200 Harley Street: American Surgeon in London by Lynne Marshall

Author:Lynne Marshall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

MID-MONDAY MORNING, Mitchell barreled into Grace’s office in the clinic with knit brows, looking frustrated. Fired up, as her daddy used to say. Even while obviously testy, she found him appealing. She quashed the thought, switching to all business, as she’d promised herself to do last night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Thanks to spending the entire day with him!

“I can’t believe the hacks out there,” he said, stance wide, hands on hips, scrubs fitting deliciously.

“Out where?”

“Do you know what I spent my morning doing?” The O.R. cap brought out that extra bit of blue in his otherwise green eyes, making him even more devastatingly appealing.

“What?”

“Fixing a botched plastic surgery job on a twenty-two-year-old, that’s what.” He paced the small space in front of her desk. “The guy mangled her lips, making her look like a duck. She had a smile like the Joker from that movie. Grotesque. And why would a surgeon agree to do a face-lift on someone just out of their teens? I tell you, sometimes I don’t get our profession.”

She considered his anger, threw in some of her own, then thought about their jobs and the oaths they’d taken when they’d become doctors—do no harm. She also thought about something that had been weighing on her mind since she’d been assigned a certain high-profile case.

“Isn’t that what we do? Whatever people want? Not the duck-lips part, or the botching-up part, but don’t we agree to do whatever our rich patients want? Isn’t that what we promised to do for Davy Cumberbatch?”

“This girl is neither rich nor demanding. She’s naive, and that hack took advantage of her wanting to look beautiful.”

But Grace’s direct comments stopped his thunder for a couple of seconds. He stopped pacing and pulled in his chin, as if he hadn’t considered the comparison of Hunter Clinic to hacks ever before.

“You said it yourself,” she said. “Fix the rich to help the poor? Or something along those lines.” She didn’t back down.

Maybe she didn’t want to let him off the hook because she was still upset with him for tilting her world sideways, for making her see what she could never have. A family. A love of her life. It wasn’t in the cards for her, and the Sunday outing with Mitch and Mia had driven that point home. Yes, she was upset with him for making it so clear, and right now she’d make him squirm on a professional level as penance.

“What we do,” he said, stepping closer to her desk, balancing on his hands and leaning in, “is completely different from that. Sure, we try to keep the wealthy looking fresh and young as long as possible, but we don’t mangle their faces in the process. We give people what they want without making them caricatures of themselves. We know where to draw the line. This guy was a hack. He took this young woman’s hard-earned money and botched the job on her face.

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