It didn’t help that I’d spent the last few days imagining him fucking me senseless, over and over, every time I closed my eyes.
That probably wasn’t helping.
* * *
Mondays at Ridgeway Medical Center were always the same, a little parade of things I didn’t want to do, emails I didn’t want to answer, meetings I definitely didn’t want to attend. Since I was in the middle of four distinct cases, my desk was a mess, which was unusual—file folders in a slouching stack, sticky notes migrating off the edge, my tablet wedged somewhere between two compliance manuals.
My coffee had been cold for at least an hour, but I was still drinking it out of stubbornness. I was too lazy to drag myself all the way to the break room to warm it up and I wasn’t about to ask Rowan to do it either. They weren’t my lackey.
But they could at least pick up on the fact that I needed a refill.
So I was still sipping cold coffee when my internal line rang. The little screen announced Dr. Rice. Figured. She never went through Rowan so they could pretend I’m not available.
“Harper Sutton,” I answered, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder.
“Harper, hi.” Her voice came through, brisk as ever. “The Hart family meeting is scheduled for tomorrow. It’ll be you and me, Legal, and Dr. Webb.”
“Okay. I’ll be ready, I guess.”
“Good. Two o’clock, twelfth floor conference room.” That was all it took for my stomach to take a deep dive. The twelfth floor conference room was reserved for the highest-level, most strictlyconfidential meetings; using it meant this meeting was a top priority. “I need comprehensive case documentation—timeline, intake, communications, treatment plan, post mortem. The full arsenal. Have it ready by end of day.”
“That’s a lot to pull together in one day.”
“I’m aware. We may not need it all, but we need to be ready. Harper, this is your opportunity to demonstrate we’ve handled this appropriately.”
Which meant this was my chance to make the hospital look good.
“I’ll have it ready,” I told her. “Should I alert Dr. Vaughn?”
“No,” she said, and if it was possible for one syllable to be clipped, that’s what it sounded like.
I waited for the explanation I assumed was coming. When none came, I prodded her. “Any reason? You had me interview him and prep him for?—”
“Dr. Vaughn will not be attending. We’ll handle any clinical queries through the department chair.”
“But Dr. Vaughn was the surgeon on call. Excluding him makes it look like we’re hiding something.”
“We’re managing the optics. Keeping the audience small is in our best interest.”
“It’s really not.”
The silence on the other end of the line stretched out so long I thought she’d hung up. “Have the materials ready by end of day,” she finally said.
The line went dead before I could respond.
I stared at the phone for a moment, then set it back in its cradle with more force than necessary.
I spent the rest of the day buried in files. When I finally surfaced, the admin wing had gone quiet, everyone else having left at five like normal people.
Rowan knocked on my door frame at six fifteen, looking apologetic. “I pulled everything you requested per your instructions. I’d stay longer, but my partner has class tonight and I’m on kid duty?—”
I glanced up from the stack of medical records I’d been cross-referencing with our incident reports. My neck cracked when I turned it.
“Oh, God, Rowan. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to stay so late. Please apologize to Nicki for me.”
“It’s okay. Tomorrow is a big deal. You’re here, so I’m here. And you’ve been here all day. You didn’t even break to eat.” They nodded toward the half-sandwich that had grown hard and crusty and the soup that was cold and congealed.
“I’m fine. Promise.”
