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Liz gasped, “Wait, shit, wasn’t that guy a neurosurgeon?”
The blood drained from my face. Oh my Hell, was I working for Jack the Ripper? I looked around my filthy bedroom, scattered with unwashed clothing and a fine layer of dust. The psycho killer had worked me so hard, I hadn’t had any time to clean it. “You think he’s a murderer?” I wondered in a hollow voice.
“Shit, girl,” Liz stood, shaking her head. She took my shoulders in her hands. She smelled like fancy perfume and hair gel. “We’ve got to find you a new job. I’ll tell you what—come to Miami with me. The place I’m staying in isgorgeous.I’ll tell Papi all about your abuse and he’ll fly you out. Swear to God.”
I sighed, letting my head fall. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“Oh, what, the mural thing?” she asked incredulously.
Yeah, the mural thing. I’d actually managed to land that gig with the dad who wanted his daughter’s wall painted. I had told him that as soon as my workload decreased—ithadto, eventually, right?—I could take some time to sketch up a mural and send it to him for approval before coming to his house. I had tried to sketch it on the weekends, but I was so drained, I mostly slept and watched HGTV.
Liz clicked her tongue. “Well, maybe you should talk tohisboss at this retreat thing. The bastard has to lighten up at some point. What did you do to piss him off, again?”
“I set his pants on fire,” I said sullenly. Liz pulled a face like that was actually pretty bad. “Yeah,” I sighed. I shoved my feet into my worn canvas shoes and bent down to pick up the pink duffel bag at my feet. I’d already packed everything else I would need for the camping retreat thing in the back of my car. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”
“Just get even,” she snapped her fingers. “Get. Even. Look at you. He wore youdown,girl. You can’t let a man do you dirty like that.”
I sniffed, frowning. “You’re right.”
“Hell yes, I’m right,” Liz said, curling her lip. “Get him. I’ll text you ideas. We’ll make him wish he never messed with the red-headed temptress June. You’re feisty, babe,” she reminded me.
I lifted my chin. “Iamfeisty. And I’ve got like a six-hour drive to think of ways to make him miserable.”
“Get it,” she said. She took my shoulders again, this time from behind, and marched me out of the small, outdated bedroom to our tiny living room/dining room/itsy bitsy kitchen combo living space. “Give him hell, June.”
It only took us ten steps to reach the front door, and I turned to give her a hug. “Thank you. I’ll make him miserable. I promise.”
“Yes,” she said, squeezing me tightly. “That’s my girl. Text me as soon as you get to this woodsy thing they’re making you do.”
I snorted. “Okay. Fly safe.”
On the drive to the surgical center, I let my anger simmer. Dr. Brady had worked me so hard, I’d forgotten to be mad at him. But I was mad now. Hell yes, I was mad. And I’d find a way to get even with him. I ran through ideas in my head, daydreaming about finding a way to get him chased by a bear in the woods or dunked in a muddy lake. Oooh, he would hate that. He was always so clean and perfectly pressed—I would have bet my next overtime check that he had OCD or something.
Were bear pheromones a thing? Where did one buy pheromones? I could douse all his clothing in it and watch from a safe distance while he got chased down.
Wait, was that murder?
No, no, no, I reasoned.The bear is the murderer. You’d be the… instigator.
It was probably a good thing I had no idea where to get pheromones, on second thought.
As I pulled up to the center, I got a coughing fit, interspersed with sneezes and gagging, and I rummaged around frantically in my car for a loose fast-food napkin. The further we got into summer, the worse my allergies got. The news had said the pollen was bad this year because of all the rain and snow we’d gotten in the winter, and I knew from experience that the smog over Salt Lake City could get nasty. Whatever it was, my allergies were not having it.
After coughing until I half expected to find brain matter on my tissue, I blew my nose, popped an allergy pill, and staggered my way to the dark, empty building.
What an absolute asshat. No one else was here, and I should have been on my way to Jackson Hole, but instead, I had to update a patient’s chart with information easily available to Dr. Asshat. He had probably finished the surgery early this morning and was halfway to Jackson Hole by now.
Cursing my boss under my breath, I unlocked the front doors and stomped over to my computer at the front desk. The AC kicked on just as I sat in my chair, making me jump and look around the deserted building. It was kind of creepy with the lights off and no one else around.
In fact, most, if not all, of the medical district tended to shut down on Fridays, and we often remained the only busy building because we had too many patients and not enough doctors. Dr. Brady had been known to fit some in on Saturdays, too, probably because he’d sold his soul to a demon in exchange for a medical license. Only soulless servants of the Demon King wouldwantto work on a Saturday.
Hurrying, because the darkened building was starting to give me dystopian zombie movie vibes, I clicked into the portal, entering my username and password, and rushed to finish the inane task. I clickety-clacked my way through it, glancing around nervously and picking at my chipped nails while I waited for things to load.
Finally, I finished, and with an assertivetapof the enter key, I logged out and let the screen go dark.
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I sat back in my chair and swung back and forth, surveying the tomb-like silence of the medical practice. Odd, how full of life it usually was, and I had never really noticed.
I glanced over my shoulder at the shadowed hallway that led back to the exam rooms, and then further back, the MDs offices.
