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Smooth, Broadie. Real smooth.
“Sorry. Smelled something and couldn’t help myself.”
Her eyes pop wide, and evidenced by the frown on her face, I realize I’ve likely offended her.
“Your scent is irresistible. There was nothing else in here that had my mouth watering, so I knew it had to be you.”
What. The. Fuck?
What am I thinking? My game is so bad I could end up in HR for harassment at this rate.
Without a word or reassuring change in her scowl, Poppy spins toward the front of the line and hands the cashier her food as if I’m invisible.
My forehead breaks out into a sweat, but my hands are full, so I stand here looking and feeling like a simp, hoping not to drip perspiration onto the counter once I move forward.
Hell. This woman is my kryptonite.
“Good morning, Dr. Weston,” the cheery cashier greets.
I’m relieved for the diversion from my humiliating behavior when I discover I recognize this kind lady. “Good morning, Althea. Looks like I picked the right time to come.”
“Yes, sir. It’s gotten a bit busier with the doctors’ lounge under construction. But it’s nice to see you outside of there. You guys are always too busy talking shop to one another to say hello.”
Her statement hits me like a two-by-four. That’s the very reason I’ve enjoyed it there. The ability to keep working, only stopping to grab a quick cup of joe or lunch with equally overstressed, work-obsessed colleagues. I’m an asshole. A universally disrespectful asshat.
By all accounts, I’m a nice guy. At least, that’s what the reviews always say. And I don’t try to put on a show. I want my interactions with my patients to be genuine. Yet I’m not really living. It suddenly hits me that I only take the time to interact with people when it benefits my business or suits me personally.
My grandmother would be appalled. She’s probably already disgusted with me for how rarely I visit. She’s ninety-nine and lives with a full-time nurse. She’s practically deaf and blind, otherwise, I believe her mind is still sharp. That’s one more person I need to make it up to. But I’ll start with this ever-pleasant dietary worker.
“You know, Althea. You’re absolutely right. I apologize for that.”
“Oh, I’m not criticizing, Dr. Weston. You’ve always been so polite to say hello when you could. I know you have more important things to do.”
“Certainly not. You’ve worked here at least as long as I have. You keep us all going, Althea. Your job is very important.”
A sweet blush crosses her brown skin, and the interaction causes me to smile brightly at her. This day might be picking up after all.
“Broadie, can I have a moment of your time?”
Or maybe not.
My eyes close at the sound of his voice. Brantly Martin. The administrator whose sole purpose in life is to make mine more stressful. “I’m afraid now isn’t a good time, Brantly. I’ve been detained in the ER longer than I would’ve liked and have patients waiting in my office.” It’s a white lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. I don’t think anyone has been waiting. I take great pains to be punctual.
“I understand. You’re an incredibly busy man. I only wanted to remind you that the deadline for appointing a medical director is approaching. Dr. Birmingham will be retiring soon, and we need someone to step in who will move the hospital forward. I feel there are a lot of positive changes that could beneficially impact our facility if you were at the helm. Not to mention, staff recruitment and retention is at an all-time low. I think having you more involved could change this.”
I have no idea why he thinks my becoming the medical director would impact staffing. Maybe if the hospital would treat the staff already employed at St. Luke’s better than the temporary nurses they keep hiring when the mistreated ones eventually quit, they might be able to retain quality employees.
“I’m not interested in adding to my workload, Brantly. But if I can find a way to contribute something, I’ll let you know.” I give a halfhearted wave and pick up my pace before he has a chance to come up with anything new.
* * *
“Sorry for the delay, Beatrice. Do I have many patients waiting?”
“No, Broadie. It’s not bad. The nurses have two in exam rooms ready for you. But they haven’t been waiting long. One’s a gallbladder follow-up who appears to be doing well, and the other is here for an elective breast reduction consult.”
“Thank you.”
“You seem flustered, dear. Did that old Mr. Martin corner you again?”
