Dr. ER (St. Luke's Docuseries #2)

by Max Monroe

  Okay, then.

  Me: You just got me in trouble with the cab driver.

  Harlow: Me? What’d I do?

  Me: Apparently, infected my laugh with the spirit of the devil.

  Harlow: Wow. And from all the way uptown. I’m talented.

  Me: So your apartment is uptown?

  Harlow: No. Shut up.

  Me: I’m going to find out where you live eventually. Why don’t you just invite me back there today?

  Harlow: I’m not at home. I’m…out buying cheese.

  Me: I’d wager you do your cheese buying close to your apartment.

  Harlow: Go away.

  I barked a shout of laughter, and the cabbie glared at me again. Geez. Rough crowd.

  “I was just messaging with my…” I cleared my throat, expecting to choke on the word, but it came out altogether too easily. “Girlfriend.”

  I’d never used that word before. Not in my entire life. I’d expected it would feel more traumatizing. Instead, I found myself smiling.

  And then, frowning.

  Christ, is she my girlfriend?

  Not really.

  Would she want to be?

  Probably not. She felt more like a hostage than anything. Arm-twisted, coerced, and blindfolded into my company.

  Though, she did seem to like my company once she was in it.

  Me: Do you actually like me?

  Harlow: This is a weird question.

  Me: I mean, am I annoying?

  Harlow: Okay, now you’re really asking two separate questions. Because, yeah. I guess I like you most of the time. But, yeah, you’re definitely annoying.

  Me: I don’t know what to think about that.

  Harlow: Well…then I guess that’s fair, Scotty. Because most of the time, I don’t know what to think about you.

  Christ, that felt like a major admission. But maybe I’d read that wrong…

  Harlow: Bleeding all over your text message here…

  Okay. Maybe I didn’t read it wrong.

  Me: I don’t know what to make of you either. I do know I keep coming back for more.

  Harlow: Sigh…ditto.

  I put my phone back in my pocket and leaned back into the sticky leather of the disgusting cab seat. And then I tried not to think about how disgusting the seat was. Luckily, with all the swirling thoughts in my mind about Harlow, it wasn’t too hard to distract myself.

  I felt out of my depth. I’d never felt this kind of draw to a woman before, and quite frankly, had never expected I would. But I’d definitely figured that if I were to eventually like someone with any real interest one day, they’d feel the same way back.

  The uncertainty about how she felt about me was torture.

  The cabbie blew his horn sharply, and my head flew up from its resting place to see that we’d stopped.

  “We’re here,” he said, once again impatient. I was starting to wonder what I’d done to this guy. Taxi drivers in New York weren’t exactly the friendliest best friends ever, but rarely, if ever, did I annoy them this much.

  Maybe because you’re turning into the same mindless guy who gets lost in thought about a woman constantly instead of keeping his fucking shit together.

  I glanced two storefronts up to see that we were, indeed, there. Hopping out quickly, I tossed him the fare plus a little tip—smaller than usual because, yeah, thanks for nothing, asshole—and jogged through the drizzle to get inside.

  Hopefully, the weather cleared up in a couple of hours like it was supposed to so that Harlow and I could enjoy our walk.

  As soon as I made it inside the door, I hit bodies. The place was packed as always, but the food was worth it. Not to mention, they still actually took reservations, something I couldn’t say for very many good places in the city.

  Pushing gently through the crowd until I made it to the hostess station, I lowered my voice. “I’m meeting Pamela Lockhead, plus one more.”

  I almost rolled my eyes at all of this cloak-and-dagger stuff, but she’d given me specific instructions that they didn’t use the mayor’s name on reservations for obvious reasons.

  I just couldn’t believe I, Scott Shepard, had reason to be meeting with someone important enough to have a hidden identity.

  “Of course,” the hostess said, her eyes flashing with recognition for me—another thing I’d never get completely used to. “Right this way.”

  We stepped away from the podium and weaved our way through tight tables to the back of the space behind an almost partition that gave at least the illusion of privacy. But the truth was, the whole restaurant was no more than fifteen hundred square feet at most, and probably every fucking body in there would be able to hear every word we spoke—if they wanted to.

  “Here we are,” the hostess said as we made it to the table and both Pam and the mayor stood to shake my hand. I reached to take the mayor’s first just to avoid awkward physical contact with Pamela for as long as possible, when the hostess put a soft hand to my arm and interrupted.

  I turned my gaze directly to her as she spoke. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say, Dr. Er…Dr. Shepard…that…I love you on the show.” She blushed a little. “You’re always so much fun, but I can really tell you’re invested in the patients too.”

  I smiled. Sometimes I forgot the last episodes of the show were still airing. I’d stopped watching around the fifth one. I knew all I needed to about how they were trying to portray me, and I didn’t have anyone to prove anything to.

  Though, it’d be nice if the mayor took me seriously today.

  Trying to speed things up, I did my best to be gracious but brief. “Thanks. I’m really glad you’re enjoying it. Never hesitate to say hello if you see me out in the city.”

  She giggled. “Oh, you bet. I definitely will.”

  “Thanks, Alyssa,” the mayor said, clearly knowing her by name and clearly dismissing her. My eyebrows pulled together, but I shook it off and took his still extended hand.

  “Scott,” he greeted. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  “You too, Mr. Mayor.”

  He laughed, a little haughty, but mostly warm. It was a completely odd combination. “Call me Brent.”

  “Okay.”

  Quickly, I turned to Pam and shook her hand. “Nice to see you, Pam.”

  She smiled and blushed, and I tried not to cringe. “Scott.”

  I wasn’t usually one for regrets, but man, the taste of it was bitter in my mouth when it came to Pam.

  “Well, let’s sit down,” Brent instructed. “Get started.” He took his seat again.

  “Pam was telling me some of the details of why you wanted this meeting, but I’d rather hear it from you. What can I do to help you, Scott?”

  It was weird listening to him speak as though rehearsed. When I actually looked at him, something I’d never really done while he was on TV, I realized he had to be a couple of years younger than me, but he never looked it because of all of the authority he not only had, but wielded effortlessly.

  I took my seat and dropped my napkin in my lap, trying to gather my thoughts and get started. “Well, as you probably know, I’m head of the Emergency Department at St. Luke’s Hospital.”

  “I’m familiar,” he interrupted. “Dr. Erotic, right?”

  His tone didn’t sound outright derogatory, but there was a hint of something there I didn’t know if I liked. Though, his face was open and friendly, so I decided not to focus on it.

  “Well, I’ve got ten years in on the floor there, and I’ve seen some of the craziest stuff you can imagine. Not only everyday stuff, but I’ve actually been on shift for almost every major casualty event since I started, and one thing has always been the same. The protocol for managing the care of victims in such an event and the structure with which patients are explicitly outlined for next-of-care is horrendously impractical. I understand the urgency in triaging and treating the victims of mass casualty events, but we don’t have enough funding or enough staff to properly
prioritize both patients from the event and those with outside injuries. And the current policy we’re working from makes us choose.” I tilted my head and admitted, “Actually, it chooses for us. No trauma—even a gunshot wound to the chest—according to what’s written in your current health policy, is as high priority as any and all victims of a terrorist attack. I imagine the intent is in no way malicious and strongly built to assure the citizens of the city’s commitment to public safety, but not only does it put patients at risk needlessly, it downplays any and all need for patient care that arises from a cause outside of said ‘event.’”

  “Oh, is that all?” he asked jokingly. I barely even cracked a smile because, quite frankly, no, that wasn’t all.

  “Not exactly. There’s also a serious lack of training—”

  “I’d think that would be on you, as the head of the department, wouldn’t it?”

  “Of course,” I agreed, even though I didn’t like what he was insinuating. “But it’s also on you. Without funding and detailed written changes to the actual public health policy in place, I have very little opportunity and resources to do my job efficiently.”

  “Again, that sounds like something within the hospital.”

  “Well, then, with all due respect, you’re not listening,” I argued, and I watched as his jaw clenched. “St. Luke’s, along with ninety percent of the other hospitals in the city, are municipally funded hospitals. I’ve spoken with the heads of department at nearly all of their emergency rooms, and they all have the same concerns I do.”

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “To consult with me and other highly skilled and respected local physicians to restructure the public health policy, and to put your feather in the fight to actually get it passed and in place.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. I held his eyes until he looked away, wanting to have one up on him, and then glanced to Pam, who was taking furious notes at our side.

  “You get all that, Pam?” he asked suddenly, and she nodded.

  “Good. Then let’s eat.”

  Let’s eat? That was it?

  “Relax, Scott,” he appeased, apparently seeing my look of what the fuck? “I need time to digest everything you said. Plus, if you really want to be involved in building a new policy, you’re going to have to be patient. None of this stuff happens overnight.”

  I nodded. I guessed that was fair enough.

  Food arrived at our table, and my eyebrows shot together. I hadn’t ordered.

  The mayor laughed at my expression again. “Pam here ordered for you.” He smirked. “She said you like waffles.”

  My eyes jerked to Pam and back again, put off by how pleased he was to have knowledge of our intimacy. I wasn’t pleased at fucking all, and I wanted to know why he knew in the first place.

  Pam, of course, said nothing. Come to think of it, she hadn’t said anything the whole time. Just a lot of smiles and nods. She’d also implied knowledge of me that she didn’t really have. We hadn’t shared breakfast. We hadn’t shared anything more than a dance, a fuck, and some text messages.

  But all of that was way too complicated to drag into a meeting like this, so instead, I went with it. “Sure. I like waffles.”

  Brunch passed quickly enough, filled mostly by the sounds of us eating and polite small talk. Brent had asked a couple of seemingly probing personal questions, but I’d managed to avoid most of them.

  I glanced to my watch as we stood up to leave and realized we’d run over by nearly half an hour. I guessed it was good Harlow waited two and a half hours.

  The three of us moved as a group toward the door, but I picked up speed when I spotted Harlow lurking just inside the entrance. I didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, didn’t consider anything; I just went.

  Straight to her and into a hug.

  The sweet smell of strawberry jam radiated from her damp head. It’s got to be her shampoo.

  The mayor cleared his throat behind us. I pulled back, keeping my arm around Harlow, and looking back to see his smile. There was something in it I didn’t like.

  Pam looked jealous. And I didn’t like that either.

  “Brent…” I paused, not knowing if Harlow knew he was the mayor or not—we hadn’t discussed politics. “Uh, Mayor, this is Harlow Paige, my…” I struggled for the appropriate word to use, but finally settled on, “friend.” It sounded all sorts of wrong.

  Brent’s eyes, however, danced at its use.

  Mine narrowed before glancing to Harlow. She looked almost panicked, recognition stark in her voice. “Brent?”

  “Nice to see you, Harlow,” he said with way too much fucking familiarity. So much, it bordered on intimacy. Stepping right in front of me, he leaned down and touched his lips to her cheek, right at the corner of her mouth.

  Fucking on her mouth, for shit’s sake.

  I’d only waited inside of the restaurant for Scott for a minute or two before he found me and enveloped me in a tight, warm hug. All had appeared normal until he’d released me and I realized that his lunch company stood behind him.

  The instant my gaze met all too familiar eyes, my heart dropped into my stomach like a rock.

  Brent is here?

  And who in the hell is this woman standing beside Brent?

  With stiff posture and narrowed eyes aimed directly at me, she was the hunter, and if I wasn’t mistaken, I was her prey. I honestly had no idea why I was on the receiving end of her ire, but I didn’t have the brain capacity to figure it out. The oil was hot and ready, and I had a whole bucket of other fish to fry. Scott had obviously had lunch with Brent—my ex, Brent. The fucking mayor, Brent.

  Jesus Christ. What is happening? What business does a goddamn reality show doctor have wining and dining the mayor of New York City?

  Shocked and nearly at a loss for words, his name shot off my tongue before I could stop it. “Brent?”

  Always a fucking smarmy bastard, Brent flashed his notorious smile directly at me like we didn’t have a ten-ton pile of shitty past between us. It was the smile that had fooled everyone into believing he was a man of character and morals. The smile that had led his political career toward success. That stupid politician’s smile that had gotten him elected mayor of one of the greatest cities in the world.

  “Nice to see you, Harlow,” he said. His words oozed friendly cheer, but I knew his soul, and it was too fucking black for real pleasantries. Past lover or not, he was no friend of mine.

  I watched as Brent leaned in and in, coming toward me like an out-of-control car. I used every mental voodoo trick I knew to pump the fucking brakes, but even that failed. Twisted wreckage and the hollow sound of a rolling rim were the only things I could hear as he pressed his lips to my skin at the intimate place where my lips met my cheek.

  Hell, he might as well have just stuck his tongue down my throat.

  I wondered immediately what he was trying to prove. Or screw up. Brent didn’t know how to make an uncalculated move.

  In case you haven’t been paying attention, Brent was the ex. The one who made me realize long-term commitments were not for me.

  He had a long-standing record of fucking up my life—our relationship was proof of that. He had started out as my college boyfriend, the man I’d once considered sweet and kind, the man I’d counted on, the man I’d loved, and he had turned into someone who wanted control over me, over every aspect of my life, over everything.

  Somewhere along the line, when I was busy trying to make something of myself, secure a future worth something, he had changed from someone I’d admired to someone I despised. Still despise, actually.

  The instant Brent’s lips left my skin, nausea burrowed itself inside my stomach and shot up my esophagus like a fucking rocket. It took all of my mental strength to fight the urge to vomit onto everyone’s shoes and across the floor of Jane.

  Fuck, is it hot in here?

  Discreetly, I fanned my heated cheeks and stepped away from Brent. I needed distance. And space. And p
ossibly, a getaway car.

  With Scott’s eyes watching me the entire time, and the unknown woman practically seething in her stilettos, there was enough awkwardness and tension in the room to choke everyone in the restaurant.

  God, I could imagine the way Brent had shown affection toward me only proved that, at one awful point in my life, we’d known each other on a more than just friends level. It most likely appeared pretty fucking god-awful to an outsider, especially Scott.

  “How have you been, Low?” Brent asked and reached out with one of his slimy hands to rub down my arm. Instantly, I flinched away from his touch.

  “I’m fine,” I said with a brittle smile and then met Scott’s eyes for the second time since I’d stepped into Jane. He looked irritated, and I would’ve had to have been blind to miss the rigidity in his posture and the stress lines creasing the corners of his normally relaxed and jovial eyes.

  “You don’t want to ask me how I’m doing?” Brent asked, and my eyes met his again. Cocky, confident, and fucking manipulative. That was all I saw when I looked at this man.

  “How are you, Mr. Mayor?” I questioned without one ounce of care in my voice. Because I didn’t care. This man was the absolute last person on earth that I cared about. And I’d always considered hate a strong word, one I generally tried to avoid, but my feelings toward him felt a hell of a lot like hate.

  He grinned. “I’ve been really good.”

  Of course, he likes me calling him Mr. Mayor. I’d done it mockingly.

  As always, he was confidently at ease with himself and the situation despite my visible discomfort. What a fucking narcissist. “Although, I do think it’s been too long, LoLo,” he added, the sound of his nickname for me sparking a renewed roil of nausea. “We need to catch up soon.”

  “That’s great,” I answered and ignored his suggestion—or was it a demand?—that the two of us engage in a friendly powwow like we were just the best of buddies and our relationship hadn’t ended disastrously.