Page 84 of Clinically Awkward

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody even breathed.

“Understood?” Winnie asked.

“Yes, Winifred,” Fitz muttered.

“Yes, ma’am,” Gabriel echoed.

“Understood,” Nathan said.

“Crystal clear,” Hayden added.

“Excellent,” Winnie said, her tone sharp and final. “Now get to work.” She turned on her heel and walked briskly toward her desk, her shoes clicking against the polished floor with each purposeful step, leaving the four of them standing there in stunned silence, looking like scolded children who had just been caught red-handed stealing cookies from the kitchen jar.

I stared after her retreating figure, my mouth hanging open slightly. Then I looked at Vivian, who had reappeared from the hallway like a ghost materializing out of thin air. She was grinning from ear to ear, clearly delighted by the spectacle she’d just witnessed. Of course, she’s grinning. She probably lives for moments like this.

“Well,” I said slowly, trying to find the right words to capture what had just happened. “That was⁠—”

“Terrifying?” Fitz supplied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Humiliating?” Gabriel added, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“Emasculating?” Nathan suggested, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“All of the above,” Hayden muttered darkly, crossing his arms over his chest in what appeared to be a defensive posture.

I looked at Winnie, who was now seated at her desk, typing away as if nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just single-handedly dragged four grown men back into the clinic and threatened their careers. She runs this place. Not Julien. Not me. Winnie.

And we were all—every single one of us—absolutely terrified of her.

“Right,” I said, looking down at the patient files. “Mrs. Johnson. Exam room two. Let’s do this.”

“That’s the spirit,” Fitz said weakly.

“We’re all going to die,” Nathan muttered.

“Probably,” Hayden agreed.

I walked toward the exam rooms, the files clutched in my hands, Vivian’s laughter echoing behind me.

Just another day at Clinically Approved.

God help us all.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Quinton

I made it through the day.

Somehow, no patients died, and the clinic was still standing. Winnie hadn’t murdered anyone—though Fitz had come dangerously close to testing that particular boundary around 2 PM when he asked if she wanted to “grab a cheeky pint after work.”

The look she had given him could’ve melted steel.

By 6:30 PM, I was officially done. Exhausted. Running on fumes and the vague memory of the granola bar I inhaled at lunch. I grabbed my bag, said goodnight to exactly no one, because everyone had already fled the moment Winnie announced it was closing time, and headed toward the parking lot.