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Before departing, Dr. Keach didn’t miss the opportunity to get in one more dig. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “What did I tell you?”
Fuck off,I thought, but only glared in response. Dr. Keach left, and then Dr. Medina and I were alone.
“Lead the way, Dr. Ramirez.”
I nodded and opened the door for him.
“Thank you.”
We got on the elevator, and, simply to have something to say, I informed him, “Your office is on the seventh floor.” I kept my eyes glued to my hands the rest of the elevator ride. I paid no attention to who got on or off the elevator, and the three floors up seemed to take ages. My back started to break into a sweat.
We got off the elevator, and I led him to his office where I opened the door and gestured for him to go in.
“Thank you, Dr. Ramirez. Please, take a seat.”
The view from his corner office was spectacular. The sea of lush, green treetops concealed the bustling metropolis below as if the hospital were the solitary structure for miles. Of course they would lay out the red carpet for him. I’d kill for this office and this view.
I heard shuffling behind me, and I turned to look at him. He closed the door to his office, hung his suit jacket on the hook by the door, and then took his tie off.
“I hate these things,” he said. “They are always trying to strangle me.” He looked at the tie like it was his personal enemy, and I smiled at how he took offense at the strip of fabric. I then remembered I was in danger of losing control of my trial, and the smile was wiped away.
As he walked to the chair, he rolled up his sleeves. He sat down, and looking at his desk, he filled his cheeks with air. He let the air out slowly and grunted. “Well, this is stupid,” he said.
I looked at the desk, not finding anything wrong.
“Um, you don’t like the desk?”
“No, the desk is fine. But such an American thing to do.”
“What is?”
“This view. It’s perfect, and then you place this monstrosity of a desk in here facing away from the view.”
“I’m sure we can call facility services, and they can rotate things around for you.”
“Yes, yes. That will be great.” He looked up, smiling at me, and I found myself relaxing. He was so strange and inconsistent, not to mention manic with his shifts in attention.
“You are probably wondering why I wanted to speak with you.”
“I assume to . . . take away my clinical trial?” I said with a wince.
“Take your trial? Why would I do that?”
“You don’t think I ripped off your research?”
“Is that what you think?”
I thought about that. I never had in the past, until freaking Keach said it.
“No, Doctor. You made suggestions for future steps, sure, but I definitely took those and ran with them in a different direction,” I said.
“Then why the doubt?”
“I had no doubts, to be honest, not until it was suggested to me—”
“By whom?” he cut in.
I looked up at him, and his face showed genuine concern. “It doesn’t matter,” I said dismissively. “But if that’s not why you called me into your office, then I am curious.”
