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“There it is!” Taylor swayed back and forth from where she sat on the floor, next to the coffee table. She held her phone aloft. “Taylor’d Conditioning’s ‘Lost in the Woods’ Survival Experience is front and center. Is there some kind of rewards program for the vendor that brings the most people to the app?” she asked Samiah.
“No, but that’s not a bad idea. I may add it later.”
The door to the bedroom opened, and Daniel walked out. He wore a starched white button-down shirt and blue tie. His bottom half sported ratty basketball shorts and bare feet.
“Evening, ladies,” he said. “Don’t pay me any attention. Just grabbing a bottle of water before my meeting.”
“A shirt and tie instead of a hoodie?” Taylor remarked. “Will the head of the FBI be on this call or what?”
Daniel’s eyes shot to Samiah. She held up her hands. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t say anything.”
“Holy shit, youaretalking to the head of the FBI tonight?” Taylor screeched. “You totally need to put on pants for that, dude. C’mon.”
“I’m fine as long as I don’t stand up,” he said. He walked over and planted a kiss on Samiah’s forehead while simultaneously filching an aioli-covered patata brava from her plate. “My meeting with an ordinary fellow government employee who shall not be named will probably run a couple of hours.”
“We’ll try to keep the noise down,” Samiah told him.
He waved that off. “Don’t worry about it. My microphone will be muted throughout most of the meeting and I’ll have on headphones.” He gestured at London and Taylor. “Good night, ladies.”
“Tell the FBI director I said hello,” Taylor called to his retreating back.
“Is Dimples really going to be on a call with the head of the FBI?” London asked once Daniel had closed the door to the second bedroom. It had been converted into a home office that looked more like the cockpit of a fighter jet with all the computer equipment his job required.
Samiah drew her fingers across her lips and motioned as if she were throwing away the key.
“That means yes,” London and Taylor said to each other.
“Remind me never to say anything incriminating while I’m in your house,” Taylor said. “This place is probably bugged.”
“I don’t think undercover agents bug their own homes,” London said. “But you still keep the incriminating stuff to yourself. No one is bailing you out of jail again.”
Taylor stuck her tongue out at her, but it was all in good fun.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Taylor flapped her hands like a bird flapping its wings. “I have got to tell you guys about this chick who went full-on Karen in my humanities class today.”
As Taylor began an animated recounting of her entitled classmate’s tantrum over her grade, London’s thoughts meandered to the impromptu Zoom meeting she’d had just before coming to Samiah’s tonight. She had vowed to get out of the habit of checking her email after leaving the hospital—one concession she’d made in her effort to develop a better work-life balance and practice better self-care. But checking her work email was as automatic as cringing when she encountered a pickle on her hamburger—it was just something she did.
And once she saw the email from the director of the fellowship program at the hospital in Chicago, she had to read it. Of course, once she read the email shedidn’thave to accept his invitation to a quick chat over Zoom. But she had.
And she had nearly lost her damn mind at the incentives the three doctors on the other end of the call had lobbed her way.
It was nice to be wanted—okay, so it was better than just nice. It was a full-on ego hand job—but there was a difference between having your ego stroked and having the red carpet laid out for you in mind-blowing fashion.
London had sat behind the wheel of her car, Googling the typical extras fellowship programs used to lure highly sought-after candidates. She could find none that came close to what she’d been offered. The salary was so lucrative that most surgical residents would FedEx their acceptance letter via same-day delivery, but there was so much more. She would get to work with a team of cardiothoracic surgeons headed up by Dr. Eveline Mayberry while they crafted a new study in pediatric heart surgery. It was groundbreaking work, and she would be at the forefront.
Just when she thought her decision to remain in Austin had already been made.
London fought the urge to physically rub her stomach. The ache had settled there the minute the meeting concluded, and nothing she did was able to abate it.
“Hold on,” Taylor said. “What’s up with you?”
It took London a second to realize Taylor’s question was directed at her. “Huh?”
“I just said that I was thinking of adding an interpretive dance class for NFL players to my list of workout classes and you didn’t make a snide comment.”
“I thought you were talking about the Karen from your humanities class?”
“I moved on from the Karen like five minutes ago,” Taylor said. “I knew you weren’t paying attention, Ms. Rude Butt. What’s going on with you?”
