The Girl Who Doesn't Quit (Soulless Book 12)

by Victoria Quinn

  When I thought of Daisy, it wasn’t with so much anger anymore. There was too much sadness in this moment.

  “I still have my mom. She’s in a home in the city. It was hard to get her to leave her apartment, but once she moved in to the retirement home, she loved it. It’s an upscale place here in Manhattan, and she’s around people her age. She says it’s like a vacation.”

  “That’s good. The elderly usually struggle with those things.”

  “I’m grateful to be a man because I’ll get to die at home with my wife beside me. She’s the one who has to go through that. Is your mom still around?”

  The question caught me off guard. “Uh, no.”

  Now he looked even sadder before. “That’s rough.”

  I gave a halfhearted shrug. “It is what it is.”

  He dropped his gaze then looked at the paper in his hand for a moment. “Siblings?”

  I didn’t know why he was asking all these questions, and I didn’t know why I continued to answer them. “I had a sister…but she passed away.”

  He looked up again. “Can I ask what happened?”

  I shifted my gaze away because I didn’t want to talk about it. I never wanted to talk about it. “Mass shooting.”

  Dr. Hamilton couldn’t hide his reaction. A slow breath left his lungs, and he leaned back in his chair, his fingertips releasing the paper he’d held just a second ago. His chin dropped, and he rubbed his palm across his scruff. “I…fuck… I’m sorry.”

  I couldn’t speak, so I just sat there.

  “The Subway Massacre?”

  All I did was give a nod.

  He looked away and sat there for a while, like he had no idea what to do with himself now.

  I didn’t know what to say to disrupt the tension, but it was like torture, just letting the painful silence linger. “These numbers look good. I think we should consider them for our first trial in humans.”

  As if he didn’t hear me, he kept his eyes down, like he still needed time to process what I said.

  I sat at my desk in the office, going over the new submissions. Daisy needed a new patient—whether she liked it or not. She couldn’t linger on Melinda when that case was resolved as far as I was concerned. More people needed our help, and we were already overwhelmed as it was.

  Then she stormed inside with a folder in her hand.

  “Fuck. Here we go.”

  Her pumps clomped against the hardwood floor as she practically ran to my desk. Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap. She moved quickly, like she couldn’t face me fast enough. Then she threw the folder on my desk, where it slid across the surface and landed on the floor behind me. “Guillain-Barré syndrome. It explains her other symptoms perfectly.”

  I glanced at the folder on the floor but didn’t pick it up. “She was tested and ruled out—”

  “Well, I retested her, and she’s positive for every single one. Her scans confirm it. And her inflamed nervous system is perpetuating her metabolic disease, which is why her symptoms are so severe.”

  I grabbed the folder and finally opened it, looking at what she’d brought.

  Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, and she leaned forward, staring at me with bullets in her eyes.

  I glanced up at her.

  She continued her stare.

  I kept reading through, ignoring her piercing anger. The scans confirmed it, as did Melinda’s lab work. When I was finished, I closed the folder and set it on the desk. My eyes met hers.

  And a stare-off ensued.

  A very hostile stare-off.

  “Where’s my apology?”

  I kept my mouth shut.

  “Guess you aren’t the smarter one after all.”

  Everyone went home for the day.

  The clock on the wall showed it was almost seven, so I grabbed my bag and prepared to head home. I moved past the empty desks of the assistants and headed to the front door.

  But one office was occupied.

  Daisy was still there.

  She sat on the couch with a bottle of wine in front of her, looking at all the patients’ paperwork she had pinned to the bulletin board. She didn’t have a wineglass and appeared to drink it straight out of the bottle.

  I could just keep walking. She had no idea I was there.

  But I stepped through the open doorway and tapped my knuckles gently against the wall.

  Her head turned my way, and once she saw my face, her eyes narrowed viciously.

  Okay, I deserved that. “You got a minute?”

  “Yes—if I’m getting an apology.”

  I moved to the sitting area and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. My bag was placed on the floor beside me. My forearms rested on my knees for a while, and I massaged my knuckles as I considered what to say. “You’re right. You deserve an apology from me.”

  “And yet you haven’t given it…”

  I pivoted toward her, giving her my full attention. “I’m sorry.”

  The hostility waned in her eyes—but only slightly. “I give all of myself to my patients, and I will always do what’s in their best interest. I wanted to work here because there’s no bureaucratic bullshit. You don’t need to discharge a patient within a certain time frame. You can take all the time you need to find the solution. Not a solution. The solution. Your words were very insulting. It wasn’t an attack on my professionalism but on my entire character. My father says being a doctor isn’t what you do, it’s who you are. And I’m a doctor—down to my bones.”

  I stared at my knuckles as they shifted and moved.

  “You’re right. You have the resources and the brilliance that allow you to draw conclusions quicker than I can. But I also have a holistic approach to my patients, understanding the full body, not cherry-picking what I want to deal with. I’m open to collaboration, but it was never a collaboration with you. It was orders—and I was supposed to obey.”

  “Let’s not forget that you didn’t accept my position with open arms. Dylan said you told him off in his office, and when he left, he didn’t even say goodbye to you. You were livid with his decision. Can’t blame me for assuming this interaction would be difficult. At best.”

  “Did he say why I was livid with his decision?”

  I turned to look at her.

  “Because he passed me over—because I was too young. I look at you, and you can only be a few years older than me. Didn’t seem to be a problem. Age had nothing to do with it. It’s the WAP between my legs.”

  My eyes widened at her choice of words.

  She looked forward again. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anymore. But he could have picked someone else in the office, and it was disloyal that he didn’t. Yes, I was annoyed that you’d been hired, but by the time you walked in the door, I was over it. The fire was gone, but you relit it.”

  “Looks like this was never going to work out, no matter what happened.”

  “Maybe.”

  I faced her bulletin board again and considered how to circumvent this. “All of your colleagues speak very highly of you even when you aren’t in the room. Your father says the same thing. I’d like to give this another try—if you’re willing.” I turned back to her.

  She met my look, her legs crossed, her hair pulled over one shoulder. “My father has nothing but good things to say about you. I don’t really understand it, but I trust his judgment.”

  “I have my flaws. I’m impatient, not because I want to have a quick turnover of patients, but because I want solutions to their problems as readily as possible. I’m intense because I have tunnel vision about my work sometimes. I get so involved in what I’m doing that I can’t see the big picture—just as you describe. But my heart is in the right place—even if that isn’t always clear all the time. I apologize for the way I handled things with us and that I said things I shouldn’t have. And for what it’s worth, I do think you’re as brilliant as people say. It’s the first time someone has proved me wrong about something.”

  “Well, I di
dn’t prove you wrong. Your first diagnosis was right, and without your resources, it may have taken me another six months to figure it out.”

  This was the side of her I’d heard rumors about but never witnessed firsthand. She was logical and reasonable, understanding.

  “Your heart is in the right place. You’re eager for them to find relief, which isn’t a bad thing. I admit I let my anger get the best of me and I lashed out in outlandish ways, and I already disliked you before you had the chance to prove yourself. My dad told me that I’m a bit threatened by you, and I think he may be right.”

  “You have no reason to be threatened by me, Dr. Hamilton.”

  “Everyone keeps saying you’re the smartest person they’ve ever met, so…”

  I stared at my hands, unsure what to say to that.

  She let the silence continue and looked at the bulletin board once again.

  This conversation had gone far better than I’d hoped, and I wanted it to stay that way. “Can we start over?”

  “Yes. I’d like that.” She turned to me and extended her right hand. “Call me Daisy.”

  I took her hand in mine and shook it.

  “When people call me Dr. Hamilton, I sound like my dad and brothers.”

  “Atlas. Or you can call me map boy if you prefer.”

  Her mouth lit up with a beautiful smile, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.” I smiled back and pulled my hand away. “It’s a weird name, I know.”

  “Well…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

  7

  Daisy

  “So, I walked in there and threw the folder right at his face.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and snapped my fingers. “Waltzed in there like a boss bitch. Told him what’s up. You know what he said?”

  Dad ate his dinner across from me, chewing as he stared.

  “Nothing. Nada. Zip.”

  “Attagirl.” Mom was proud, like always when I put men in their place.

  Dad normally would be, but he didn’t have anything to say now.

  “The tests all confirmed it, and we paired her with the perfect neurologist to manage her symptoms. I’m so happy for her, but I can’t lie, proving that smug asshole wrong felt pretty damn good.”

  “I bet he won’t underestimate you again,” Mom said.

  “I don’t think so either.” I picked up my quinoa taco and took a bite. “So, then he comes into my office later, and guess what?”

  “He apologized?” Mom asked.

  “Bingo.” I took another bite and spoke with my mouth full because it was just my family. “We buried the hatchet and said we would start over. But it was nice to get that vindication from him because he honestly made my life a living hell. He was so arrogant, but I think it was just misdirected passion.”

  Dad didn’t participate in the conversation even though he always had something to say about Atlas. But now, he just ate his food in silence.

  “Dad?” I looked at him, expecting some kind of feedback because all I ever got was praise.

  “Yes, sweetheart?” he asked as he wiped his fingers on a napkin.

  “I just thought you would have more to say.”

  He finished chewing his bite, taking a long time to say something, as always. “I’m glad you two have resolved your differences. I think each of you experienced a version of the other that’s not found in nature. You got off on the wrong foot, and now you’re on the right one.”

  “Sure, but he was still a dick.”

  Dad would be the first one in my corner, the first one to bash someone who wronged me, underestimated me, but this time, he seemed neutral, like Switzerland. “He’s not a dick anymore, and that’s all that matters.”

  “So, you guys are good?” Shelly had lunch with me in my office, relaxed in the corner of the couch, while I took the armchair.

  “As good as we’re going to be.”

  “I’m glad it was resolved with words rather than fists. We all expected a sumo match in the middle of the office.”

  I laughed at the thought of me in a big diaper and matching bra. “I would have kicked his ass.”

  “I don’t know…he’s pretty fit.”

  “But I’m pretty fast.”

  “He seems fast too. Like he could demolish a headboard pretty quick.”

  “Shelly!”

  She chuckled as she stabbed her fork into her salad. “Sorry, he’s hot. Tom used to look like that…then he got his dad bod. And I got my mom bod.”

  “Whatever. You guys are still crazy about each other.”

  “True. Now, your dad…that man has never had a dad bod in his life.”

  “Yeah, but he’s crazy.”

  “Your dad is crazy?” she asked incredulously.

  “He gets up at the crack of dawn for his workouts and then spends the rest of the day eating obnoxious stuff, like whole grain toast with almond butter and harvest bowls…salmon burgers…cauliflower tacos.”

  “You mean he’s a pescatarian.”

  “No, he’s just a health nut.”

  “Well, it works. I can tell you that much.”

  I made a disgusted face. “Okay, just gonna sidestep that.”

  “So, how did that date go last night?”

  “Date? I didn’t have a date.”

  “Yesterday, you said you were seeing some guy named Hunter.”

  “Honey, that wasn’t a date,” I said with a smug grin. “That was just a good ol’-fashioned booty call.”

  “Ah, to be young.”

  “You’re young.”

  “Not in my twenties, young. I’m a mom with young kids, young.”

  I grabbed my burrito and took a bite before I dunked my chips into the salsa.

  “How do you eat like that all the time and still look like that?”

  “Psh, beats me.”

  She chuckled.

  “I’m sure it’ll catch up to me soon. But until then, I’m gonna eat everything I can.”

  “Good philosophy.” She closed up her salad tray and grabbed her things. “Well, I should get back to work. Those cases aren’t going to crack themselves.”

  “See you later, girl.”

  She walked out and headed back to her office.

  I continued to eat my burrito, directing my gaze to the wall.

  A moment later, the door opened again. “Got a minute?”

  I’d just taken an oversized bite of my burrito, so I covered my mouth as my teeth tried to get a grip on the enormous piece of steak covered in avocado, along with the crispy French fries. “Uh-huh.”

  “I can come back if you want to finish your lunch.”

  I shook my head, chewing quickly, and then pointed at the couch beside me. I spotted those folders in his hands and knew exactly what they were. I didn’t want last pick of the pile.

  “Alright.” He took the seat Shelly had just occupied.

  I finally came up for air. “What’s up?”

  He held up the three folders. “Time for a new patient since Melinda has been officially discharged. Thought I’d give you first pick. Because, you know—”

  “You were a prick?” I took the first folder and flipped through it.

  “I was going to say because you’re a great physician…but okay.”

  I flipped through the chart. “Young. Short medical record. Nah.” I closed it and tossed it on the table before I grabbed the thickest folder, crammed with tons of papers. “Multiple surgeries, hospital stays, long medication list, several chronic conditions… This is the one.” I shut it and set it on my lap. “Thanks, bud.”

  With the final folder still in his hand, he wore a slightly incredulous look. It was a warm day, so today, he wore a black shirt and jeans, showing off his muscular arms for the first time. “I’m surprised you picked that one.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a lot of work.”

  “I like a challenge. If I’m not being challenged
, I’m unhappy.” I went to the bag of chips and grabbed one before I extended the bag to him.

  He shook his head. “No thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” I dunked it in the salsa and popped it into my mouth.

  He continued to watch me even though the conversation was over.

  “What?”

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “A woman who likes chips and salsa?”

  “Not sure how to explain it.”

  I continued to eat my chips. “What part of England are you from?”

  “London. Born and raised.”

  “Then what brought you out here?”

  “My second residency. I wanted to be certified to practice medicine in both countries. Then I decided to stay.”

  “That must have been hard, to leave your family behind.” He was civil now, so I decided to be civil too, to treat him the same way I treated my other colleagues. Instead of asking the same old shit like how are you, I decided to have a real conversation with real questions.

  He suddenly looked away and grabbed the folder I’d placed on the table. “Yeah.” He got to his feet and turned for the door, his muscled back stretching the fabric of his shirt. “Enjoy your burrito.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up even though he couldn’t see me. “Oh, I will. Thanks for the pick of the deck.”

  He turned back before he walked out. “No problem.”

  Atlas leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, preferring to stand rather than sit during our staff meetings. “What have you ordered?”

  Anthony flipped through his chart. “I’m repeating the CBC panel. There must be an infection, but his blood keeps coming up clean. It doesn’t make sense. How can someone have the symptoms of an infection with no signs of an infection?”

  Atlas kept his eyes fixed in place, his jawline tight as he brooded over the information. His hand absent-mindedly rubbed his bicep, like he was sore from his session at the gym. “Maybe because it’s an isolated infection. Won’t appear on the CBC panel.”

  Anthony shook his head. “That’s just not possible.”