Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor (english readers TXT) 📗

rising again. “My father was Bryan Alexander Nichols. I’m Dr. Bronte Alexandra Nichols.” She hesitated uncomfortably. The plan had been that she would join her father in his practice once she’d completed her residency. She had so been looking forward to it, too, getting to work beside a man of his reputation, getting the chance to actually get to know her father at last. She certainly hadn’t had the opportunity when she was growing up. After her mother had died when she’d been little more than an infant, her father had settled her with his sister and her brood, and she’d only gotten a handful of visits from her godlike father over the years. “Uh … my father’s dead,” she added baldly. “But I’ve taken over his practice. Were you looking for a pediatrician?”

Her stomach seemed to drop at the realization that that must, indeed, be why he was in the medical center, though it seemed an odd time to be doing so. Her first appointment wasn’t for hours yet. Tamping her disappointment at the discovery that he was a potential patient, or at least must have one--a child--and therefore must be married, or at least involved with someone, Bronte glanced down at the hand that still gripped her arm and then noticed she’d attached her badge upside down when she’d put it on that morning. No wonder he’d had trouble reading it!

She tugged at her arm as she reached to adjust the name badge. Almost reluctantly, it seemed to her, he released his hold on her then reached past her and tapped the panel used to select levels. The lift braked, stopped, and began to descend as rapidly as it had been rising. The action reminded Bronte belatedly that she’d forgotten to key in the level she wanted. She discovered when she turned to look at the panel, though, that the lift had already shot past her level.

Her lips flattened in irritation as she reached to press her level. She hadn’t just come early because she never slept well and was too restless to remain in her apartment any longer. She’d intended to catch up on some of her paperwork—which was why she’d been so distracted to begin with. Dread always filled her when she had to tackle the mounds of paperwork she allowed to build up while she attended the part of her job she actually enjoyed … interacting with her patients. And then, too, she’d been worried that she’d misplaced her glasses … again.

She really ought to have her eyes fixed, ought to have done it already, but there never seemed to be time. And actually, the prospect unnerved her, though she wouldn’t have admitted it under torture. She was a physician herself, for god’s sake! It didn’t look good that she was such a coward about facing medical procedures herself!

The lift settled and the doors opened.

A man, dressed much as the one behind her, stepped into the lift.

Bronte tried not to stare, but he was much like the man behind her—very tall, built like a tank, and dressed in the skin tight uniform that left very little to the imagination and made it impossible for her not to notice as her gaze flickered over the broad chest and shoulders, bulging arms and well developed legs … and the almost obscene bulge at the apex of his thighs. She shuffled over to give him room and then looked up as the sense of being loomed over swamped her, discovering that both men were looming over her because she was sandwiched between them and they were looking down at her.

“This is Dr. Nichols,” the first man said to the second, drawing Bronte’s gaze for a moment before she glanced at the man he was speaking to.

After trying to adjust her glasses and discovering that both men were too close to bring into focus, Bronte shoved her glasses onto the top of her head. She was a bit stunned to discover when she had that the second man was as unusually attractive as the first, though they looked nothing alike beyond the fact that both were dark. The new arrival, though, was not quite as dark. Whereas the first man’s hair was as black as night, his eyebrows a thick, straight line above eyes a steel, almost eerie blue, the second man had hair of a slightly warmer shade, though still very nearly black. She might have thought it black if not compared to the first man’s hair. His brows were also dark and thick, but arched. At the moment, one was lifted upward while the other had descended in a look she could only think was displeasure, even if not for the cool assessment in his emerald green eyes.

“B. A. Nichols?” the second man asked, obviously no more pleased than the first man had been.

Bronte tried not to feel slighted, but she couldn’t prevent the resentment that swelled in her chest. It was completely unfair to compare her unfavorably to her father. He had had many years to build his reputation, after all! Given time, she fully intended to live up to his name … but there was the rub. It was a hard act to follow, and she’d been viewed under a microscope and compared unfavorably almost from the time she’d arrived in medical school. “I am imminently qualified, I assure you!” she responded somewhat defensively. “Although I have not had the years to build my reputation as my father did, I graduated at the top of my class and I have been practicing for several years now.” She couldn’t help but notice they looked unconvinced. “And, of course, I have the added advantage of having worked with a man of vast experience in the field.”

She felt a little uncomfortable about that claim, but it wasn’t exactly a lie … just a slight prevarication. She had worked along side experienced physicians while she was doing her residency and she had her father’s case studies, after all.

The two