I let myself into their condo. “Dad, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
He froze at the kitchen counter, whipping up dinner for the two of them. “Everything alright, sweetheart?”
“No.” I tossed my bag on the couch and marched into the kitchen. “Hence, the bone I’m about to pick.” One hand planted on the counter while the other moved to my hip. Beside him, I stared him down, the salmon fillets cooking in the pan with slices of lemon and thyme. The other pot had rice pilaf.
He stilled as he looked at me, that piercing gaze identical to mine. Normally his eyes blanketed me in unconditional affection, a special look he didn’t give my brothers. Without watching what he was doing, he turned the knobs on the stove, killing the heat. “I’m listening.”
“You wrote the letter of recommendation for my new boss?” I asked incredulously. “The job that you knew I wanted? That I’d been working toward for my whole career? Talk about sabotage.”
Dad continued his intense expression, absorbing all that information slowly, combing over every aspect as he prepared his response. “Is this about Dr. Beaumont?”
“Bingo—my new boss. Dylan said the only reason he hired him was because of the glowing letter you wrote. That’s such a conflict of interest. How could you do that?”
Dad was quiet for a long time, taking another one of his signature long pauses. “Daisy, I didn’t know that was the job he was applying for. And if I had, I still would have written it exactly the same. I would never compromise my moral integrity by writing him a mediocre recommendation in favor of nepotism. I understand you’re upset right now, but I know you would agree with me if you weren’t. That’s not who you are.”
I was still furious, but he made it look unreasonable—as always.
“There will be other opportunities, Daisy.”
“But that’s the job I want. I don’t want another one.”
“Then prove yourself to Atlas, and when he leaves, perhaps he’ll promote you.”
“What kind of fucking name is that? Does he look like a map or something?”
Dad stared.
“And hard work doesn’t matter. I bust my ass around the clock for my patients, not because of the promotion, but because I care about my patients and their quality of life. While that hard work was noticed, it was dismissed. You want to know why? Because I asked Dylan and got my answer.”
His eyes narrowed.
I raised my hands and made air quotes. “Because I’m too young.”
His features became more strained, like he understood the implications instantly.
“So, tell me, how old is map boy?”
He grabbed the towel on the counter and rubbed his hands before he tossed it aside. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“When a man is a genius at a young age, he’s already a star. Gotta give him as many opportunities as possible. But when it’s a woman…” I shook my head. “Nope. Forget it.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Look, I’m not a sore loser. If one of my colleagues had gotten the position, I would have been happy for them. But it just pisses me off that Dylan really thinks there’s someone else out there better for the job than any one of us. It’s insulting, you know? And then to hear him say I’m too young… How would he feel if I said he was too old to be the director for the last ten years? Jackass.”
Dad came closer and placed his hand on my shoulder, giving me a fatherly squeeze. “Your professional life is just beginning, Daisy. You will be revered the way you deserve—in time.”
“Well, it happened a lot quicker for you and the boys.”
“I know.” He dropped his hand. “We live in a world where a woman has to jump twice as high to get half the credit. I wish that were something I could fix for you. If I could, I would. But just know that I’m so proud of you. So is your mother. So are your brothers. And you should be as well.”
The three of us had dinner together, Mom and me splitting her meal.
Dinner was paired with a white wine, and I went through a couple glasses until my cheeks flushed. “So, what’s the big deal about Atlas?” I sliced my fork into the salmon fillet and placed it in my mouth. “Is he a cartographer?”
Dad’s eyes filled with amusement. “I like his name. Unique.”
I rolled my eyes and continued to eat. “So, really, what do you like about him so much?”
Dad took a few more bites as he considered the question. “He’s not only brilliant, but innovative. He thinks about situations differently, a lot like Derek. We’ve been doing research together, and even though he’s taking this new position, we’ll continue that project together. When he asked for the recommendation, I was a bit disappointed to see him go, but I offered him part-time research and he took it. I also understand that people like that don’t work for somebody else. They run their own show at some point, so he was never going to stay forever. And as a person, he seems like a nice young man. Don’t give him a hard time.”
“I give everyone a hard time.”
“I know. But maybe tone it down.”
“I never tone it down.”
He chuckled. “I know that too.”
“Why does he even want the job?” I asked, confused. “He can do research with a Nobel Prize winner.”
“His interest in patient care is far more holistic. There are several aspects to medicine, and he wants to be involved with each one. He’s the founder of the Diagnostic Network. I’m sure you’ve heard of that.”
“The platform that allows you to pitch a patient’s case, and a network of physicians and researchers all over the world work together to figure it out?” I’d heard of it before, and it had good success most of the time. But everything was virtual, and patients had to spend a lot of money to get care because they had to travel internationally to see the physicians who could possibly help them.
“Yes.”
“Hmm…”
“Like I said, he has a lot to offer you.”
3
Daisy
Dylan and I didn’t speak again.
I focused on my patients and the mounds of paperwork that held the key to my questions. Everyone had a different process, but I had a large bulletin board that took up one entire wall of my office, and I pinned my tests and lab work there so I could sit in my chair and stare at it, sometimes for hours after the clinic closed. I wouldn’t even realize the time until the motion detector lights all went out and I was surrounded by darkness.
After the conversation with my father, I realized I needed to let my anger go. It didn’t matter that it was unfair, that there was sexism involved, that the new guy wouldn’t know the ropes, regardless of how smart he was.
It was what it was.
I drank my coffee as I sat behind my desk, looking over the new labs my assistant had just dropped off.
A knock sounded on my open door.
My eyes lifted as I finished my drink.
Then I nearly spat it out when I saw the six-foot-three hot piece of man standing there.
I choked down the coffee then gave a couple coughs into the inside of my elbow. “Sorry about that.” I grabbed a napkin and quickly wiped my mouth to hide the coffee stains that were probably in the corners of my lips.
Damn, my new patient was fiiiiiiiine.
Hot damn.
“It’s no problem.” A deep and masculine voice left his throat, enhanced by the British accent.
Fuuuuuuck, he’s English?
My lucky day.
He stepped farther into my office and approached my desk, wearing a dark blue hoodie and snug jeans. The sleeves were tight on his muscular arms, and the pockets on the front of his sweater were smooth, pressed to his flat stomach. He had everything I liked in a man, narrow hips perfect for my thighs to squeeze, long legs that weren’t bulky, short dark hair, and a shadow on his jawline that went down his throat slightly. And he had those cords along his neck, that tightness to his skin showing he didn’t possess an ounce of fat anywhere—except maybe in his fa
t dick.
After the shitty week I’d had, this was a dream come true.
I’d have to hand him off to Shelly or Anthony so I could ask him out.
I rose to my feet and smoothed out my skirt at the same time, flashing my confident smile and extending my hand to shake his. “Dr. Hamilton. I’m sorry that I’m unprepared. My assistant didn’t tell me I had a new patient.”
He came close and enclosed my hand with his, giving me a firm squeeze, his skin warm to the touch, those cords across the top of his hand. He had dark eyes to match his short brown hair.
Tall. Dark. And handsome.
Yaaaassss.
He gave a slight smile before he dropped his hand. “Dr. Beaumont.”
I instantly went rigid, looking at my next boss—not my next patient. “Ohh…”
He slid his hands into his pockets as his eyes remained connected to mine, taller than me despite the chunky pumps I wore behind the desk. Subtle hostility was in his eyes, his guard raised, along with some arrogance. “Decided to take this opportunity to speak to you in private before our staff meeting.”
We had a staff meeting today?
I hadn’t even seen Atlas bring his stuff into the office.
“Dylan mentioned there might be some contention on your part. Just wanted to get it out of the way so this can be a smooth transition.”
“Get it out of the way, huh?” I should hold my tongue, but I’d never been successful at that in my entire life. “Then, go ahead.” I extended my hand outward to the chair in front of my desk. “Let’s get it out of the way, then.”
“I prefer to stand.”
“Wow, me too. What a coincidence.”
His hands remained in his pockets, and his dark eyes continued to convey their coldness. Whatever Dylan said to him had obviously ticked him off because he came in here with a pretty strong preconceived notion about me.
What a pity. Because I had been fine moving on until he’d stirred the pot.
“I understand that you’re having some issues with Dylan’s hiring decision. But I want to reassure you that I’ll be an asset to this clinic, that I’m more than qualified to lead this team to provide exceptional patient care.”
“Yeah, we already do that.”
“There’s always room for improvement.”
“How would you know? Today is your first day.”
He was absolutely still, regarding me with a coldness that blew in the door like a winter storm.
I stared back at him, resisting the urge to smile.
The silence passed, and he continued to stare, not blinking, his anger subtle but still warm like a fire. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way—”
“Hard way. Always.”
He kept his composure as much as possible, but his anger was starting to show. “Dr. Hamilton, I’m your boss—”
“No, bitch. No one is my boss.”
His eyes widened at my words.
“Because that’s not how we do things here. We work together as a team—for the good of the patients. There’s no bureaucratic bullshit. There’s no hierarchy. There are only patients. But you don’t know that—because you don’t work here.”
A sarcastic smile moved on to his lips. “Wow. You’re a poor sport, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not—”
“You’re proving my point—that you’re unqualified. Calling your new boss, coworker, whatever you consider me to be bitch and establishing nothing but contention and resistance and not an ounce of professionalism says a lot more about you than me. I came in here to smooth things over—”
“You came in here and said I was being difficult, and we needed to get it out of the way—before you’d even met me. I’d made my peace with Dylan’s decision. Was ready to move on and get focused on the patients who require my attention—until you waltzed in here and insulted me. You fucked this up—not me.”
He glanced down at my desk, seeing the family pictures sitting there. He looked up again. “Hard to believe your father is Deacon Hamilton—because you’re nothing like him.”
“Oh, I’m just like him. I’m brilliant and hardworking—and I don’t take shit from anybody.”
“If I’d walked into your father’s office, this conversation wouldn’t have gone this way.”
“You never would have walked into his office and said what you said in the first place—because he’s a man. You would have handled it totally differently, and don’t sit there and say you wouldn’t have.”
His hands went to his hips as he stared at me, biting his lower lip as he considered his response.
“And what is this?” I looked down at his attire. “A sweatshirt? No wonder I thought you were a patient.”
“I don’t need to wear a suit and tie to do my job.”
“You do if you want people to respect you—”
“People respect me just fine.”
“Well, I don’t.”
His eyes narrowed once again. “Alright. I shouldn’t have approached this situation the way I did. I’ll give you that.”
“Alright. Respect you a little more.”
“But my intention was true. I want to resolve this animosity between us so we can get to work. Is that something we can do?”
“I suppose.”
His look lingered a moment longer before he dismissed himself from my office.
“What the hell does my dad see in that guy?”
I sat beside Shelly in the conference room, at the opposite end of the table from where Atlas sat, right at the head. The projector was behind him, and his laptop was open on the table in front of him. Casual in his sweatshirt and jeans, he looked around the table like he wasn’t the least bit concerned that he was the outsider.
Shelly leaned toward me. “Um…he’s the hottest boss I’ve ever had.”
“And he’s the most arrogant one I’ve ever had, too.”
“Something happen with you guys?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Alright.” His confident voice filled the room as he looked around at the eight of us. We were a small group of physicians, and unfortunately, that meant we had more patients than we could see. The wait list was enormous. “Let me start by saying that I’m really excited to be here. I’ve been aware of the clinic since its inception, and it’s been an inspiration for me in my professional career.” He sat straight in the chair, his arms on the table, commanding the attention of the room effortlessly. A pen was between his fingers, and he spun it around lightly as he continued to address us. “When I was young, I had a very rare blood disorder. My childhood was spent in doctor’s offices, clinging to less hope every time a physician shattered my dreams. We raced against the clock because if we didn’t find a solution within a year or two, I’d be dead. I grew up in London, and all the prestigious hospitals there couldn’t find a diagnosis. We came across the pond to disappointment. UCSF, Stanford, Johns Hopkins…hundreds of thousands of dollars wasted that my parents couldn’t afford in the first place—with no progress. By that time, I was weak and brittle. I had little time left—until we came to this clinic.” He tapped his pen against the surface of the table. “Dr. Rosenburg was the physician who figured it out. He’s retired and passed away since. That man saved my life when no one else could. It’s an honor to be here—and I’m very invested in what you do. Medicine has lost sight of its principles and purpose. It’s inundated with PPOs, insurance bureaucracy, medicine for profit, a bunch of bullshit we’re all aware of. My parents didn’t deserve to be in debt for trying to save my life. I also believe medical professionals deserve to be compensated fairly for their expertise and time, but we shouldn’t have to see fifty different doctors to get a diagnosis that should be found on the first or second try.”
Okay…respect him more.
He looked around at all of us, his eyes lingering on me for the shortest period of time. “I founded the Diagnostic Network when I was at Cambridge. Through relationships and connections, I was able to
establish a system that works—but not with the same success rate that you guys demonstrate. Medicine needs to be present—doctor and patient in the same room. What are my goals for this clinic? To grow it as much as possible—so everyone will have hope.”
Everyone was silent—including me.
“As for my qualifications, I can list off everything I’ve done in my career. PhDs from top universities domestically and internationally, medical school, multiple residencies and specialties. Research in cellular and molecular biology…shit you guys don’t care about. But the most important aspect of any candidate is their passion. Do they care about their job? Or is it just a paycheck? You guys can figure out the answer to that.”
I watched him from across the table, seeing the sincerity in his eyes.
“I have no interest in turning this into a corporate environment. I want to expand, but keep the same structure. We’ll have to figure out how to retain the successful aspects of this clinic, but also grow it so more patients can get the care they need—for reasonable prices. I’ll need your help to make that happen because I don’t come from a business background. Maybe that’s a good thing because business and medicine don’t mix. What are your questions?”
Anthony made eye contact with me then quickly looked away.
Everyone else looked at one another, and the silence stretched.
Atlas grabbed his laptop and pulled it closer. “Brief me on our patients, and let’s get to work.”
I still believed Anthony or someone else should have gotten the position.
But I did feel guilty for being harsh with Atlas.
His heart was clearly in the right place, and those were the kinds of values we needed at the clinic.
I was on my couch staring at the wall, more papers scattered on the coffee table in front of me. I had a patient with unusual symptoms, black urine, inexplicable body pain that went everywhere, got worse with exercise, and was so debilitating that she was disabled. A career, romance, social life…they were all off the table.
The Girl Who Doesn't Quit (Soulless Book 12) Page 2
