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“Yes, and you should think he’s a big deal too.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. It washisresearch that led to the clinical trials that make your treatment as effective as it is right now.”
“Oh my god, is he that guy you won’t shut up about? What’s his name?”
“Medina. His name is Dr. Medina. And it’s his research I won’t shut up about. Not him.”
“You clearly have a lady boner for him.”
“Valentina!” I scolded her, and she pulled the bedsheets over her chin as if she weren’t a grown woman.
“I’m dying,” she said in a little girl’s voice.
“You are not dying,” I said, pulling the sheets back down. “Don’t be a martyr.”
“Is he hot?” she asked.
“Ew, Valentina, I’ve never seen him, but he is probably old. So unless you like bald and big-nosed with uncombed Einstein-like hair, which is how I’ve been picturing him, then yeah, he’s probably hot.”
She giggled back into her bed, and I felt lighter having left her in better spirits as I headed to the conference room.
Even if he did look like the troll of my imagination, I was still very nervous about meeting my godlike professional hero. Especially because I thought I’d never get to meet him in my life. His giving up a job at the FIHR, the Federal Institute of Health and Research, to come work here was like a miracle. It was such a coincidence that he would end up at my hospital, of all places. It would be like telling the average person they were going to meet Brenner Reindhart—from the best rock band of all time,Industrial November—and that he would be their boss.
I scanned the faces in the room eagerly. About half the staff were there early, and I smiled when I saw Sara, predictably standing by the lunch spread.
“Thanks for the heads up, Caro,” said Sara, my best friend at the hospital. “This stuff is way better than what the nurses get at our meetings.Weneed the sustenance,” she said, though the last word was muffled by the large piece of cantaloupe in her mouth.
“You’re welcome.” I gave her a side hug.
When we parted, Sara glared at me up and down. She put a hand on her hip and waited to swallow the bite she was chewing before speaking. “You lookreallynice,” she said.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Not this again. “It’s not that weird,” I snapped.
Sara laughed. “Yeah, honey. It is. Thanks again for the tip,” she shouted as she left, a plate full of food shamelessly in her clutches.
Sara did have the right idea. My stomach rumbled at the sight of all the food. I had been so nervous all day that I hadn’t eaten a bite, but now in my doctor’s coat, and in the hospital—my favorite place in the world—I felt calmer, which in turn made me hungry.
As I piled fruit onto a plate, three doctors entered the conference room. I didn’t have to see his face to know one of them was Dr. Braxton Keach. He was handsome, with black hair and blue eyes, but anything pleasant about him ended with his pretty-boy status. I swear Dr. Keach carried the stench of evil wherever he went, and I could sense his presence well before he made himself known. Though really, it was the excessive body spray that reminded me of so many of my high school memories. He didn’t seem to understand that most of his patients were severely nauseous most of the time.
While we were both vying for the same prestigious fellowship offered by the hospital, my distaste for him didn’t stem from friendly competition. No. It was the way he looked down on his patients and treated them as inferior. His disdain was subtle, so much so that it wouldn’t be actionable in court, but I recognized his prejudiced behavior because he often turned it on me. For everyone else in the department, he turned on the charm. It made my teeth grind that no one else saw him for what he was.
Adding to my ongoing dislike of Dr. Keach, no one else noticed his double-face. Not only was Dr. Keach classically handsome, but he could bullshit like the best of them. The few other female residents in the room gravitated to him the minute he walked in and giggled like little girls. I rolled my eyes and wished I could sit them down and remind them they were doctors and should behave better. But Dr. Keach’s presence would likely still prevail. Add to his handsomeness the fact that he was wealthy—from one of the most prominent families in Kansas City—and that meant everyone turned a blind eye to his more-than-lacking skills as a physician and his superiority complex. The result was a honey-tongued devil. But I knew.
“Dr. Ramirez,” he said with his oily voice.
“Dr. Keach.” I turned to the front of the room, my plate in my hand, ready to find another friendly face, any face, but he spoke before I could make my escape.
“Isn’t this funny,” he said with amusement in his eyes.
I didn’t want to take the bait, I really didn’t, but it was my day off so I could leave after the meeting. It was probably better to deal with it now than at my next shift when I would be trying to work.
“What is?” I said, indulging him.
“Last time we had a meeting like this was a year ago. You remember. The Chief of Oncology was handing you a bouquet of flowers. The youngest resident to get a ten-million-dollar grant.”
“I remember,” I said. “Your jealousy is showing, Dr. Keach.”
