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Harrison appeared in my bay at that moment. “Why is this patient leaving without you running a treatment plan by me first?”
Sean turned to the smaller man, and true menace rolled off him.
“She’s finished. It’s good enough for me.”
“Well… well, that’s not how it works, sir.”
“Why don’t we discuss how it works in your office?” He grabbed Harrison’s upper arm and dragged him.
The fine hairs rose on my neck, torn between fear and arousal. I must be broken to be enjoying the toxic display.
“You can’t—” blustered Harrison, attempting to break Sean’s grip.
Sean leaned down and said something I couldn’t hear, and Harrison went pale and allowed himself to be dragged off toward the supervisor’s office. Paralysed, I watched them disappear inside.
“What the fuck was that about?” Rosie whisper shouted as she burst into my workspace, making me jump.
“No idea,” I said, running a shaky hand over my hair.
“That guy was fifty kinds of hot, and he dragged Harrison off like the little muppet that he is,” she said with pure glee.
I snorted despite my heart still being in my throat. The door swung open, and Sean emerged. His eyes locked with mine as he strode back over.
“Hot man alert,” Rosie muttered, twisting to face him.
“Thank you. I’ll remember your advice next time I’m enjoying something sweet.” He licked his lips and swept away with a wink.
Oh my god.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” Rosie muttered, fanning herself. “Tell me you got his number.”
“He’s a patient,” I hissed at her.
“He’s not my patient.” She laughed at my expression. “I hope Harrison is in a pool of blood and piss in that office. He’s such a douche.”
That could easily be a reality if Sean were the kind of man I suspected. Rosie returned to her bay, and I stared at the closed office door. Lunch break arrived, but I never saw Harrison re-emerge.
5
Thankfully, Harrison’s body wasn’t removed in a bag, but I didn’t see him again. After lunch, we were told that he had to leave for a personal matter. The rest of the day was uneventful, and my jumpiness finally settled down.
Now, I was halfway across town, breathing in sweet, sugary air that made my stomach grumble while waiting in a massive queue at the specialist bakery.
Valentina, or Mamá Vale as she liked me to call her, spotted me and beckoned me over. The older woman had a streak of flour across her brow and smelt of yeasty bread as she hugged me.
“Hola mija, cómo estás? You are too skinny. I’ll put some extras in the bag to fatten you up.”
I rolled my eyes at her and passed her my card to swipe. Once it beeped, I took the bag she had just jammed some iced buns into. La Pandaria specialised in Mexican sweet bread alongside the usual British offerings. It was hugely popular and had a café bar attached, but it was closing early today. Hence, I drove like a bat out of hell after my last patient to get here. Mamá Vale was a lovely lady and acted like everyone’s abuela. My own abuela used to make Pan de Muertos or sweet bread for our Día de los Muertos celebrations even after she went blind, but she never had Mamá Vale’s cheerfulness.
“Adiós, hasta luego, Tia Vale.” I said goodbye to her.
“You need to work on that accent. I’ll set you up on a date with my grandson.”
I shook my head and waved, heading out through the crowd before she could marry me off.
My Citroen AX was ancient, and I prayed it would start each time I turned the key. Cat, my housemate, called it the bean can, but it got me from A to B and only cost me a few hundred quid to buy.
Luckily for me, it started, and I drove back across town and pulled up behind the row of shops our flat sat above. I grabbed my baked goods and locked the car, letting myself in through the back gate. The smell of grease and potatoes hit me as the warm air pumped out of the extractor next to the stairs to our flat. My stomach protested again, and I rushed to get inside – the temptations of living above a fish and chip shop.
