The Match

Chapter One

SLOAN

My cell phone dings with another match. I slide my finger along the screen to open the app and stare at Ava’s picture. Long black hair, denim-colored eyes, pale skin, and nice, plump lips stare back at me. She’s a twenty-six-year-old student from New York who recently relocated to Philadelphia.

Her profile ends with a line that makes me laugh. “If you’re looking for a good time, call 867-5309.” Like the song by Tommy Tutone. How clever. That wouldn’t work on everyone, but it sure does with me. Ava is not only beautiful and smart, she’s also funny. I like her.

After I click the button to verify our match, it seems like hours before my phone dings again with Match accepted. I suck in a deep breath, thinking of something interesting to say. Nothing comes to mind.

Me: Hey! Nice profile. I tried to call the number, but it was busy.

I clutch the phone in my hand and wait, watching as the chat bubble pops up. She’s typing. Thirty seconds later a message appears.

Ava: The second I hang up with one guy another calls. You wouldn’t believe all the calls I get.

Me: Funny girl.

Ava: I amuse myself.

Me: I’m entertained. Dinner this Friday?

Ava: Depends. Are you a serial killer?

Me: Only on the weekends.

Ava: I guess we should change our dinner until Monday then. Just in case.

Me: We could move it up to Thursday. I get tired after all those kills.

Ava: At least you’re not boring.

Me: Did I pass the test?

Ava: I guess. You’re a doctor, right?

Me: A surgeon. So, dinner this week?

Ava: As long as you’re not the Hannibal Lecter kind of doctor and plan to surgically remove my kidneys.

I shake my head, laughing, and type out a quick reply.

Me: You’ve got a thing for serial killers, huh?

Ava: You have no idea the kind of dates I have been on lately. A girl’s gotta have standards.

Me: Like not getting eaten.

Ava: Lol at least not in that kind of way.

Ooh, she’s dirty. I like it.

Before I can respond, another message comes through.

Ava: How about drinks? The Fountain Lounge at seven on Thursday. Dinner afterward if you’re lucky.

Me: Perfect. See you then.

I slip the phone back into my lab coat and stroll into Dr. Foster’s office, surprised to find the Chief of Surgery sitting next to him.

Chief Swanson extends his hand, telling me to sit in the chair next to him. “Chief,” I say to him, and then look at Dr. Foster, who’s sitting behind an old oak desk. “Dr. Foster. Is everything okay?”

“Nothing major, Dr. Hart,” Chief Swanson says to me. “Dr. Foster is taking a medical leave of absence to have posterior tibialis tendon surgery.”

“I wouldn’t call that something minor.”

“At least it’s not my hand,” Dr. Foster says with a polite grin. “I will be out for the next three months. Chief Swanson asked me who I thought would make an excellent interim Residency Program Director, and you were the first doctor that came to mind.”

I take a seat next to the Chief, unsure of how to respond. Surgery is my life, but am I ready to train surgeons?

“As you are aware,” Chief Swanson says, staring at me, “I am retiring at the end of the year. Taking over for Dr. Foster while he’s on leave could help further your career.”

In other words, train new surgeons and you have a shot at making Chief. Got it.

“Yes, I’ve heard,” I tell him.

“Think of the next three months as a probationary period to see how you run a team of surgeons,” the Chief continues. “You might find that you like having a more authoritative role.”

I hold out my hand for Chief Swanson to shake. “Thank you for the opportunity.” Then, I extend my hand to Dr. Foster. “Thank you for thinking of me. It means a lot coming from you.”