Free Chasing Ava: A Bachelor of Shell Cove Novel (The Bachelors of Shell Cove) by Siera London

donors.  
      The medical center depended on the annual infusion of grant monies and she wanted to do her part to help. She sutured her smile in place and continued with the tour.  
    “Take us to the patient care pods I’ve heard so much about.” It was Commando Barbie again. The woman had to know all the renovations were included on the tour. Ava didn’t need to be told what to do on the job. This was her domain. Care pods were a cluster of patient rooms oriented in a clover design. The nursing team was housed in the center of the clover with the ability to visually assess every patient at a glance if necessary.
    The donors beamed at the upgraded room designs, a tangible representation of foundation dollars at work. New paint and equipment was much easier to conceptualize than medical research.
    The final stop was the healing garden addition. An enclosed terrace complete with automated babbling brooks, natural sunlight and padded benches nestled under palm trees.  
    It was her favorite part of the unit. Cabin fever could be hard on children that required a prolonged hospital stay. The garden was a touch of normalcy.
    “I hope the nurses aren’t hiding out in here.” Barbie, the battle-axe was at it again. “What policies are in place to ensure this remains a haven for patients rather than the nurses?” With clenched teeth, Ava reminded herself that the funding and Logan’s research were priority, not her pride.
    “The professionalism of the nursing and medical staff at SCMC is above reproach. Our priority is the care of the patient, not the hospital based amenities.” Ava was proud of her response. She met the woman eye to eye, not backing down.  
    “If there are no more questions, this concludes the tour. Thank you again for taking time out of your schedules to visit us today.” That was the closing pitch with a cherry on top.  
    “Nurse.” Ava turned back to look at the Barbie, lips pinched in frustration. The devil wears St. Johns.  
    “Bring me a bottled water. I am so parched after these walks through the service wards.” No this woman did not say service wards, what was this, World War II? “I’ll have to remember to hydrate before we visit the clinics tomorrow.” She said for the entourage.  
    The woman seemed bent on relegating Ava to a position of servitude.  
    According to the unit manager these were annual visits, so why hadn’t she brought a personal stock of Perrier water to quench the thirst of the beast? Not only was her attitude grating on Ava’s nerves, the woman’s perfume had the stench of hair dye. Ava dug deep in her bag of love for all God’s creatures and pulled out the last of her patience with this woman. With her smile cemented in place she turned to speak.  
    “The drinks available on the unit are for patient consumption only. There is a drinking fountain and vending machines in the hall as you exit the floor.” Blonde, flat-ironed tresses partially obscured the woman’s face, but not enough to hide her scowl.  
    “A public watering hole. I think not.”  
    Ava offered her most professional persona, as she led the group to the fire safe exit doors. Thankful that the tour was over, Ava turned on her heel in the direction of the staff lounge. She needed a moment to unwind before she checked on each patient.  
    The charge nurse signaled to her from the nurse’s station. “Ava. Room 2B is requesting you?” The weariness she felt after escorting the donors was immediately replaced by concern.  
    Ava made a beeline to her patient’s room fearing the sixteen-year old had taken a turn for the worse. Monique Faulkner had been admitted to the unit from the SCMC emergency department three days before with fever, worsening arm pain, and drainage from her surgery site. The girl had suffered a vicious attack by a then boyfriend, resulting in a three-point break to her right forearm. Metal plates and screws had been surgically implanted to stabilize each bone segment.