Page 4 of Clinically Bewitched
“You alphabetize your spice rack,” Gabriel added.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, Julien. No, they don’t.”
Winnie, who’d been watching this exchange with barely concealed amusement, cleared her throat. “If I may? The TED conference is offering full accommodation at the Venetian, first-class airfare, and a rather generous attendance fee. It’s three days—Friday through Sunday. You’d be back Monday morning.”
“See?” Fitz spread his hands. “Long weekend. We’ll barely have time to burn the place down.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
I looked down at the envelope, then back at my colleagues. They were all watching me with varying expressions of expectation, amusement, and—in Nathan’s case—what looked like genuine concern.
“I appreciate the nomination,” I said carefully, “but my responsibility is here. To my patients. To this clinic.”
“Your responsibility,” Hayden added quietly, “is also to yourself. You’re an excellent neurosurgeon, Julien. One of the best I’ve ever worked with. But you’re also wound tighter than a Swiss watch, and eventually, something’s going to give.”
“Nothing is going to give. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You had a panic attack last week because someone moved your stapler.”
“It wasn’t a panic attack. It was a moment of... intense frustration.”
“You hyperventilated into a paper bag.”
“I was demonstrating proper breathing techniques.”
Fitz snorted. “To whom? The stapler?”
“This is ridiculous.” I stood, gathering my agenda. “I’m not going to Las Vegas, and that’s final. Now, if we could please return to actual clinic business—”
“Okay, new approach.” Quinton stood as well, and there was something in his expression that made me wary. “You’re going to Vegas.”
“I just said—”
“And if you don’t go willingly, we’re going to make your life here a living hell.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.” Quinton crossed his arms. “We’ll move your stapler every day. We’ll reorganize your files. We’ll put your pens back in the wrong order.”
“We’ll schedule meetings at random times,” Gabriel added, catching on.
“I’ll leave my coffee cups everywhere,” Nathan piped up.
“I’ll whistle,” Fitz contributed. “Constantly. Off-key.”
“I’ll tell my patients you’re available for consultations,” Hayden said with a gentle smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “All of them. Every single one.”
I looked around the table at my colleagues, my partners, my friends, the people I’d built this clinic with, and realized with dawning horror that they were absolutely serious.
“You wouldn’t!”
“Try us,” Quinton said.
“This is extortion.”
