For so long, it was my dream to run my own practice. I thought that’s what I would be doing when I first moved back to Hamilton, before Lucas blindsided me. I adjusted my dreams, got used to sharing my workload with him, but maybe now I don’t have to. Maybe it’s not too late to have everything I always wanted.
“Super secret phone call, eh?” Lucas asks when the door clicks back into its frame.
I glance up and he’s right where I left him on the couch, but now there’s an open bottle of red wine on the coffee table and two glasses waiting to be filled. I look away.
“Just my mom. She wanted to make sure I had a jacket for the cold front that’s supposed to be coming in.”
He appraises my answer, as if he somehow knows something is amiss. It would have been more in character for me to tell him to mind his own damn business, and when he nods, I cringe. Lucas believes me, and he shouldn’t.
I regret calling Damian back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I’m sitting in my office at work. It’s 3:15 PM. We don’t have another patient for 30 minutes and I’ve secured the door with a small stool tucked beneath the handle. I feel like a criminal. Maybe I am one.
There’s an email sitting at the top of my inbox from Damian. He wasted no time sending over the detailed proposal, complete with an e-signature box at the bottom of a short offer sheet. I glance over the figures, which confirm everything he said on the phone last night.
In towns with similar populations, the average MediQuik clinic doubles its revenue every quarter, while existing practices lose 40-60% of their patient base to attrition. Focus data reports that even the most loyal patients often forgo the familiarity of “hometown” practices in favor of modern perks: same-day visits. No appointment hassles. Keurig machines pouring out hazelnut and French vanilla coffee with the press of a button.
Dr. McCormick hasn’t shared more than the basic financials for his practice, but I know enough to guess it wouldn’t survive long after a blow like that, especially not with two doctors trying to pay the bills and make a living.
I’ve spent all day going over the offer sheet. I’ve already signed it. It’s nearly too good to be true. A few weeks ago, I would have sent it back without hesitation. This was always the goal. 11 years of medical training led up to it. Every time I pulled an all-nighter to study, every time I had to skip out on having a social life because I was working double shifts or putting in extra hours in the hospital, every time a patient yelled at me or threw up on me or assumed I was a nurse, I told myself it would all be worth it when I could realize my dream and run my own practice.
Now, I sit frozen, staring at the signed offer, unable to send it back to Damian. At what point did I change? The doctor sitting in my office is not the same woman who was chief resident, top of her class, cutthroat go-getter. Business is business—isn’t that what they say? So why am I scared of hurting Lucas?
Of course, I already know the answer, and it’s a four-letter sissy word.
There’s a knock on my door.
“Dr. Bell?”
Mariah.
I sheepishly shove the stool aside and open the door.
She beams when she sees me. “We were going to do a coffee run. Want anything?”
“Oh, no thanks. I’ve got enough caffeine in me to wake the dead. Thanks for asking though.”
She nods and turns back down the hallway just as Lucas steps out of the kitchen with a glass of water.
“What are you up to?” he asks nonchalantly. From his tone, I can’t tell if he’s asking a casual What’s up? or if it’s an interrogative, strap-me-to-a-chair-pour-water-on-my-face What are you up to? I’ve tried to play it cool all day, but I know I’m failing.
“Charts,” I gulp.
He rolls his eyes and turns, and now I know it wasn’t an innocent inquiry. I panic and blurt it out. I am vomiting words.
“Lucas. I got offered another job last night. My own practice.”
He turns back slowly, walks over to my office, brows raised with interest. “I knew you were hiding something. Where’s the gig?”
“Hamilton.”
He seems equal parts surprised and relieved, but it could be the fluorescent lighting playing with his frames.
“With MediQuik,” I offer. “They’re building a clinic here.”
He doesn’t need to look over the email figures to know what that means. His slow nod says it all.
For a few seconds, we stand in silence. His gaze falls over my shoulder and I know what he sees. The offer sheet is still up on my computer. Zoomed in. Signed.
“I guess it didn’t take very long to think about.”
“No. I haven’t—”
I know it looks bad. I signed it, but that doesn’t mean I’ve decided to send it. Those are two different things. Right?
“Go ahead.” He laughs, sullen. “It’s almost too perfect, right? To get rid of me and have your own practice. So take it.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Oh yeah? Is that why I’ve been getting calls from hospitals all over the country? Apparently I’ve been sending out my CV. Thanks for that by the way. If you wanted me to leave Hamilton, you should have just asked.”