“For what?”
“To discourage Tinsley!”
“You think that’ll work?”
“No, but it’ll be better than if you show up alone.”
When had his life turned into some teenage rom-com? That wasn’t him. He didn’t like playing games.
“I’m not dating anyone.”
“It doesn’t have to be serious. You’re rich, good-looking. It shouldn’t be hard to find someone who’d be willing to spend a week with you in a beachfront house on the Vineyard.” Davis glanced at his watch. “My train leaves Penn Station at seven thirty. Let me hit the bathroom and then you can treat me to dinner at the Capital Grille before you drive me to the station.”
“What if I had plans?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Ben shook his head and laughed. “Fine. There’s a half bath back near the door.”
Davis loped off and Ben searched for his phone and keys. He was slipping into his shoes when the front door opened, and the heavy tread of footfalls running up the wooden stairs thundered through the space.
“Ben!” Nic’s husky tone was brimming with anger. She rushed into the kitchen, dressed in black tapered pants and a white collared shirt, her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing as they skittered around the room.
He’d never seen Nic look so totally out of control. “What’s wrong? I thought you were on call tonight. Are you okay?”
“You won’t believe what that little fucker did! He ran to his daddy! And now they’ve sent me home while they look into the ‘situation,’” she said, curving her index and middle fingers in the air.
“Hold up.” He gripped her upper arms to still her incessant pacing. “What are you talking about? Who’s the little fucker?”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “There was nothing inappropriate about my actions. And they want to take that intern’s side over mine? I’ve never heard of that. Ever!”
She was talking so fast—frustration swamped him. How could he help her if he didn’t understand what happened?
“Slow down, Nic. Please. It’ll be okay.”
“No! It won’t!” She pulled away from him. “I did the right thing. Whitaker deserved to be reprimanded. And to think I hesitated to write him up, considered the ramifications on his career, and that motherfucker went and reported me!” As hot as she’d burned, she suddenly cooled, her shoulders slumped, and her chin trembled. “I’ve worked so hard to get where I am and I’m damn good at my job. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Without a second thought, he opened his arms and Nic stepped into them. She gripped his T-shirt in her fists and rested her forehead against his chest. Her trim body shook and he hugged her close, hating her distress and wishing he could take it on himself.
However, even in the midst of consoling her, he couldn’t help but acknowledge how great she felt against him, fitting him perfectly, like a newly found puzzle piece. The faint scent of honeysuckle teased his nose and he inhaled, drawing in her fragrance.
“What’s this froufrou lotion in the bath— Well, well, well. What do we have here?” A grinch-like smile creased Davis’s face. “Benji, I thought you said you weren’t dating anyone.”
Dammit.
Nic froze in his embrace and then jerkily, as if some invisible being was controlling her movements, she backed away and turned to face Davis. Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head to the side, staring up and down at his friend, as if assessing him. Curling her lip, she jammed her hands on her hips.
“Benji,” she said, placing special emphasis on the nickname, “who in the hell is this and why is he using my expensive, specially ordered castanha oil hand cream?”
Chapter Six
Nic stalked up and down the space in her apartment, her blood simmering beneath her skin. She still couldn’t get past the idea that an intern had gone over her head to the attending and she’d been the one chastised! Especially because she’d been absolutely within her right to reprimand Whitaker.
It was infuriating!
Disagreements between interns and senior residents happened, and in the medical hierarchy, the senior resident’s word ruled. The same would be true if there had been a dispute between a resident and an attending. Legally, the attending physician was in charge of a patient’s care, so if they opposed a medical decision she made, she’d have no choice but to defer to their opinion.
But this hadn’t been a dispute over a plan of treatment. Whitaker hadn’t given the proper care to a patient and she’d called him on it. And for her trouble, she’d been blindsided by some bullshit power play where she hadn’t been informed of the rules.
Nic clenched her fist so tightly, her short nails dug into her palms. What she wouldn’t give for a good surgery. The mental focus required along with the physical exertion of tool usage usually settled her spirit.
But thanks to Whitaker, it would be a while before she’d be in the OR again. And definitely not an OR at Hopkins.
When the attending physician had called and stated he’d wanted to see her, she’d been slightly annoyed. She didn’t have the time for the unscheduled meeting and, if she were honest, she and this particular attending had never gotten along.
She’d headed up to the fifth floor, her mind on the rest of her duties more than the impending meeting.
She knocked on his door. “You wanted to see—”
Dr. Nigel Agner held up a finger to indicate she should wait as he continued perusing something on his computer screen. After two minutes, she considered turning around and leaving, but he pressed a button on his keyboard, minimizing the screen, and finally giving her his full attention. Agner considered himself a gentleman physician, from his hard side part and comb-over, to his bow tie, suspenders, and monogrammed initials followed by “MD” on his shirt cuff.
He stared at her, his pale eyes giving nothing away. “Thanks for stopping by, Dr. Allen. I heard you had an issue with one of your interns yesterday.”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t say it was an issue. But I did have to talk to Whitaker about how he handled a case.”
“And you didn’t think I should be called in?”
Nic pursed her lips. “No. Whitaker took a consult and failed to conduct a basic shoulder examination just so he could attend a lumbar spinal fusion. I reprimanded him as warranted and moved on.”
Agner braced his forearms on his chair. “I received a complaint regarding your handling of the case.”
Shock slackened her facial muscles. “From whom?”
“Doesn’t matter. But you need to know we’re going to look into this situation further.”
She forced herself to remain calm. “My behavior wasn’t inappropriate or out of line. I’ve dealt with similar situations before.”
His jaw tightened. “Well, this time was different.”
“Why?”
“Because this time you admonished the son of one of our regular charitable donors!”
His ragged breath was audible, and splotches of color materialized on his cheeks. He ran his hands down the front of his shirt as if the motion would decrease the cortisol surging through his system.
It did dick all for her own stress level.
She wanted to scream! If any other intern had made this mistake, and Nic had done the exact same thing, she wouldn’t even be here. Why should it matter that Whitaker was the son of a hospital donor?
“Look,” he said, his tone unexpectedly weary and his starched posture drooping, “you’re a great doctor, Allen. Truly gifted. But success isn’t based on talent alone. I don’t doubt you were in the right, but we need to appease this donor. We can’t be seen as taking his concerns lightly.”
She tried to swallow past the dread obstructing her throat. “What’re you going to do?”
“Whitaker rotates off your service in two weeks. I want to eliminate the possibility of any interaction between the two of you. So . . . take that time off.”
Was he serious?
She was right. Whitaker was wrong. Yet he was being allowed to stay and she . . . she was being exiled from doing the thing she loved most in the world.
How was that fucking fair?
Agner’s parting shot, “Consider it an extended vacation before your residency ends,” almost sent her through the roof.
When she’d left Agner’s office, Whitaker had been standing nearby with a couple of other interns, a smirk creasing his entitled face.
Walk away, Nic. He isn’t worth it.
But her feet weren’t in the mood to do what was reasonable. “If you think you’ve pulled some boss move here, you’re wrong.”
“Not so tough now, huh?” He jerked his chin upward. “I guess all it takes is getting that ass chewed out.”
Like henchmen extras in a bad action movie, the group surrounding him laughed.
Nic turned her attention to them. “Are your last names Whitaker? Then you might want to think twice about adopting his behaviors. I doubt his father will bail you out when you get in trouble. In fact, like most people who’re drowning, he’ll drag you down to save himself.”
Their amusement faded and they blinked, sliding considering looks at each other and Whitaker.
“Accept defeat, Nicole,” Whitaker sneered, the disrespectful use of her name instead of her title hitting its mark, as he’d no doubt intended. “You’re too pretty to be so bitter. Though, if you want to slip into the on-call room for a minute, I’ve got something that’ll calm you down.”
She actually threw up in her mouth a little. Yeah, a minute was probably an accurate accounting of time.
“You’re an asshole. And you’ve just shown every doctor and nurse here that you’re a spoiled little dick who went crying to Daddy when things didn’t go his way. No one will want to work with you. They will, because this little stunt ensured it. But it’ll be from obligation, not desire.” She curled her lip in disgust and eyed him from head to toe. “Of course, men like you never understand the difference.”
Squeezing her eyes shut to block out the memory, Nic sank down on her couch and allowed the soft microfiber to cushion her as she slid her fingers into her curls and clutched her skull. The feeling of uselessness engulfed her, adding to the turbulent mixture of her emotions. She stood by her handling of the situation, but because this kid came from a connected family, she was being punished? The patient could’ve died, and Whitaker still failed to understand that.
Or maybe he understood, but he didn’t care.
Nic remembered the first time she’d actually gathered the courage to speak the words she’d held close to her heart for years:
“I want to go to college, and I want to be a doctor.”
It hadn’t been an easy road. She’d been constantly bombarded by images and messages that led her to believe that goal wasn’t achievable. That someone like her—black, female, poor, raised by a single mother—could never amount to anything that prestigious. But she’d worked her ass off in high school, college, med school, and beyond. She’d put her head down and moved forward against the almost constant barrage of doubt, skepticism, and hostility.
“I think you’re reaching, dear. That’s a nice dream, but maybe you should try to be more realistic.”
“Just because you have an advantage getting in med school doesn’t mean you should be there.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go into peds or obstetrics/gynecology?”
She’d fought against those words, and all the others like them, intent on proving she was good enough. That she could make it. And she’d be damned if she didn’t. The cost of the gamble had been too high for her to fail.
The sting of tears burned Nic’s eyes as she grabbed her phone.
Her mother answered on the second ring, her image alarmingly close on Nic’s screen. Dee Allen was still a strikingly beautiful woman, with light brown skin and dark eyes, though years of anxiety and hard work had taken their toll, causing lines to fan out from her eyes and brackets to deepen around her mouth. “Nicole!”
Nic was warmed by the pleasure in her mother’s voice. “Hey, Mom.”
“How’s my brilliant doctor daughter? Working hard?”
No one was more responsible for Nic’s often-praised work ethic than her mother.
“Trying to,” she muttered. At Dee’s slight frown, Nic cleared her throat. “Do me a favor? Move the phone down. I don’t need to check you for nasal polyps.”
Dee laughed and adjusted the phone so that her entire face and neck were visible. “Better?”
“It’ll do. How are you?”
“Wonderful, now that I’m talking to you.”
Nic smiled. Everyone deserved a mother like Dee. She never shied away from showing her pride and unconditional love for her daughter.
But Nic didn’t let that distract her from what she was seeing. “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”
Dee’s eyes flickered. “That’s a nice thing to say to the woman who gave birth to you.”
“I’m serious. You need to take care of yourself.”
“So am I. And I’m fine.”
“If I call Mr. Harrison down at the diner, what will he say?”
“If he has sense, he’ll stay out of it.” Dee huffed out a breath and her curls, so like Nic’s own, except liberally laced with strands of silver, fluttered in the air. “Okay. I worked two weeks straight. But I’ll get a few days off soon.”
Guilt exploded in Nic’s chest. Her mother had been grinding for as long as Nic could remember. Dee had given up her own scholarship to college when she’d gotten pregnant with Nic because Nic’s father had professed his love and promised to take care of her. He’d left when Nic was ten years old.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Don’t you start,” Dee warned, her features and tone hardening.
“I’m not,” she protested weakly.
“Yes, you are. I know this song by heart. ‘Maybe I should’ve stayed in Covington,’” her mother said, in an annoyingly accurate imitation of Nic, “‘and taken that job with social services.’”
Nic closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. The idea that she’d been selfish by insisting on pursuing her dream to become a doctor, even as her mother continued to struggle, plagued her.
“Since I was little, you’ve always worked at least two jobs to support us.”
“Because I’m your mother. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
And as a daughter, wasn’t it Nic’s responsibility to give back to her mom? To show her respect and gratitude? To not make things harder for her?
“I just hate the thought of you laboring so hard for almost thirty years. You deserve a break.”
“And you think if you’d stayed here I would’ve had one? Instead of bragging about my daughter the doctor while shopping at Goodwill, we both would’ve been there.” Dee tilted her head. “I would’ve been fine with that if you would’ve been content. But you wouldn’t have been.”
Dee was right. If her mother had asked her to stay, Nic would’ve. But she never would’ve been happy.
“What’s going on?” Dee asked. The camera shifted and Nic could see the faded cream-and-floral fabric of her mother’s favorite pillow top recliner. And gracing the otherwise bare walls behind her? Nic’s framed college and med school diplomas. “It’s been a while since you’ve brought up this concern. I think the last time you worried if you’d made the right decision was during your first year of residency after medical school.”
Nic managed to laugh through the fog of hurt in her chest. “I can’t believe you remember that?”
On Nic’s first day, the chief resident had given her four patients to see before rounds. She was no longer a medical student. She’d been a doctor, the one making the decisions. The awesome responsibility had floored her. She’d taken too long to go through their files, not wanting to miss any detail that might make a difference. As a result, her presentations had been long, rambling, and barely coherent.
Dee shook her head, a tender smile brightening her face. “You were so worried they’d kick you out for making a mistake.”
And that she would’ve let her mother down. Over Nic’s objections, Dee had worked to cover any college expenses not covered by scholarships and financial aid. The heft of all Nic owed—more than the hundreds of thousands of dollars of med school loans—had weighed heavily on her shoulders.
“So what is it?” Dee pressed. “You know you can tell me anything, even if I don’t completely understand it.”
Nic swallowed. Despite what her mother claimed, she wasn’t going to drop this worry on her. Two weeks, and she wouldn’t have to deal with Whitaker or his father. She’d be on her way to her fellowship at Duke and one year closer to fulfilling her lifelong dream.
“It’s nothing. I just miss you.”
“I miss you, too, honey. And I’ll see you soon.”
That’s right! Her mother was coming to her residency graduation ceremony in three weeks.
Nic inhaled a fortifying breath. This is what she’d needed; a reminder of why she’d pushed herself, why she had to succeed despite Whitaker-shaped roadblocks in her path. Pretty soon, her mother would never have to work another day in her life. Nic would take care of her, the way Dee had always taken care of her daughter.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Tears pooled in Dee’s eyes. “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?”
Only a few dozen times . . . in the last month.
“Thanks, Mom.” A thought suddenly occurred to Nic. “Why don’t you take some more time off and stay after the graduation? You can go down to Duke with me, see where I’ll be working, help me settle in. Like our own mini vacay in Durham.”
Her mother’s brows rose. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’ll be fun.”
Nic couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather share that experience with. And maybe she’d do a better job of convincing her mother to move to Durham. The job opportunities there had to be better than what she was doing in Covington. And she’d be close, so Nic could keep an eye on her. Make sure she was doing okay.
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