by Emilia Finn
Hitting send so I don’t leave my boyfriend of three years hanging, I slide my phone back into my briefcase and scowl at the incessantly trilling phone on Martha’s desk.
How this man has stayed in business with such poor management is beyond me. Though I suspect the lack of a competing vet in town is the only reason he’s managed to stay afloat.
Beckett
Unforgettable
Martha is a sweetheart, for sure. And she was once tyrannically committed to her job. But no matter how good she once was, retirement has already set in, and she’s over Lakeside.
In her mind, she’s in Mykonos with a drink in her hand and sand beneath her feet. As far as work goes, she long ago clocked out, and now she only shows up because her contract says she’s mine till Monday.
But none of that helps me run a tight ship in the veterinary practice I’ve slaved over, slept in, and bled for over the last ten years of my life. Hence, rogue job applicants, unanswered phone calls, and Andi Cruz, who swears she has an appointment with me today for her cute as hell pig, even though her name wasn’t in the books—which is why I slid her into my schedule without tossing Martha under the bus for her screwup.
With the little time left on my lunch break, I busily stuff a chicken Caesar wrap in my mouth and powerwalk back to the practice, which is—obviously, considering its name—near the lake in the center of town.
My clinic used to belong to a guy who was as close to my father as a brother would be; not biologically related, but Gordon Brandel was as good as an uncle to me and my siblings. Growing up, I watched him help countless sick animals, so I knew pretty early on what I wanted to do with my life.
And knowing the boss meant I had somewhere to learn. It meant getting college credits and work experience, and when Gordon became sick a few years ago, it meant everyone knew who would buy the practice and take over when it was time for him to step down.
The transition was smooth, so the loss of my mentor, my uncle and friend, was the only hurt in the entire ordeal.
Until now.
Now, Martha is checking out and has no interest in doing her job this close to the end of her contract, and today, I had to spend three hours chatting with… well, yes, beautiful women. But not one of them had a lick of common sense or self-respect. Carmel got the job because she refrained from offering me a BJ in the office, and because she was the last of the applicants, and I’d run out of options.
Well, except for the elusive Miss Lawrence, but by that point, Carmel was already moving in, and Tabitha Lawrence pissed me off with her snark and poor attitude. So I dug my stubborn heels in and made a choice based on emotion, rather than actual business sense.
Bravo, Beckett. You dumb fuck.
I step off the curb on one side of the street, cross over, and step up again out front of my practice, struggling to swallow the last of my lunch without choking on the dry contents. The chicken is old, the Caesar dressing is clearly from a mass-produced tub, and the Coke I purchased to go with it, I realize now, still sits on the counter where I set it down, paid for my food, and took a phone call from a client who has my personal number.
Distracted!
I’m so fucking distracted. So sue me, Miss Fancy Pants, for enjoying the show I got today. It was the reward I deserved for having to listen to these women chatter on for hours. Seeing them in short skirts and touching hands was payment for listening to them try to explain why their love of doggies and cute kitties makes them the perfect candidate for the position.
Blah, blah, fucking blah.
I push through the front door of my practice with a quizzical study of something smeared on the glass, but it goes forgotten just as quickly when the phones bleat inside and remind me I have work to do.
Hopefully, Martha’s back at her desk.
Closing the door again, I smile as Andi and her half-bionic husband walk toward me with a pig on a leash. She wears a tutu—the pig, not the woman—and snuffles around my waiting room as far as her leash will allow.
“Andi.” I swallow the last of my lunch and wipe a hand over my mouth before offering that same hand to her, and then to her husband. “Perfect timing. You can follow me ba—”
“We’re all done, Doc.” Andi slides under her husband’s arm and smiles. “You were right about the UTI, though.”
“I was…” Stunned, I look around. “Huh?”
“We saw the other vet,” she cheerfully supplies. “She’s nicer than you, just so you know.” Laughing, she tugs on man and pig and leads them toward the exit. “I brought you coffee,” she adds at the door. “But it’s already been claimed, so you’re gonna have to take that up with Tabby.”
“Tabby?” My stomach jolts as confusion wrings me out. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s not my fault she drank the coffee!” Andi misinterprets my indignation before stepping outside. “I’ll bring Nacho back next week for a checkup.”
“Uh…”
“See ya!”
“Lakeside Animal Hospital, this is Tabitha. How can I help you?”
Anger spiking, I race away from the heavy glass door as Andi and Riley Cruz depart, then I skid across the mostly empty waiting room and stop on the client side of Martha’s desk.
There was a small part of me still hoping the universe was messing with me. A part of me waiting for the veil to be torn away, and regular life dropped back into place. But instead of the elderly, rotund receptionist I know, I’m met with a pair of glacial gray eyes as their owner pushes her pointed chin forward in a proud gesture and writes notes on a pad of paper.
“What the frig are you doing?” I snarl.
In answer, Tabitha lifts a finger, then goes back to writing. “Monday at eleven? Of course. I’m certain Dr. Rosa can see you then. Uh huh.”
She pauses to listen, then dropping her pen, she taps at Martha’s keyboard and commits crimes.
There are privacy laws, right?
“Uh huh. Yeah, he’s open at eleven, then again at three.”
“Not three!” I speak quietly but forcefully. “I’m busy at three.”
“Oops,” Tabitha grins. “No, he’s busy at three. Eleven it is. Great!” She taps at the keyboard, hits enter, and nods as though her caller can see. “See you then, Miss Reynolds. We look forward to seeing Milo on Monday.”
She stops for a moment while my sister-in-law speaks. “Oh, you’re too sweet! I look forward to meeting you too. Of course. See you then.”
Hanging up, Tabitha’s eyes remain on the computer in front of her for a moment as I stand reeling.
“What… the fuck are you—”
Before I can finish, the phone trills again, and I get that fucking just a moment finger.
Picking up the phone, she brings it to her ear and pastes on a wide grin. “Lakeside Animal Hospital. This is Tabitha speaking.”
Dumbfounded, I push away from the desk in search of… something. Sanity, perhaps. Instead, I scan the seating area and am met with bright blue eyes, dark mahogany hair, and an elderly black Labrador.
“You ready for us?” Brittany, the owner, pushes to her feet and hides a smug grin that says she’s been paying attention to every single thing that’s happened since I walked back inside my own clinic.
“Um…”
Brittany—a woman, a pal, but not someone I know well—steps forward and tilts her head the way her dog does. “Are you okay, Beckett?”
“She… uh…” I point over my shoulder. “Tabitha…”
“She’s nice,” Britt smiles wide. “Not at all the type I expected you to hire when I saw the job in the paper. Come on.”
When I don’t move, she grabs my sleeve and yanks me across the waiting room.
“I’ve only got an hour off,” she explains, “then I have to get Annie home and race back to school before the bell.”
I spin as Britt drags me into the hall, lock eyes with the formerly enraged Tabitha Lawrence, and a mere second before Britt slides the door closed, I’m
treated to a victorious grin from the woman who was ready to throw hands only an hour ago.
“Lakeside Animal Hospital,” she answers another call. “How can I help you?”
“Doc?” Brittany pulls my attention around. “Seriously. You don’t look well.”
“I’ve just…” Shaking off my morning, my life, and the mysteriously fucking psycho Tabitha—since Martha isn’t here, and on two accounts now, my customers have called Tabitha nice—I turn around and meet the eyes of the two females who want my attention. One is a schoolteacher, a mom, and very happily married to her pro fighter husband. And the other; an ostensibly smart dog. “Nevermind. I’ll deal with that later.” Finally, I study the elderly Labrador. “How can I help you guys today?”
“Just here for our annual checkup,” Britt answers. “She’s getting old… too old, really. So we want to make sure she’s fit.”
“Always has been.” Stepping toward the examination table, I look to Britt—tiny, cute, and not as strong as she needs to be to lift a two-hundred-pound dog—then I scoop Annie up with gentle hands and place her on the table. “How are things at home?”
“Fine.” Britt leans against the wall and watches as I open Annie’s mouth and take a peek inside. “She’s eating like normal. Sleeping like normal. She doesn’t run up and down the stairs anymore like she used to, but that’s the only thing I’ve really noticed.”
I peel Annie’s lips back to make sure I get a good look at her teeth. “She’s always been healthy, especially for a three-legged pooch.” Smiling, I give Annie a scratch behind her ear and glance toward the leg long ago amputated, after a car accident.
I wasn’t running this practice when the puppy was rushed in by a boy, the boy who would eventually become Brittany’s husband, but I was here, so while the man I considered my uncle saved Annie’s life, I watched on and took notes.
Twenty minutes after walking into my examination room, I walk the couple out again and see Brittany all the way to the door. I shut it behind her, and once again, my eyes stop on the red smudge on the glass, but the trilling phone brings me around with snapped steps until I stop in front of the desk and study the trim and annoyingly beautiful woman sitting in Martha’s spot.
“Speak.”
Tabitha’s eyes whip up to mine and glitter with rage. “Would you like me to sit and roll over also?”
“No. But I’d love for you to explain why the fuck you’re in my clinic, sitting at Martha’s desk, and speaking to my clients.”
“Martha called while you were at lunch,” Tabitha answers easily. “She was pleased you’d started someone already, albeit surprised to find out it was me and not one of the sluts.” She stops and flashes a sardonic grin. “Her words, not mine. And then she said since I’m here, she’s taking the rest of the day off. She’ll be back tomorrow to teach me where everything is.”
“But…” I look around, searching. “You do not work here.”
“No, but Martha assumed I do. And so here we are. By the way,” Tabitha grabs a small pile of Post-Its. “Your mom called and said she’ll try again this afternoon. A Nadia Reynolds is bringing Satan in on Monday. I wasn’t sure if she was being facetious when she called her cat Satan. Turns out, she was. He’s called Milo in your system.”
I press my lips together, less than amused. Yes, I know.
“I’ve handled a double booking for four this afternoon,” she continues, relentless. “I’m not sure why Martha did that, but I caught it, and since you’re open at half past three, and Miss Mooreland called anyway to confirm her appointment, I talked her into coming earlier. She thought I was doing her a favor.” She sits taller in her seat and preens, clearly satisfied with her negotiation skills.
“And tomorrow at nine, the local newspaper is coming to interview you about a recent surgery you performed.” Seemingly impressed, Tabitha smiles and sends a bolt of electricity zinging through my blood. “I had no clue you rescued that horse.”
“I pulled him from barbed wire fencing.”
“Yeah, and according to your case notes, you held your hand to his artery when he began bleeding too much.”
“You read my case notes?” Anger whooshes back in and replaces the zinging in my veins. “Why are you sitting at that desk, Tabitha? Why are you in my calendar? Why are you reading my notes?”
“Because I’m here, Martha is not, and we both know Carmel isn’t gonna last. Also, that three-legged Lab; was that you?”
“Was it me who amputated? No. Get up.”
Tabitha’s eyes pop wide. “What?”
“Up!” I push around the desk and step into the small office she has already moved into. “You do not work here. You do not have clearance to be here. And what the fuck was Andi saying about Nacho’s UTI?”
Slowly, the woman with shoulder-length hair that is a little bit blonde and a little bit sandy brown pushes up to stand and grabs her briefcase. She’s tall. Not, like, crazy tall, but taller than many women I’ve met. When my eyes invariably stray to her feet for the second time today, I confirm; no heels.
“I caught some of Nacho’s pee,” Tabitha answers easily. “With her owner’s permission, I also extracted urine via cystocentesis. I’ve left both samples in your office for evaluation, but it’s easy to see she’s suffering from a UTI. There’s pus in her urine.”
“Pus?”
“Yeah. I prescribed broad-spectrum antibiotics and told her to come back in a little over a week.”
“You…” Stunned, I place my hands on Martha’s desk and breathe. “You come into my practice, you insert a fucking needle into my client’s beloved pet’s bladder, then you prescribe drugs?” Glancing up, I shout, “You don’t work here!”
Tabitha jumps in place. “I know what—”
“You know nothing! I don’t know you. I have no clue what you’ve just done to Nacho. You convinced my client you know what you’re doing, but do you? Did you sterilize? Did you use a clean needle? Did you prescribe the right antibiotics? The right dosage?”
“Of course I did,” the woman huffs. “I’m not new at this.”
“You. Don’t. Work. Here!”
I grab Tabitha by the arm and drag her out of the office. Into the hall. Through the waiting room. And then to the smudged glass front door. Swinging it wide and wafting in a chilly breeze, I toss her to the other side of the threshold.
“Do not come back here again.” I snarl. “What you did today is illegal. You medically treated a patient you have no right to treat. If Nacho has been harmed because of this fucking tantrum you felt entitled to all because you didn’t get a job, then I’ll come looking for you. If Nacho needs treatment because of you, I’ll invite Ms. Cruz to take you to court. And if the pig dies because of you, then I’m the least of your fucking worries.”
I attempt to slam the glass door shut, but it’s on one of those slow-release things that means my slam is nothing more than a torturous thirty seconds of Tabitha and I staring at each other through smeared glass, and the smear, coincidentally sitting right at the height of Tabitha’s lips.
When the door finally closes, I turn on my heels and move back to the trilling phone. I lean over the front of the counter, since going around will take too long, and yank the phone to my ear. “Lakeside. This is Beck.”
“Oh no.” Two simple words, and I already know who it is. The concern I hear in Abigail’s, my baby sister’s, voice is a living thing. “Did you fire her already?”
“Who? Hold on.”
Before she can answer, I set the phone down on Martha’s desk, then I go around and into the office.
Plopping down, I grab the phone again and bring it to my ear. “What’s wrong?”
“Nadia told me you’d hired someone already, and that she didn’t sound crazy. I was calling to confirm.”
“New girl starts Monday,” I tell her—and pretend that everything in the last twenty minutes didn’t happen. “What are you doing today? I need someone to help me on the phones.”
�
��Where’s Martha?”
I drop my elbows to the desk and press the heel of my right hand to my eyes. “She’s done for the day. You busy?”
“Yeah, I’m at the shop. And before you ask, Nadia’s busy too.”
“Shit,” I breathe out. “What about Idalia?” I ask of my youngest brother’s fiancée. “Do you think she can spare a few hours?”
“Unlikely,” Abby snickers. “She’s speaking with her builder today. They’re getting ready to rebuild.” Then she adds solemnly, “Again.”
“Arlo?”
“You need to get your own assistant!” Abby laughs. “Nadia is mine, Arlo is Idalia’s. Stop trying to poach.”
“I need help, Ab!”
I take my hand from my eyes and wait for the stars to leave my vision. When they’re gone, I’m met with the tidy pile of Post-its Tabitha handed me. There are a dozen at least, neatly stacked, organized, transcribed in cursive handwriting, and with timestamps in the corners. On Martha’s keyboard, a file rests, and when I look closer, I let my eyes scan Nacho’s name on the front.
Flicking the folder open, I find professionally written notes: cystitis, tetracyclines, trimethoprim sulphas. Alongside those are Nacho’s weight in pounds, and beside that, the dosage Tabitha has prescribed.
Frustrated, I close the file again and shake my head. “I just need someone for a few hours,” I murmur into the phone. “I’m begging you.”
“You hired someone, right?”
“Yeah.” I breathe out a heavy sigh. “Carmel someone. She’s starting Monday.”
“Carmel?” Abby’s tone lifts an octave or two. “Nadia said her name is Tabby.”
“No, Tabby is… Tabitha is, uh…” A puzzle.
“A long story,” Abby laughs. “Obviously. Can you call Carmel and have her start early?”
“Well… I guess. I’ll call her when we hang up.”
“Explain to me who Tabby is, then?” Abby pushes. “If Carmel is the new hire, and Martha has gone home, who did Nadia speak to?”
“She spoke to someone who absolutely does not work here.”