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.
Dee rubbed her chin. “I’ll have to look at my bills after I get paid next week. If I pay half on the electric, they won’t cut it off. Then I can put aside a little extra for the next few weeks to pay the extra next month. It wouldn’t hurt to not get my morning coffee from the cafe for a little while . . .”
Her mother’s voice trailed off and Nic knew she was playing a round of “bill bingo” in her mind. She remembered it well from growing up. Had done it herself during college and med school to survive on as little money from her mother as possible.
“I could pick up an extra shift at the diner or a few more houses to clean . . .”
Nic’s stomach squeezed as her mother strategized how to afford a trip.
While she went away with her friends to fabulous places every year.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll cover the trip and give you extra to cover what you’ll lose in income.”
“You don’t need to do that, honey.”
Yes, she did.
“I know. But I’ll do it anyway.”
Dee laughed. “That should’ve been your middle name.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nicole ‘I’ll do it anyway’ Allen. When you were three, you almost pulled the bookcase down on top of you because you kept crawling up it to get the toy I hid from you. When you were nine, you climbed to the top of the monkey bars even though I forbid it after you fell the first time—”
“And when I was eighteen, I decided to go to college and med school, instead of staying home to help you.”
“Nic—”
A brief knock had her swinging a startled gaze over to find Ben standing in her doorway, a glass of wine in his hand, his dark hair disheveled in that way that told her he’d raked his fingers through it repeatedly. He started to back away, but she shook her head.
“I have to go.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon. I love you, Nicole. I’m so proud of you.”
Number thirty-seven.
“I know. And I love you.”
Ben entered her space after she disconnected the call. “I thought you’d need this.”
“I do. Thanks.”
She took the glass and when her fingers grazed his, it drew her attention to his hand. As a surgeon, she spent a lot of time studying people’s hands. An occupational hazard. Ben’s palms were large, his fingers long and slim with blunt-tipped ends. They looked strong and capable, like they could dribble a basketball, suture a cut . . .
. . . or bring a woman to pleasure with a few well-placed strokes.
What the hell?
“Are you okay?” Ben asked. “Did I interrupt something?”
She tilted her head at his pinched expression. “No. Why?”
“You’re blushing.”
“No I’m not! I never blush.”
“If you say so,” he murmured, unconvincingly.
Probably because she could feel the heat blazing in her cheeks. Like a neon sign proclaiming, “I was thinking about youuuuuu . . .”
“I was just talking to my mom.”
“Oh.” He sat down next to her. “How is Ms. Dee?”
She smiled. It was cute that he referred to her mother that way. “Working hard, as usual. She doesn’t know how to take a break.”
“It’s genetic then?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but said, “I invited her to come to Durham for a little while when I leave for Duke.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“When she came here to visit just after I moved in.”
“She was so protective of you. Wanted to know my intentions,” he said, smiling.
Dee had left satisfied that Nic would be okay.
“That Ben is a lovely young man. If someone”—Dee’s pointed tone and exaggerated eye movements had made it clear who she was referring to—“were interested in getting married, he’d be a wonderful husband.”
Since getting married was the last thing on her mind, she hadn’t paid her mother’s comment any attention. But after three years of living with him, of witnessing his kindness, his compassion, and his capacity to nurture the people he cared about, she had to admit her mother was right. Nic was excited about Duke, but she couldn’t deny that part of what she’d miss when she left was Ben. He’d become extremely important to her in the past few years. She hoped she didn’t lose his friendship.
“I’m sure she’ll enjoy the trip.”
“She will. I just have to convince her not to worry about the cost.”
“Van Mont Industries has several condos in a building close to the campus for when any of the executives are in town for meetings or guest lectures. If any of them are free, you can stay there while you look for your new apartment.”
Was he serious?
“We couldn’t.”
“Why not? It makes no sense for you to pay for a hotel when we have a perfectly good place you could stay.”
“Thank you.” She stared into his expressive eyes. Were those flecks of amber in the dark depths? How had she never noticed before? Or the thick dark lashes that framed them. The heat she saw reflected back at her stole her breath and she looked away, her eyes stinging as if she hadn’t blinked in minutes. She cleared her throat. “But enough about me. Where’s your friend?”
“Davis?” His voice held a rough edge. “He left.”
“Not on my account, I hope?”
“Oh no, your accusation and cool demeanor made him feel quite at home.”
Considering what Ben had just offered her and the fact that she’d been rude to his friend in his home, she winced. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to apologize?”
He waved a nonchalant hand. “I’m just messing with you. He’s catching the train back to New York but we’re having dinner first. I told him I’d meet him there.”
She cradled the glass of wine in her hand, stared down into its contents. “I don’t think I’ve met him before.”
“You haven’t.”
Giving in to curiosity she asked, “Was he planning to stay longer?”
“No. Some of my friends will be out of the country for a while, so a group of us are getting together for a week on Martha’s Vineyard. Davis felt a need to inform me of the updated guest list.”
“Isn’t that the mythical coastal town where old money summers and rubs elbows with the Kennedys and the Bushes?”
One corner of his mouth curled upward. “Not exactly.”
Nic studied his expression and tone of voice and took into account that his friend came all the way from New York to give him this information in person . . .
“Who are you trying to avoid?”
“Who says—”
“Ben, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Once the words were in the air, she wished she would’ve chosen another expression. The words “hard way” seemed to linger between them, stoking a blaze that, until yesterday, she hadn’t been aware was simmering. Those gorgeous eyes dropped to her mouth and the amber flecks seemed to gleam as they followed the movement of her tongue darting out to moisten lips suddenly parched.
“Tinsley. My ex,” he said.
Nic inhaled a sharp breath, a sting piercing her chest as she imagined Tinsley. Tall. Angular. Blond. Impeccably dressed in couture.
She took a sip of wine. “And what happened with Tinsley?”
“She broke up with me.”
Come again? Why would anyone break up with Ben? He was sweet, smart, rich, and good-looking. He was the perfect catch.
For anyone looking to receive.
Which she wasn’t.
“Why?”
“Because it became clear that I wasn’t going to become a chip off the Van Mont block.”
Nic felt indignant on Ben’s behalf. “But you’re extremely successful at what you do! Last year you were named Baltimore’s Financial Services Champion of the Year and you’ve been named as one to watch in cash management by Fortune magazine!”
“Thank you for your defense, but this was years ago. When I first decided to start my business.”
“Let me guess. She’s having second thoughts?”
“I don’t know, but she’s been stirring the pot and Davis wanted to give me a heads-up.” He laughed. “He even suggested I bring the person I’m dating to prevent her from getting any ideas.”
“That seems extreme. Have you considered just telling her you’re not interested?”
“If you knew Tinsley you’d know she doesn’t always allow words to get in the way of what she wants.”
And she wanted Ben.
“Are you reconsidering the trip now? Because of Tinsley?”
He braced his elbows on his thighs, his hands falling between his knees. “Maybe.”
Ben wasn’t an in-your-face arrogant guy, but he always projected a complete confidence in himself and his decisions. This uncertainty was new.
“You remember me talking about my friend Caila, right?”
“She’s one of your friends from college. The ones you go on vacation with. Caila, Ava, and Lacey.”
Warmth spread throughout her chest. She mentioned them often and it was nice to know he listened.
“Last year, while we were on our trip, Caila lost her grandfather.”
“Shit. That must’ve been rough.”
“It was. They were very close. She was fucked-up over it for a while. Almost lost her job.”
Though, in the end, it all seemed to work out for her. As it usually did. Smart and beautiful, Caila had never met a goal she couldn’t achieve. And when it looked like she finally had, she ended up with a promotion and a sexy new man.
“If she had the opportunity to spend time with him again, she’d take it, no matter what she had to do. And that’s how we feel about our vacations. These are your friends. Don’t let something as petty as an ex get in the way. You never know how much time any of us has.”
She saw it constantly in her work.
As if on cue, her phone rang, and she checked the caller ID.
Ben sighed and pushed to his feet. “I’ll leave you to take your call.”
“No, it’s only Amalia.” She raised the phone and answered the voice call. “What’s—”
“I wanted to give you a heads-up,” Amalia said, the urgency in her voice alarming.
“About what?”
“I was upstairs when I saw Whitaker’s father in Agner’s office.”
“He already talked to me about it. Told me to take a couple of weeks off.”
“No. Just now,” Amalia said. “Whitaker Sr. was apoplectic. Ranting that what you did could follow his son and ruin his career. He said you wouldn’t like it if someone did that to you.”
What could he do? She was leaving Hopkins in a few weeks, and now, thanks to Agner, she wouldn’t be there for most of it.
She said as much to Amalia.
“Whitaker Sr. said he knew Dr. Newman.”
Nic hissed in a breath. “James Newman? As in the head of my fellowship program?”
“I’m afraid so. Whitaker threatened to call him and demand he rescind your fellowship offer.”
Dread dragged its cold, gnarly fingers down her spine. “Motherfucker!”