"I performed CPR in the lobby before my shift officially started," I begin.
"Badass move," she interjects with an approving nod.
"Not according to Dr. Walker." I take another sip of wine, letting the warmth spread through my chest. "He basically accused me of creating a liability issue and bypassing protocols. Like saving someone's life was breaking some sacred hospital rule."
Laney's eyebrows scrunch together. "Seriously? For saving a life?"
"Oh, it gets better," I continue, gesturing with my glass while going on about our little confrontation from before.
"What a dick," Laney says matter-of-factly as our server arrives with a basket of bread. She smiles brightly at him before turning back to me, her expression shifting instantly to outrage on my behalf. "So you met your medical crush and he turned out to be an asshole. Classic."
"Never meet your heroes," I mutter, tearing a piece of bread into tiny pieces. "They're probably going to be assholes."
"To be fair," Laney says, stealing a piece of my demolished bread. "Most surgeons are assholes. It's like a job requirement. 'Must have steady hands and the personality of a cactus.'"
I laugh, despite myself. "He's not a surgeon. He's a diagnostician."
"Same difference. Brilliant doctor equals social disaster." She studies me over the rim of her glass. "But that's not what's really bothering you, is it?"
I stare at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," she says, leaning forward, "I've seen you handle assholes before. But this guy has you all..." She gestures at my face. "Sad puppy-eyed."
I open my mouth to protest, then close it. She's not wrong. Sebastian's criticism has burrowed under my skin in a way that others' never did. "I just…I respected him. His research on diagnostic methodology changed how I approach cases. I thought he'd be different."
Laney's expression softens. "You know what your problem is?"
"Please, enlighten me," I say dryly.
"You," she says, pointing at me with a breadstick. "Need to get laid."
I nearly spit out my wine. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." She waves the breadstick emphatically. "It's been what… a year since that disaster with Ryan? Longer? You're all wound up, sunshine. Tense. You need to release some of that... pressure." She makes an explosive gesture with her hands that draws looks from the next table.
A visible shudder runs through me. "The last thing I need right now is a man," I say firmly. "Or a one-night stand. Or any kind of... entanglement. I'm starting a fellowship that's going to consume every waking hour. Dating is not on the agenda."
"Who said anything about dating?" Laney asks innocently. "I'm talking about orgasms. Multiple, preferably. The kind that make you forget your own name, let alone some grumpy doctor's criticism."
Our food arrives just then, saving me from having to respond immediately. The server gives Laney a curious look as he sets down our plates, clearly having caught at least part of her orgasm speech.
Once he's gone, I lean forward. "Can we please talk about literally anything else?"
"Fine, fine." She takes a bite of her pasta. "But why does this particular guy's opinion matter so much?"
Considering the question, I push my salad around with my fork. "I guess... I thought this fellowship would be different. That I'd finally be somewhere where my approach to medicine was valued, not just tolerated. Dad always said medicine was supposed to be about seeing the whole person, not just the symptoms."
Laney's expression softens. "Your dad would be proud of you, Mia. Grumpy diagnostician's opinion notwithstanding."
"I know," I say, but the words feel hollow. The truth is, I'm not sure what Dad would think. He believed in me unquestioningly, but he also taught me to respect experience and expertise. Would he think I'm being stubborn, or principled?
"Listen," Laney says, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "It's one day. One bad first impression. This doesn't define your fellowship or your career."
"You're right," I admit. "I just hate feeling like I've already screwed up."
"You saved a life. If that's screwing up, then screw up more." She grins wickedly. "And if Dr. Frosty keeps giving you shit, just imagine him naked. That always helps me deal with the annoying attendings."
The unbidden image of Sebastian naked flashes through my mind—all that controlled power stripped bare—and my face flames. "That’s... not helpful advice."
