Redeeming the Rebel Doc

Relieved his mood had mellowed, she retorted, “I think traditional footwear would be more appropriate. The boots work for your motorcycle but I don’t think they’re the best choice for TV interviews or social situations.”

“Social situations? What social situations am I going to be in?”

She could feel the appalled aura envelop him.

“The hospital is planning a small cocktail party and dinner for the accreditation committee. It’ll be a great opportunity for you to talk to influential members of the community, while impressing the committee. Let them get to know you.” She smiled, hoping to encourage him.

His jaw tensed. “I won’t be attending. That isn’t my thing.”

Time to try coaxing. “Sure you will. You’ll be the face of the hospital by then. The surgeon everyone wants.”

“If that happens it’ll be because I’m a great surgeon, which by the way I am, and not because you dressed me up and paraded me around.” He headed toward the dressing room.

She called to his back, “It’ll be good for you and the hospital.”

Rex turned and confronted her. “I have no interest in being linked to the hospital forever. I’ve agreed to help because Dr. Nelson strongly encouraged it, but with this I draw the line. I don’t do social.”

“Your social appearance might mean getting top marks from the accreditation committee. You know they’re overly conscious of the malpractice case. We’re trying to rebuild some public goodwill as well.” She couldn’t back down on this. It was the cornerstone of her plan.

“Do you really believe changing my wardrobe and showing me off to people who value appearance over substance is going to make that much difference?” There was a snide tone to his words.

She fervently hoped so. This project was her ticket out of town and away from Lou. “I make a living seeing that it does.”

He leaned close and looked her directly in the eyes. “Don’t you think honest people see beyond all your publicity? I know I’m more interested when I get to know the real person, not the one putting on shiny shoes and a smile, trying to be someone they’re not.”

Stepping closer and lowering her voice, she hissed, “You need the shiny shoes and smile so people will want to take the time to get to know you. Do you think black T-shirts, holey jeans and biking boots exude medical professionalism? It’s important the community has confidence in you. Believes they’ll get the quality of care they expect.”

Surprise and then something she wasn’t sure she could name flickered in the depths of his eyes. He said, just as quietly, “Their quality of care hasn’t changed. Mine or the hospital’s. Just because a family wouldn’t accept I couldn’t save their father’s life doesn’t mean my skills are any less competent or professional than they were before the malpractice suit.”

Tiffani flinched. This conversation was treading too close to the personal. She had promised herself that she would see this job through without letting what had happened to her father intrude. The only way to do that was to go on the defensive. “Just what is your issue? After all, you’re getting a new wardrobe at the hospital’s expense and you’re an intelligent man, so you know how important what I’m trying to achieve is. Why all the pushback?”

“Like I can’t afford my own shoes and my own clothes,” he spat. “Clothes I have no interest in wearing.”

“I still don’t understand the problem. It looks to me like you’d want to help.” Why couldn’t he just not fight her on this?

“The problem is, I’m not going to pretend to be somebody else.” He dropped the jacket on a stack of causal shirts and gestured toward the clothes she and the manager still held. “I’m a skilled surgeon, regardless of what I wear. I don’t care who is or isn’t impressed by my appearance.”

She believed him. He was his own man and he was brutally honest. Unlike virtually all the people around her. She had to admire that about him.

After Lou’s lies she appreciated the honesty. She was glad that, with Rex, she was certain she wouldn’t misread his feelings. He would make them clear. In an odd way, it was refreshing.

But his stubborn insistence that his appearance ought not matter to people would be the ruin of her campaign if she couldn’t make him see reality. With his biker appearance came negative connotations, no matter what type of person he really was. With secret desperation she coolly asked, “If you won’t present the image the public has of a gifted, confident, trustworthy surgeon, just how do you expect to convince them you really are gifted, confident or trustworthy?”

He gave her a seething glare. “And you think this dog-and-pony show you have planned will do that?”

Tiffani raised her chin and shrugged with all the indifference she could muster, sensing victory. “It’s done all the time.”

Rex seemed at a loss for words. Abruptly she was aware of the manager’s intense interest in their disagreement. What was going on between her and Rex wasn’t good PR. Taking a cleansing breath, she tried to appease Rex into compromising. “It’s just for a little while. I’ll try to make it as easy as possible.”

“I don’t care how long it is. I won’t pretend to be somebody I’m not. Ever again.”

Again? So there was something in his past driving his illogical refusal to admit she was right. “Then I’ll make an effort not to ask you to. Agreed?”

Juggling her armload of clothes, she extended her hand. He looked at it for a moment then took it. Inexplicably, a shiver went up her spine at his touch. She pulled her hand free.

“Agreed.” His voice was calm and sincere.

She smiled. He was going to try to meet her halfway. Tiffani made her tone appeasing. “Now, I know you don’t want to hear this but it’s time we get to your hair appointment.”

His lips puckered and jaw tightened. Was another fight coming?

To her surprise, he finger-combed his hair back from his face and said, “Okay. But only because I’m due for a trim.” He picked up the jacket and returned to the dressing room.

Relief washed through her. The tightness between her shoulder blades eased. A least he was going to go along with her plans regarding his hair. Trim? She needed him to have more than that. She’d let Estell handle making that happen.

While waiting for Rex, she made arrangements with the manager to pick up the purchases later. As they left the store she announced, “The shop isn’t far from here. Should we walk?”

“Do you think biker boots will be okay for that?” he asked with a smug smile, tucking his helmet under his arm.

She glared. “Yes, but I don’t think they’re suitable for every occasion. The hairdresser is this way.”

* * *

Rex, although familiar with this area of Memphis, had spent little time there. As he examined the small businesses with cute storefronts he noted many of the other people on the street were fashionably dressed and clearly wealthy. It all reminded him too much of his childhood where nothing had mattered but where you shopped and what brand you could afford.

The boutiques lining the street looked just like the ones his mother used to frequent. But then the terrible truth had

come out.

At least now he didn’t care what he wore as long as it was comfortable. He’d spent half his life going in one direction and the other half hell-bent on another. No way was he returning to the old lifestyle his parents had pretended they could afford. He had no reason to prove himself to anyone through his appearance, zero interest in outside trappings. He knew with bone-deep certainty who he was and for the rest of his life there would be no more pretentious facades.

Still, damn it, he had agreed to help with Tiffani’s PR nonsense. His plans for his future actually rested on it to a certain degree. If a few wardrobe changes and a haircut could gain him what he wanted, then was it such a big deal?

Yes! It was a very big deal. He had set his boundaries all those years ago for very real, vital reasons and had successfully, happily lived by them ever since. He had no intention of ignoring them now. Not for Tiffani. Not for anyone. Nor for any reason, regardless of its appeal.

But walking down the street on a sunny day with a pretty woman beside him somehow made all the ridiculousness of this makeover less disturbing to his peace of mind. He glanced at Tiffani. She still wore her hair up but not quite as tightly as before. Her attire was more casual as well. A simple purple knit shirt, black pants and flat shoes unleashed her subtle sex appeal, which floated around her like honeyed perfume.

He didn’t care for her high-handed ways and wasn’t even sure he liked her, but it was a nice change to argue with someone who gave as good as she got. Few people in his life dared to talk back to him. He’d found his disagreements with Tiffani invigorating, something he’d experienced rarely with a woman. The women he tended to date were only interested in a good time or were in awe of what he did for a living. There was no challenge. Tiffani was definitely that. She wasn’t impressed by his looks and certainly not by his position.

They stopped in front of a store with flowers painted on the windows and a sign above the door that read Cute Cuts. He felt his eyes involuntarily roll in disbelief. Maybe he should have ridden his bike and parked it out front. Letting out a low groan, he informed her, “I’m going to have to give up my man card if I go in here.”