Problem
"And, in conclusion, I have and will always strive to make Grey Sloan Memorial a great place for patients to get treated and an outstanding place for surgeons to build their careers and reach their dreams." Miranda Bailey finished talking and looked down at her husband, Ben Warren, who was sitting at the foot of the bed. She was the Head of General Surgery at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital; but a few weeks ago, her mentor, best friend and interim Chief of Surgery, Richard Webber, informed her that he was stepping down once again and that he was putting her name into the race to become the next Chief of Surgery. Just thinking about acquiring the new title made her giddy. It was her dream job. She'd started her career at the hospital then called, Seattle Grace. And now, Chief was in her sights. "Thank you," Miranda said as she finished practicing her speech for the coveted position. Her husband pulled his lips in and stared at her. "Well? Say something. And make it productive."
"It was fine, baby," he answered. "Very astute." He scrunched his feet on their beige carpet.
"But?"
"But nothing."
"But?" She asked again.
He exhaled. "It's a little… boring."
"Boring! No way! It was… it was factual and inspiring and, ugh—it was boring, wasn't it?" She sat down next to him and put her head on his shoulder. "I can't afford to be boring. These words have to make these people want me to be their leader. They have to trust me with their patients and their jobs."
"Look your work speaks for itself, so just—and this is gonna sound like middle-of-the-road advice, but just be your vibrant, intelligent and highly persuasive self," he said turning his head. He kissed her cheek and then her lips gently.
"Can you do it?"
"Do what?"
She batted her lashes at him. "Write the speech and deliver it." The two of them laughed.
"You're nervous? You're not nervous, are you?" He asked pulling away and looking at her. She didn't respond. "You are." Ben let a small smile cross his face.
"Stop. You know I don't like feeling vulnerable."
"Only with me."
She shrugged; he had a point. She could let her guard down with him. "Just help me, Ben Warren."
"Make your promises sincere and reachable and somewhat impossible and life-changing."
"Sounds easy enough," Miranda told him rolling her eyes. He kissed her again.
Miranda lie back on the bed and sighed. "Just be myself."
"Yep." He turned around and told her to move up on the bed.
"Nope, I am not in the mood."
"In the mood for what?"
"Whatever… activity that you want to participate in."
"Shhh."
"I need to focus."
"No, you need to relax. And I'm going to help you do just that."
"And how do you propose helping me do that?" Miranda stuffed a pillow under her head and closed her eyes, prepared for Ben's hand on her waist. Instead, she felt his hands on her right foot. He massaged it gently, digging his fingers into her flesh. Her body jumped at his gentle, but strong touch. She moaned.
"That's how."