Page 20 of Top Shelf
“Dr. Grant.”
“Sorry.”
But I’m not. The thought of that space—my studio, the space I’ve already mentally painted, furnished, and filled with my own blood, sweat, and tears—turning into a gleaming temple of fucking injectables makes me want to bite through the conference table.
Moreno watches me. “It’s commercial property, Dr. Grant. The landlord wants a qualified tenant.”
I look down at the document, but the words blur. “How long do I have?”
“Letter of intent by the end of next week, and the deposit and lease terms shortly after.”
My day tilts again, but this time it’s not due to a crash. This is worse. End of next week. That’s less than a fortnight—about ten days away.
“You have something viable here, Dr. Grant,” Moreno says. “I want you to understand that before you decide this conversation is a failure.”
I curl my fingers around the edge of the folder.
“This particular space matters,” I say. “The clinic adjacency is important.”
“I know.”
“It’s not just convenience, it’s part of the model.”
“I know that too.”
His voice isn’t unkind, which makes this so much worse.
“If you come back with financing options and a lease structure by next Friday,” he says, “I will make the calls I said I’ll make.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then this location may not be the location.”
No.
The word rises fast enough that I have to bite it down.
“I can do it,” I say, feeling Carina shift beside me.
Moreno studies me for a moment, then nods. “Good.”
I can tell he thinks he’s just set me a challenge he believes I’m capable of meeting, but I have no fucking clue how I’m going to pull this off.
We wrap up with next steps and a scheduled catch-up for next week, then Moreno stands.
“And Dr. Grant,” he says. “Next time, try to arrive without a vehicular incident.”
I nod solemnly as I stand too. “I’ll build it into the timeline.”
His mouth curves. “You do that.”
Carina waits until the door closes before she turns to me. “Sit back down for a second.”
“I have a ten o’clock.”
“I moved him to ten-fifteen.”
“You moved my patient?”
