Page 5 of The Spare

The following day, after another twelve hours of staring at spreadsheets, my eyes are starting to cross, and my head is pounding. And after the scavenger hunt the night before, I need an escape. A distraction heavy enough to drown out the sound of my own failure. “Just one drink and a burger to get my head in a better place, and I’m out of there,” I scold aloud. I feel the need to put my intention out into the world to prevent any more shenanigans from occurring. My shoulders sag under the weight of the bad decisions I made twenty-four hours ago.

Nights like whatever the hell that was are behind me once and for all.

Driving my SUV down the dirt road from the vineyard visitor center to the main road, I observe a few deer along the tree line. I make a mental note to stick to one glass of scotch so I’m sharp enough to brake quickly once I return. They can sneak up on you when they come out to play after dark. Yet I need my wits about me for more than just avoiding a collision with a buck or a fawn. It’s essential I come up with a feasible plan for keeping the winery on life support tomorrow.

Heading downtown, I drive my SUV to the closest eatery with every intention of losing myself in a crowded bar long enough to lift my mood before heading home to get some sleep. Yet I don’t get the chance.

Before I can even order a drink, I spot her.

She’s sitting alone at the bar, nursing a white wine, looking like a dream I haven’t allowed myself to have in years. Suddenly, the anxiety over my current circumstance vanishes, replaced by an electric surge of adrenaline. It’s as if the universe is waving all of the things I wanted in my face. The future I can’t have.

Any rational man would turn around and walk away. But I dare say rational is not a word anyone has ever used to describe me. Clearly, I’m not in the headspace to be in the same room with her.

But if she’s going to despise me, I might as well continue to give her a reason.

Chapter Three

Lexi

“If we continue to coddle the nursing staff’s scheduling preferences, Ms. Patterson, our Relative Value Units will plummet by the end of the quarter.”

Bzzz.

Dr. Lewis glares down at my phone as it dances across the surface of my desk before returning his pinched expression in my direction.

Bzzz.

His eyes flick back to my cell, annoyed. “But then, I suppose a spreadsheet looks quite different when you’ve actually earned your seat at the table versus having it handed to you on a silver platter.”

Bzzz.

Bzzz.

Bzzz.

Ignoring my overactive text thread, I grip the edge of my mahogany desk so hard my knuckles turn white. Dr. Bryan Lewis stands in the doorway of my office, his white lab coat pristine, arms crossed with the insufferable confidence of a man who believes his medical degree doubles as a license to be a total douchecanoe.

He has never hidden his irritation that I stepped into the CEO position at Hanover Urology. To him, and a few of the other old-school chauvinistic physicians in the practice, I’m not a qualified physician with an MBA. I’m just the founder’s granddaughter.

Nepotism, wrapped in a pencil skirt.

“Our nursing staff is the backbone of this clinic, Dr. Lewis,” I sneer. My voice remains smooth, masking the absolute fury vibrating in my chest. “And optimizing their schedules reduces burnout, which essentially stabilizes our patient care and, consequently, your precious RVUs.”

Bzzz.

It figures this is his focus. The ability to increase his relative value units, or RVUs, subsequently amplifies his paycheck. But why would this selfish asshole bother considering the wellbeing of anyone else on staff?

I slide my phone from the desk into my lap, hoping the incessant chirping won’t give him ammunition to further criticize me. The next thing I’ll overhear around the water cooler is that I’m too busy on social media to manage the office effectively.

If only he’d focus on the people seeking his care, as much as his bank account, and it would be a nonissue all around. Word of mouth would have patients requesting him over other providers in the practice. Instead, the pompous asshat tends to get the worst reviews of anyone on staff here. “I’ll review the numbers and get back to you, Dr. Lewis. You can go treat your patients now.”

He lets out a sharp, patronizing laugh, turning on his heel and walking away.

I sink back into my chair and let out a long, ragged breath. It’s barely 10:00, and I’m already completely over this day. It doesn’t help that my morning started with a haughty patient politely but firmly requesting a male provider instead of me for his consultation.

Flipping my phone over, I take in the slew of activity and grin from ear to ear.

Georgia: I am somebody’s reason to smile.