“I’ll see you tomorrow, Denise.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her doing the sign of the cross as she called out, “Have a good one, Dr. Mills!”
As I waited for the elevator, nerves and dread brewed within me.
I could do this. It wasn’t my first rodeo. I just had to show my face. Slap a smile on. Offer a few hugs. And then get the fuck out of there.
Oh, and be gutted all over again. Too easy.
I groaned as I punched the button for the parking garage.
“Charlotte, wait!” Greg yelled, attempting to slide inside the elevator with me. He managed to get his upper body through before the doors closed. “Shit!” he exclaimed as the elevator went into some kind of accordion mode, repeatedly opening and closing on him.
I could have helped by pressing the Open Door button, but I didn’t. It was the most entertainment I was going to get all day.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I didn’t try to hide my grin as he continued his battle with the elevator.
“What the hell?” he growled.
The doors finally gave up and his lanky body fell inside, banging into the wall.
I choked on a laugh and barely managed to get out, “Are you okay?”
“Seriously?” He snatched the lapels on his white coat back into place.
“You…uh”—I cleared the humor from my voice before finishing—“might want to report that to maintenance. Real safety hazard.”
He narrowed his eyes, and it made my smile spread.
Nothing in this world gave me more pleasure than pissing off Greg Laughlin. It hadn’t always been that way. Greg and I had been close since medical school. He was smart, handsome, and even funny in a weird way. If I’d had any interest in men whatsoever back then, I might have considered dating him. Fortunately, I’d dodged that bullet.
He’d married our mutual friend, now office manager, Rita, while we were still in our residencies. Greg and I both specialized in pulmonology, and the minute we’d been able, it was a no-brainer to go into private practice together. He was a good doctor but, as it turned out, absolute shit for a husband.
Earlier that week, I’d found out that he was sleeping with my head nurse. Talk about awkward. Rita was heartbroken, my nurse had quit, and my only way to exact any kind of revenge on my partner was through the karma-controlled doors of a malfunctioning elevator.
“I’m glad you enjoyed that,” he snipped, finger-combing his thinning, brown hair.
“Oh, I truly did.” I laughed.
“I’ve been texting you all day.”
“I know. I’ve been avoiding you all day.”
His lip curled in disbelief. “You can’t avoid me.”
“Um…I’m pretty sure I can. Remember, I’ve been doing it all day?”
The elevator came to a stop and I stepped off into the parking garage—not surprisingly, so did he.
“Is this about Rita?” he asked incredulously. “Still?”
I stopped and slowly turned to face him. “Uh…you cheated on my best friend. With my nurse. I’m pretty sure there is no statute of limitations on how long I’m allowed to be angry about that.” I stabbed a finger in his direction. “Especially considering it’s only been a week.”
His head snapped back. “Jeez, you’re cranky today.”
I turned away and yelled, “Get used to it!” over my shoulder, my voice echoing off the concrete pillars.
“I wanted to make sure you’d be at the Fling this weekend.”
I came to a screeching halt and whirled back around. “What?”
“The Fling,” he clarified without actually clarifying anything.
“Yeah. I know what you said. But what do you mean this weekend?”
Every fucking year, Rita and Greg insisted on hosting this big Spring Fling for all of our patients and their families. It was a nice gesture, but Rita took it over the top. Face painting, bounce houses, carnival games.
Which meant: Kids. Kids. Kids.
Which meant: I avoided it at all costs.
“I…I thought that was at the end of the month?” I remembered because I’d specifically put in for a four-day vacation to ensure I wouldn’t have to attend.
“No. We had to bump it up after the venue decided to schedule construction for that weekend. Last I heard, Rita was still scrambling to find a new caterer, but we at least have a new location.”
I blinked, doing my best to keep my expression passive so as not to reveal the anxiety spiraling within me. “I can’t make it.”
“Oh, come on, Char. We’ve required the entire staff to be there. You can’t skip out. They already call you the ice queen.”
My back shot ramrod straight, and my mouth gaped. “They call me the ice queen?”
He rocked onto his toes then back onto his heels while ruefully scratching the back of his neck. “Actually, they call you worse, but ice queen is the only one of those nicknames I didn’t start.”
“What the hell, Greg!”
“Relax. It’s just a little office humor.”
I glared. “I’m their boss.”
“Exactly. Which is why you need to be at the Fling.” An arrogant smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “Listen, just come for a little while. Make an appearance. Play nice with the patients and staff. And, if you so happen to find it in your new warm and loving, not at all icy, heart while you are there, I’d appreciate it if you could talk Rita into letting me come home.”
My glare intensified. “Are you kidding me? I emailed her step-by-step instructions on how to castrate you last night.”
He grinned. “You forget I was there to witness your surgical rotation. With your instruction, the worst she could do is give me a clean shave.” He pointedly glanced at his zipper.
I lifted my hand to halt the conversation. “You know what? I’m done discussing your testicles. I have somewhere to be.”
He arched an incredulous eyebrow. “Where the hell are you going? I didn’t think you had patients on Wednesdays.”
“I do have a life outside of work, you know.”
“Psssh…sure.” His mouth split into a wide, toothy grin, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Seriously though. Where ya headed?”
As mad as I was with Greg for being a philandering piece of shit who had hurt my girl and cost me a damn good nurse with slightly questionable morals, he was still my friend. And being the ice queen of North Point Pulmonology meant I didn’t have many of those.
So I went with honesty.
“It’s March seventh,” I whispered.
“March sev—” He didn’t finish before the light of understanding hit his eyes. “Oh God, Charlotte. I’m so sorry.” His whole face softened, and he took a step toward me, the apology carved into his every feature. “I’m so sor—”
“It’s okay,” I said to let him off the hook. But it was yet another lie. Nothing was okay on March seventh. “I need to go before I’m late.”
He nodded sheepishly. “Okay. Yeah. Go. Get out of here.”
I stood for a few beats longer, waiting for an earthquake to hit. Or maybe a sinkhole to swallow the garage. But, when it never happened, I forced myself to my car.
And then, with an unwavering ache in my chest, I drove to my personal version of hell.
* * *
“No. Wait…I just…” With the phone still pressed to my ear, I hung my head. “Yes, I’ll hold.”
God…would this day ever end?
After I’d spent a sleepless night with Travis at the hospital, I’d walked outside to discover a flat tire, which made me late to the walkthrough with the city inspector. And then he found four violations that my contractor swore weren’t his fault. It was going to take at least a week to get everything up to code, including changes that would require removing one, if not both, of the freezers.
More time. More money. At that rate, it’d be a goddamn miracle if we opened on time.
It had been three years since my brother and I had gone into business together, but in that time, I’d completely forgotten what a nightmare it was to open a new restaurant. Though, that might be because, back then, I had been desperate for the distraction. Back then, I’d been floundering in virtually every aspect of life. I’d gone from being a workaholic investment banker to a single father of two literally overnight. Hannah was only six months old at the time, but Travis was eight. Watching my son nearly collapse from grief was more than I could bear. In the weeks that followed, he became angry and began lashing out at anyone and everyone he could reach. First and foremost: me. I couldn’t blame him; I was pretty damn pissed at the universe too.