Taking things slowly.
But, fuck this dress should come with a warning.
“Mia…you’re breathtaking. Stunning, beautiful, I’m…I need to find more words, I’m not doing it justice.”
She smiles. “Want me to get you a thesaurus? Maybe this year’s Christmas present?”
I chuckle, reaching out to roll the fabric between my fingers and thumb. Definitely not wet. But what about her panties? With half-lidded eyes, she watches me take her in.
“Do me up?” she whispers.
I cough, mentally checking myself for trying to come up with any excuse to bail on this event tonight so I can strip her down right here and now. But I know she wants to do this. The novelty of these kinds of events wears off eventually, but Mia was excited when we discussed it on Thursday. And besides, the Dinner Club will be there too, making it a good opportunity to solidify her connections with them.
She turns around, the silk slightly catching as she does. She lifts the fabric before dropping it, letting it ripple back down to the floor. I pull up the tiny zipper so it reaches a third of the way up her back. The rest of her smooth skin is exposed, the tiny straps reaching behind her neck in some kind of halter neck.
“You ready?” I ask, inhaling her trademark lavender perfume with a mix of mint.
“Yeah. Do I need anything?”
“Nope, we’re not staying over, so just your keys and your phone if you want it.”
???
Mia works the room like a professional. She glides between politicians, professors, and other doctors like she’s been doing it her whole life. The two glasses of champagne definitely loosened her up a bit, but it seems she’s been practicing her spiel because she’s clear about who she is and the fact that she’ll be getting her doctorate soon and will be looking for positions, all without seeming too keen, or coming across as asking for a job. I’ve stayed close to her all evening, mostly because of the unapologetic way people are looking at her. Not one person has resisted peeking at the low neckline of her dress. With my handon the small of her back, I make it clear to everyone she’s talking to—she’s mine. You can look, but don’t fucking touch.
“You know, there are always positions opening up in emergency care. You must have met Caleb Hart. He’s worked at Seattle General for years now. You get a huge variety of patients, and mostly it’s assessing them and keeping them calm. It’s an exhilarating field if you can handle the pace,” Dr. Lockwood says, leaning into Mia.
“And the shift work,” Mia adds, smiling.
The group laughs, and her lips stretch a little further as she glances at me. I give her a nod of approval, not that she needs it.
“Yes, the shift work can be particularly taxing,” Dr. Tanaka says. “Not like Dr. Adams here, you have some cushy office hours now, plus The Morning Show.”
There’s always a sense of competition in psychology, and in other fields, I presume. Despite us understanding complex human behavior and trauma, there’s almost a need to prove that we’re working much harder than our colleagues. The sense that one type of patient care is much easier than another. In terms of physicality, absolutely, shift work in an emergency room is incredibly taxing and difficult. But as he pointed out, they see the patients once and then refer them to a hospital for further treatment or to a psychologist like me. I see patients for a few months or for years; it really depends on the person. I have a fundamental understanding of their lives, I need to work out when they’re hiding something, or even outright lying. That in itself is laborious and something Dr. Lockwood, Dr. Tanaka, and Caleb don’t experience in their jobs.
“Every role has its difficulties,” I say, shrugging.
“Some more than others,” he adds just to get the final word.
“It’s interesting running your own practice is seen as an easier option. When in reality, you’re your own boss, you have to seek out business opportunities, manage staff, patients,invoicing, as well as everything else that comes with running a business. It’s a skill set not everyone has. Which is a difficult part of the work, considering the main purpose is to ensure patients are well cared for and in a safe environment. Creating that sense of comfort and safety for patients is a real art, and one that Dr. Adams does incredibly well,” Mia says with a smile before placing one hand on Dr. Lockwood’s arm, leaning in, as if to tell him a secret. “If he makes it look easy, it’s because he’s brilliant at what he does.”
She let go of his arm, looking up at me with the curve of a smile forming on her lips. She reaches up on her tiptoes, pressing a small kiss to my cheek.
“You’ve got a good one there, Alfie. Don’t let her go.” He laughs, his belly shaking as he pats Mia’s shoulder. “Professionally, however, I’d love to see if you’d be a good fit at the hospital. How do you feel about shadowing one of our on-call psychologists?”
“I would love that, Dr. Lockwood.”
“Please call me Terry.”
He hands her a card, and after saying goodbyes, I pull her toward the bar. I hand her another glass of champagne, pulling her in close to me as we watch the room.
Lottie’s stately home is grand in every sense of the word. She is a Buckingham after all, something we teased her relentlessly about given the link to a certain European royal palace. Her family was old money, something that she abhorred yet embraced when she realized she could use the money for good, on events like tonight that bolstered engagement with charities and donors. Whilst a lot of money was spent for this event, I know it came out of Lottie’s own pocket.
We were in the ballroom tonight, and everything was the definition of decadent. Three foot high flower arrangements adorned every other table; the wall sconces were shaped asshells, illuminating the room in a soft glow that worked to make the large room feel cozy and warm. The ceiling, however, was the most impressive part of the room. The parts that hugged the walls were painted with clouds, dark and moody until they filtered out to a rich purple wine color that was speckled with stars and at the center a silver solar system that had been engineered to move at the rate of our own. If you hadn’t been here more than once, you wouldn’t notice the movement, but it was the most intricate design I’d ever seen.
“Mia.” Caleb saunters toward us, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Pleasure to see you again.”
“Hi Caleb.” She smiles warmly but studies him as he smirks toward me.
