her with an intensity she always found unsettling. Worse, Dr. Gibson was standing next to someone she immediately recognized.

Lucas Fox.

Mr. Lucas Fox had far too many good things going for him.

Not only was he excessively rich, but he looked like leading-man material, which she found unnecessarily distracting.

It didn’t help that he was dressed in a custom-tailored Italian suit, and she’d always liked how men looked in suits.

Lucas was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and worst of all, artfully tousled black hair and the kind of dark eyes that melted you from the inside out.

Brooklyn plastered a smile on her face. “Hello, Dr. Gibson. Mr. Fox, it’s good to see you again. Sorry to be rushing through the halls, but I’m on my way to the ER to evaluate a patient—”

“You have uncanny timing,” Dr. Gibson said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I was just speaking with Mr. Fox about your proposal for the new head trauma center here at North Las Vegas Medical Center.”

It was clear the chief of staff intended for her to stop and chat, leaving her patient to wait. She kept her face neutral, careful to show no impatience.

It was no secret to Brooklyn that Dr. Gibson wasn’t her biggest fan. He’d referred to her as the “Funless Ice Queen” behind her back on more than one occasion. As if she needed to apologize for her drive to be the best. It was all the more reason to do her utmost to kill him with kindness.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Brooklyn said, giving Lucas Fox a smile that felt a bit plastic on her face.

“An advanced head trauma center with access to the latest diagnostic equipment and cutting-edge treatments would be a real boon for the community, both in Las Vegas and for the entire state. We could be the premier center in Nevada for treatment, research, and prevention of traumatic brain injuries from vehicle accidents, sports-related concussions, and so on.”

Lucas Fox smiled back at her. Unlike hers, it was a charming smile. And unlike Dr. Gibson, this smile actually warmed those brown eyes. So much so, that her heart began beating faster.

No, no. That was simply an after-effect of rushing down the hallway. She really needed to get back in the gym, but she’d been so busy with work lately…

“You sound very dedicated, Dr. Foster,” Lucas said in a baritone as dark and rich as her morning coffee.

Lucas Fox was a huge philanthropist. He regularly donated money to charities and organizations all over Las Vegas.

The man was on everyone’s invitation list, frequently showed up in the media, and even had politicians courting his favor.

He was a favorite at parties and fundraising events, especially with women.

They were all trying to catch Las Vegas’s most eligible bachelor.

Not that she had researched him and his history while searching for funding for her own department’s needs. Nope. Not at all. But she certainly couldn’t judge anyone trying to get their hooks into this man.

The chief of staff was watching her like a hawk as if waiting for her to beg Lucas to whip out his checkbook. When she only stood there awkwardly, Dr. Gibson chuckled and put a hand on Lucas Fox’s elbow.

“Dr. Foster is a candidate to run the new center,” Dr. Gibson said.

“She is all-business, highly passionate about her specialty, and she broke the mold when it comes to female physicians here at North Las Vegas Medical Center. Of course, the neurologist who is chosen to head up this new trauma unit will not only need to be brilliant in his or her field but also a stellar liaison with the Las Vegas community.”

Lucas Fox’s smile lost most of its warmth and became a bit wry, as though he knew very well what Dr. Gibson was driving at. Money. The hospital needed money for the new center, and Fox had it.

Brooklyn struggled to come up with something to say.

She never knew what to make of Lucas Fox.

He made her uncomfortable, mostly because he was everything a wealthy playboy should be.

Handsome, rich, adored by all, and definitely not dumb as a box of rocks.

If she were honest, the man was so sexy that he sent Brooklyn’s blood pressure and heart rate skyrocketing into the red zone.

Which only made her feel ten times more awkward.

And made her dislike him even more.

The problem was simple. She always felt ridiculous trying to liaise, as Dr. Gibson called it.

She probably should’ve been a veterinarian.

But her twin brother had suffered a traumatic brain injury, so it was no mystery why she’d gone into medicine in general and neurology in particular.

Brooklyn had discovered at an early age just how important it was to not only understand head trauma but to share that knowledge and educate the world.

To her, that was always more important than fundraising.

The money side of things had always been a necessary evil.

“You were speaking earlier about a neurologist over in Tahoe named Beaumont,” Lucas Fox prompted Gibson before glancing at Brooklyn and giving her another charming smile.

Too charming. He must practice them in front of the mirror.

“But it seems like Dr. Foster would be a logical choice for the position. After all, she’s already established here at the hospital. ”

Brooklyn had to grudgingly give the guy points. He’d just spoken up for her despite the fact that she couldn’t even smile at him without feeling like a robot pretending to be human.

“Oh, but Dr. Beaumont is a second-generation neurologist,” Gibson quickly asserted. “Dr. Beaumont has excellent political and business connections as well. I know I speak highly of him, but it’s well-deserved. His father and I were at medical school together. Neurology is in Dr. Beaumont’s blood.”

Gibson literally steered Fox away from Brooklyn as though he’d forgotten she was standing there talking with them. Lucas Fox held her gaze and nodded to her as he passed by, and Brooklyn felt ridiculous and annoyed.

She really didn’t appreciate Dr. Gibson dragging her into his glad-handing and then ditching her, all while talking up her competition.

Still, she should’ve said something more intelligent and flashy and charming to Lucas Fox.

No doubt she’d come across exactly like the funless ice queen Gibson accused her of being.

After taking a deep breath, Brooklyn resumed her trek for the ER.

It was time to focus on the job again and forget about Dr. Gibson and really forget about Lucas Fox.

So what if she’d once again felt like the nerdy science girl she’d been all through school?

She had work to do, and patients who needed her.

Lucas Fox didn’t matter.

* * *

Dylan Pierce hated hospitals. He had zero patience for weakness in himself. When he fell down, he picked himself up off the ground, dusted his ass off, and tried again.

So being in the ER right now? Yeah, it was a real pain in his ass, even though the real ache was in his head.

Unfortunately for him, the rules at the Las Vegas Off-Road Racing Club required a medical professional to sign off on an exam form when you wrecked a vehicle.

Not just your average off-road wreck either.

The bad ones that ended with something broken and a trip to the ER for a brace or a cast or something dramatic.

That was why Dylan found himself in the little curtained cubicle in the North Las Vegas Medical Center ER. Sure, he’d hurt his wrist a little and maybe smacked his head a bit. Yeah, he had a headache, but he’d been wearing a helmet. He was sure he was fine.

He got up from the examination bed for what felt like the millionth time and went to the sink. He peered at himself in the warped mirror on the cabinet door. He was kind of a mess. But that wasn’t unusual. If he didn’t have a few scrapes and bruises, it meant he wasn’t trying hard enough.

Dylan’s six-foot frame was broad-shouldered and appeared even more so with his racing gear on.

He’d shed his helmet at least. That was something.

His boots were leaving dirt prints on the pristine white tile, and his face was smudged with dirt and engine grease.

His brown hair looked a few shades darker, thanks to the sweat.

Sweat and engine grease streaked his face and made him look like he was wearing some kind of makeup.

He snorted. That was kinda amusing, seeing as Dylan didn’t even do dress slacks or button-down shirts, let alone makeup.

A blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman wearing scrubs and a white coat ducked around the curtain. “Hello, Mr.—” She paused as she glanced through the charts she held. “Mr. Pierce, is it?”

Was this the doctor? Hmm. She was pretty enough—not that it mattered, but he wouldn’t complain either.

He grinned at her. Usually, his grin got some response, either from the guys or the gals—he went for both equally. That was how he was wired.