Page 1 of Healing Her

1

Too cold.Ashley blinked herself awake.Wrong smell. These aren’t my sheets. And who’s in here with me?

She sat up and looked around, pulling the sheet up over her breasts. It was a familiar bedroom, at least. Glancing to her left, she spotted a head of ginger curls she did know very well. Ashley reached over and nudged the still, lightly snoring body. “Felicity.”

A snort, and Felicity shifted around but did not wake up.

Ashley prodded at her again, a bit more firmly. “City. Come on.”

With a sigh, the redhead rolled over on her back, and unlike Ashley, she didn’t bother to cover her breasts. Ashley admired the freckle-dusted, surgically enhanced expanse of bosom with clinical detachment. They’d been done as well as could be hoped for, and she enjoyed them every time she spent an evening with City. Not too large, just a bit more than City had been blessed with, and the scars were minimal.

The breasts were perfect. As they should be—when City had decided to go for the boob job, Ashley had recommended the best plastic surgeon she knew to take care of her friend. She’dgone to medical school with the guy; he was an ass, like many cosmetic surgeons she knew, but he was the best in his field. She didn’t have to like a doctor to know they’d be good at their job.

City cracked open one of her big brown eyes and winked at Ashley from under the tumbled cloud of her bangs. “Like what you see?”

“As always.” Ashley picked her smart watch up off the bedside table and strapped it onto her wrist.Cutting it close. Oops.

“I’ve got to get to the hospital.”

Pouting, City shifted onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “No time for another round?”

“Not this morning. Sorry.” Tossing the blankets aside, Ashley swung her legs out of the bed and got to her feet. As usual, the clothing she’d worn last night was neatly draped over a shabby chic chair in the corner of City’s bedroom, along with her leather tote bag. She fished a fresh pair of panties and a bra out of the Birkin’s capacious depths and headed to the bathroom in the hallway for a quick rinse and to borrow City’s deodorant.

After her shower, she wiped the steam from the mirror and inspected her face.Not bad for the morning after a night out at forty-two, she thought. Of course, she got strategic Botox every so often, ate well, and exercised when there was time. And it wasn’t like she’d stayed out until 2 AM. The minute she’d seen City Davis walk through the doors of the Indigo Lounge at quarter after 11, she’d made a beeline for her and swept her right back out the door. They’d headed directly for City’s Culver City apartment and tumbled into bed.

That was the advantage of having a long-standing friends-with-benefits arrangement. Efficiency, friendship, and good sex—who needed more than that? Ashley smiled at her reflection and rearranged her long brown hair into a tidy French twist before she slid back into her clothes. Then she frowned.Somehow, she’d forgotten that she’d bumped into a carefree dancer at the Indigo Lounge last night. The other woman had spilled some of her pink cosmopolitan down the front of Ashley’s white silk blouse. Ashley groaned.

Ashley Proctor was the top cardiothoracic surgeon at Oakridge Hospital. People respected her. Peoplefearedher. She could not show up with a pink drink stain over her right breast. Ashley tried to button her fitted gray blazer over the stain. Immediately, she saw it was no good; the alcohol was splotched all along her lapel as well.

City poked her head into the bathroom. “Can I help?”

Ashley smiled wryly and gestured up and down the full length of her five feet, eleven inches. “I don’t have time to go all the way home for new clothing. But unless you’ve got something from Nordstrom with a designer label on it in your closet somehow, I don’t think so.”

Pushing the door wide, City crossed her arms over her chest, leaned on the door frame, and laughed. She was five foot two on her best day, managed a modern art gallery, and dressed like it. “Best I can do is one of those patchwork wrap dresses you can wear a million different ways. Itwouldlook great on you but might raise a few eyebrows at the hospital.” She waved towards a wall of living room windows that displayed an overcast sky. “Plus, LA has decided to acknowledge that it’s actually November today.”

“I see that.” Ashley checked her watch again. “I can send my Saks personal shopper a message now, maybe she can meet me at the store with some options. I’ll still be a little late for our morning meeting, but that’s better than showing up with pink vodka all down my front.”

“Smart lady. Does that buy you any extra time here?” Still naked, City pushed herself off the door and sauntered back towards her bedroom. “My invitation still stands, Ashley.”

Tempting, tempting.Ashley leaned out of the bathroom door to watch City’s pert freckled bottom as she sashayed away. With a sigh, she called out, “Sorry, City, see you later,” and headed for the exit.

2

“Come to mama,” Jen Colton cooed, wiggling her fingers as she reached for the large chai latte with both hands. The strap of her messenger bag slipped off of her shoulder. “Oops.”

The guy manning the Oakridge Hospital coffee cart kept a grip on the cup with one hand and grabbed the falling bag with the other. “Got you.”

“Ah, thanks.” She pulled the strap of the bag up and over her head to secure it, then made a second attempt at grabbing her drink. “You see how I need this?”

“Happy I was here to help.” He flashed a smile at her. “Haven’t seen you here before. First day?”

“Yep, fresh out of medical school.” Jen stifled a chuckle as panicked confusion flashed across the coffee fellow’s face. As good as she knew she looked at fifty-five, her crow’s feet and unruly silver curls were not those of a fresh-faced intern. “I’m kidding! Jen Colton. I’m a transplant surgeon. I’ve got some miles on my engine. But yeah, it’s my first day here at Oakridge.” She saluted him with her drink. “You’ll be seeing me a lot…” She squinted at his name badge. “Bryce.”

“All right, Doctor Colton. I’ll remember you.” His eyes widened again as she tucked a ten-dollar bill into his nearly-empty tip jar. “Hey, you don’t have to do that.”

“I used to tend a bar to get through medical school, kid. Idohave to do that.” Jen smiled again. “See you.”

She checked her phone for the last message she’d gotten from Steve Sundstrom, Oakridge’s Chief of Surgery. It directed her to a conference room on the fourth floor, in the hospital’s surgical wing. Seemed easy enough. Sipping at her chai latte, which she was pleased to discover was excellent, she made her way to the elevator bank, taking in her new place of employment with interest.

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