“Nothing. Literally.”
She laughed. “You know, I really have no idea why my husband likes you so much.”
“You came into my office to talk about your personal life? I’ll have to charge you for that.”
“Never.” She pulled a thick document from her purse and slid it to me. “I need you to sign off on the joint statement for our new, special residency program. You’re the only doctor who hasn’t signed it.”
“Residency program? I could’ve sworn we have three of those already and that we agreed to bring aboard a new doctor.”
“A resident is a doctor.”
“It’s a doctor who needs a babysitter.” I flipped through the pages. “I agreed to use the new funding for a certified, licensed, and useful doctor. I’m not signing this.”
“Everyone else has already agreed, and we’ve already selected a very talented candidate, so I’m not going to argue with you. And if I recall, it was a twelve to one vote and the vote against was from you, so you technically never agreed to anything and you have to concede to the rest of us.”
I sighed and scribbled my signature on the first and last page of the document.
“Just so you know,” she said, “the nurses are whispering about you a lot more lately. You’re doing that thing again.”
I raised my eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
“Being closed off, getting annoyed quicker than normal, and well ... just being a more enhanced version of yourself, I guess.” She smiled. “I know this practice is your family’s legacy, but you really need a life outside of these walls.”
“No, I need the doctors inside of these walls to actually show up and do their damn jobs.”
“See? See how irritable you just got over me trying to be nice to you?”
“Get out of my office, Dr. Ryan.”
“I’m going.” She grabbed the document and stood to her feet. “By the way, what happened to that nice and sweet woman I set you up with a few weeks ago?”
“It didn’t work out.”
“It didn’t work out or you didn’t ‘allow’ it to work out?”
“Both.” The woman in question had been a childhood friend of hers and she was indeed “nice and sweet,” but the second she started babbling about wanting marriage and “at least four kids” within the first hour of the date, I quickly lost all interest.
“Well, do me a favor,” Dr. Ryan said, as she walked toward the door. “Give online dating a try or find a hobby for your rare off days. I’ll never repeat this or admit to saying it, but ... You’re too damn attractive to spend the rest of your life alone.”
“Thank you, very much, Dr. Ryan. Will I need to pay you for that unwanted psychoanalysis, or is your bad advice free?”
She flipped up her middle finger and left my office, shutting the door behind her.
Unbeknownst to her and my staff, I did have a hobby: Sex. I just hadn’t had time to revel in it for the past six months, due to an overload of work, thanks to them. And I was definitely a fan of online dating. Well, I was, until I met one too many deep-relationship seekers in a row.
Now, I simply browsed the few sites where I kept casual accounts and kept up with the one pseudo-friend I’d made: JerseyGirl7.
I’d met her on NewYorkMinute, the more exclusive and private site for the city’s elite professionals. A site that was built around the idea that a meet-up needed to happen within the first three conversations. Every profile was nameless and picture-less, with a simple series of telling paragraphs and a percentage of “match-ability” based on questions answered.
For whatever reason, JerseyGirl7 was a one-hundred percent match for me, but I never asked to meet her in person because I didn’t trust the results. For one, I thought she had to have answered as a joke to be that high of a match with me sexually, and for two, I didn’t have the energy or the time to waste on another potential disappointment.
Not only that, but I actually enjoyed having her as a pseudo-friend, even if she did have a smart-ass sense of humor and a tendency to reveal way too much about her deepest, filthiest fantasies.
With her fresh on my mind, I logged into NewYorkMinute and saw a message from her that was dated from a couple of hours ago.
––––––––
Subject: I have a date this weekend and I need your advice ...
So...I think this Friday is the day I’ll finally get laid after all these dry months.
Email me when you get a chance or when you get done with your so-called “patients.” (You don’t have to keep lying about being a doctor, you know? We’re never going to meet, so what’s the point in constantly pretending to be something you’re not? Just tell me what you really do for a living, and I’ll tell you what I do, too. :-) )
PS — You were right about my last date. It didn’t end well and he was an asshole like you predicted, but you’re cocky enough as is and I’m not stroking your ego for another second.
**JerseyGirl7