Love At first Strike

Chapter 4: Committee Clash

I've always believed that the universe has a twisted sense of humor. Today, it's proving me right.

"The Hospital Safety and Protocol Committee?" I stare at the email on my phone, hoping the words will somehow rearrange themselves into something less terrifying. "Chief Warner wants me to join the Hospital Safety and Protocol Committee?"

Amy peers over my shoulder at the screen, her coffee forgotten. "Oh, this is going to be good."

"What do you mean?" But I already know. Everyone knows who chairs the committee.

"Dr. Ice—I mean, Dr. Richards runs those meetings like military operations," she says, barely containing her glee. "And after your little confrontations..." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"Stop it." I lock my phone, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. "This is purely professional. The Chief wants more floor nurse representation on hospital committees. It's not about—"

"Mr. Chen." Devon's voice cuts through the air like frost, making me jump. He's standing in the doorway of the break room, immaculate in his white coat, tablet in hand. "I trust you received the email about the committee meeting this afternoon?"

"Yes, Dr. Richards." I straighten automatically, very aware of Amy's poorly hidden smirk. "I'll be there."

He nods once, businesslike. "Good. Bring your observations about ER protocols, particularly regarding patient handoffs between departments. We've had some... concerns."

The pause before "concerns" makes my defensive instincts flare. "Concerns about what, exactly?"

Something that might be amusement flickers in his eyes. "That's what the meeting is for, isn't it? Two o'clock, Conference Room B." He turns to leave, then adds, "Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I mutter, but he's already gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of his cologne and my racing pulse.

Amy waits approximately two seconds before dissolving into laughter. "Oh, this is better than cable."

"I hate you," I inform her, but there's no heat in it. I'm too busy wondering what "concerns" Devon has about our ER protocols, and why my stomach keeps doing backflips every time he says my name.

---

Conference Room B is aggressively bland, all beige walls and uncomfortable chairs, but Devon somehow makes it feel like a courtroom. He sits at the head of the table, his posture perfect, reviewing documents with the kind of intensity usually reserved for brain surgery.

I slip into an empty chair, noticing I'm the only nurse present among the various department heads and administrators. Great. No pressure.

"Now that we're all here," Devon begins, his voice carrying that authority that makes everyone sit straighter, "let's address the recent issues with interdepartmental transfers, particularly between the ER and other units."

My pen hovers over my notebook. Here it comes.

"There have been multiple instances of incomplete handoffs," he continues, pulling up data on the projection screen. "Missing information, delayed notifications, confusion about patient status—"

"Excuse me." I hear myself speak before I fully decide to. "Are these documented incidents, or general complaints?"

Devon's eyes meet mine across the table. "Both. Would you like to see the reports?"

"Yes, actually." I hold his gaze. "Because from where I sit in the ER, the biggest handoff issues come from departments not responding to our notifications in a timely manner, or demanding paperwork that delays critical care."

The room temperature seems to drop several degrees. An administrator—Dr. Peterson, I think—clears his throat uncomfortably.

"Nurse Chen raises an interesting point," Devon says, his voice carefully neutral. "Perhaps we should review the communication protocols from both sides."

What follows is two hours of the most intense professional discussion I've ever been part of. Devon challenges every assertion, demands evidence for every claim, but—and this surprises me—he does it equally to everyone, including himself. When Dr. Peterson tries to blame ER nurses for documentation delays, Devon asks to see comparative staffing data.

"If we're requiring the same documentation with half the staff during peak hours," he points out, "that's not a protocol issue, that's a resource allocation problem."

I find myself leaning forward, engaged despite my initial defensiveness. Devon might be demanding, but he's also fair, and surprisingly willing to consider alternative viewpoints when backed by data.

"What about electronic handoffs?" I suggest during a discussion of communication breakdowns. "The cardiac unit already uses them for internal transfers. If we standardized that system across departments—"

"It would require significant training," an administrator interrupts.

"Less time than we currently waste on miscommunication," Devon counters, and I try not to look too pleased when he adds, "Nurse Chen's suggestion has merit. Let's explore the implementation costs."

By the time the meeting ends, we have a concrete action plan, assigned responsibilities, and my head is spinning with equal parts exhaustion and exhilaration. As people file out, Devon calls my name.

"A moment, please."

I hang back, wondering if I pushed too hard during the meeting. But when the room clears, I find him looking at me with something that might be respect.

"Good work today," he says quietly. "Your perspective was... valuable."

Coming from Devon, this feels like winning an Olympic medal. "Thank you. I... wasn't expecting this to be so..."

"Productive?" His lips quirk slightly. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually trying to make people's lives difficult. I just believe that if we're going to do something—"

"We should do it right," I finish, recognizing the philosophy from his surgeries.

He looks surprised, then pleased. "Exactly." He gathers his papers, then hesitates. "The cardiac unit's break room really does have better coffee. If you'd like to review some of these protocols in more detail..."

My heart skips. Is he actually...?

His pager chooses that moment to shatter the possibility. He checks it, his expression turning professional again. "Emergency consult. We'll continue this discussion later?"

It's half statement, half question. "Yes," I say, perhaps too quickly. "I'd like that."

He nods once and strides out, leaving me alone with my thundering heart and the lingering impression that something just shifted between us.

When I return to the ER, Amy takes one look at my face and grins. "So? How was your date with Dr. Ice Prince?"

"It was a committee meeting," I protest, but I can feel myself blushing. "A very professional, very formal committee meeting."

"Uh-huh. And that smile on your face is also very professional and formal?"

I touch my lips, realizing I am indeed smiling. "Shut up."

"Make me." She hands me a fresh coffee. "So when's your next 'meeting'?"

I think about Devon's almost-invitation, the way his eyes had softened when he praised my work. "I don't know. But... I think I might need to check out the cardiac unit's coffee soon. You know, for research purposes."

Amy's laughter follows me down the hall, but I don't care. Because for the first time since Devon Richards walked into my ER, I'm starting to think that maybe—just maybe—I'm not the only one feeling this impossible attraction.

Now I just have to figure out what to do about it without getting my heart completely shattered in the process.

Simple, right?

Right.