Jervis showed me his office, a testament to himself. Asshole. Did he really think anyone gave a shit? People cared about nothing but themselves, and as soon as they handed you a check, they owned you. All he’d done was frame his stupidity.
“This,” Jervis pushed open a heavy door that swung easily on specially-fitted hinges, “is the waiting room for your patients.”
I walked around Jervis and surveyed the small room. “Could use a bit of updating,” I commented and saw him flinch.
“Well, we had designers in, but I admit, it was maybe five years ago. You’re free to personalize as you wish, of course.” Jervis’ voice proved he felt stung. I knew he wanted the entire building to reflect his sense of taste, but I’d never been one to take another man’s preferences as my own.
I moved to the next door that, logically, led to my inner office and consultation room. It was a larger version of the waiting room, and I had to restrain myself from wiping my hand off on my thigh. “Thank you, Dr. Jervis, this will do quite nicely. I’ll just update a few things and will have it done this week. I’ll begin seeing patients next week.”
“Wonderful, my boy, wonderful. I’ll begin referring all the new patients to your capable hands.” Jervis sounded relieved and excited at the same time. He was, in essence, increasing his patient load at my expense.
“Dr. Jervis,” I said as I closed the door behind me.
“Yes, my boy?” Jervis’ hand was petting his beard, his pathetic attempt at a Freudian impression.
“Perhaps you could refrain from calling me ‘boy?’ My name is Dr. LaViere, and as a matter of fact, I believe in terms of education, I outrank you but we won’t quibble.”
Jervis stopped, his back to me and I knew he was bristling. I saw him force his shoulders to relax and knew he’d opted for diplomacy and increased revenue over pride. He really was pathetic. He nodded and left, moving out into the lobby and across to his own offices. The door shut firmly, but not angrily behind him. He recognized that his days as top dog were numbered. Soon, he would be nothing more than a name in front of the building, and maybe not even that.
***
I phoned Jeremy. “You son-of-a-bitch, how are you?” I poked the moment he answered.
“Jackass,” he muttered in a mocking voice. Jeremy didn’t waste time on the formalities any more than I did. Maybe that’s why we got along so well.
“This is a professional call, I’ll have you know.” I used my business voice.
“Indeed? What’s up?” He was curious. Of all of us, I was the black sheep and had always worn the designation with pride.
“Opening a practice. Partnering with Jervis. You know his building?”
Jeremy scoffed. “The outside isn’t too bad but the interior looks like a crypt.”
“Exactly. Stop by this afternoon and take some measurements, will you? Want it done by Friday. I’ll leave the details to you. Is that a problem?”
“Your only problem will be sobering up by Monday,” he mocked me.
“Send Jervis the bill,” I added, knowing this would just deflate Jervis that much more. He would, of course, go to Father in complaint. And, of course, my father would write out a check and console the condescending son-of-a-bitch. Father might think he’d finally rid himself of a problem, but he was wrong… so, so wrong.
***
I wheeled my Porsche into the parking lot at eight o’clock sharp Monday morning. Jervis wouldn’t be in for another hour and I knew it would throw him for me to arrive first. I knew he’d want to cook up some sort of self-obliging ceremony… transferring the keys to the kingdom, in a manner of speaking.
Jeremy had come through. It was like walking into a different century. As a matter of fact, it was exactly like walking into the next century. Gone were the dark fabrics and cherry paneling. I entered a world of glass, silver, crystal, pale grays and gray-blues. This was far more my style, not the somnolent heaviness of traditional old Kentucky.
I stored my case in the lower drawer of the immense glass desk and opened my laptop. Jervis’ staff had been kind enough to set me up with passwords, templates for patient records and a list of my victims for the day.
Jeremy had thoughtfully installed a small kitchenette in a secreted closet with mirrored doors. I slid it open and snapped on the Keurig. There was a tap at the door and I turned to behold my new secretary, Patsy. I ran into her at the Paddock Club Wednesday night. Her skirt was minuscule, and she had legs like a two-year-old at Keeneland. I hired her on the spot.
“Patsy,” I acknowledged her and noted that she had dressed suitably. One might think she was a plant by my father were it not for the fact that he would have chosen some thick-ankled old maid who wore buttoned up blouses and knee-length suits. “I take it you noticed your desk just outside the waiting room?”
“Yes, Worth, that is, Dr. LaViere.” She giggled just enough to sound like a flirt and spun on her spiky heels to survey her new throne.
“Oh, Patsy,” I called after her. She turned, her legs parting slightly as she stood. I loved that. “Lunch.”
“Of course,” she answered. “Galt House or the Hilton?”
“You choose,” I offered, making sure the corner of my mouth lifted just right.
It did. She giggled again and disappeared.
CHAPTER FOUR
Worth
The yellow light on my desk blinked, signaling there was a patient waiting for me. I opened the door to the waiting room and discovered a woman seated there. When I motioned her in, a waft of her perfume enveloped me as she passed. I was instantly hard.
“Mrs. Marcum?” I inquired and she nodded, smiling slyly. I resisted the urge to thrust out my hips as she looked me up and down, more down than up. “Won’t you have a seat? Wherever makes you comfortable.” I indicated the seating arrangement Jeremy had cunningly assembled. The furnishings were ultra-modern, and depending on the preference of the patients, they could sit upright or recline completely. Even if they chose to sit, the seating was low and a less inhibited woman could choose to let her knees open a bit to sit more comfortably. He had thought of everything and knew me so well. Amazing for a man who didn’t care for women, I mused.
“You’re the new one.” Her voice was husky and low, the kind you dreamed of hearing over the telephone.
“Dr. LaViere,” I introduced myself and sat down with my tablet to take notes.
“Do you have another name?” she prompted, her green eyes reflecting the glow from the lamp.
“Not yet,” I countered and smiled. “We’ll see how much progress you make.” My response was filled with innuendo and I knew she was already formulating her plan.
“How long do I get?” she purred and ran a hand through her hair.
“Our visit is forty minutes long, Mrs. Marcum.”
“Call me Stephanie.”