Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I glance at him. “What?”
He huffs out a laugh. “It’s been what, two or three weeks now since I’ve seen your handsome mug around here.”
Shaking my head, I shrug. “I’ve passed you in the hall at least twice this week. You’ve had your eyes pinned to your phone. I’m not the bastard ignoring you.”
“Are you saying I’m a bastard?” The smile on his face gives away the intention of the question. I admire him and consider him a friend. I know that feeling is mutual.
“I am.” I nod, shooting him a grin. “I’ve been around, Dr. Scott. You haven’t taken time to notice me.”
He pats my back again. “I guess we’ve both been busy.”
That’s an understatement.
I’ve been buried under work for days, hell, it feels like weeks, but I know it’s not.
I’ve been faced with a host of appointments, and consultations over the past week and a half culminating in the heart attack I just attended to down the hall in the ED.
“How did that kid make out?” he questions, genuine concern in his expression. “The one you found on the floor in Atlas 22 a couple of weeks back.”
I glance at him again because that’s typical Evan. He remembers people and the challenges they face. He’s been known to stop by the rooms of the patients of his colleagues to check in on them. The man can be an ass, but he has a heart of gold.
“I discharged him early last week,” I say. “I reached out twice via phone. So far, so good. I’ll see him again tomorrow for a follow-up.”
“His little sister is a hoot.” Evan laughs. “I met her in the cafeteria after her brother’s procedure. She was there with her mom having a donut.”
Without a word, I hold out my hand for him to shake.
He goes for it and as we both raise our hands to complete the Saylor Robinson signature handshake, we laugh.
“You need to have kids.” He glances to his left to where another vascular surgeon seems to be waiting for him at the end of the corridor we’re standing in. “You’d make a great dad.”
“I’ll leave the superior parenting to you.” I smack his shoulder. “Get back to work. I’ll see you around.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for you, Dr. Morgan.” He points at me. “I don’t know how the hell I missed saying hello to that handsome face, but I won’t make that mistake again.”
“I haven’t seen you in scrubs in years.” Berk goes in for a hug as I approach him.
I reciprocate because my cousin is the closest thing to a brother I have. “It’s a good look, no?”
He huffs out a laugh as he directs me to sit across from him in this bustling coffee shop on the Upper East Side. “You look good, Gaines, although you could use a shave.”
I could use that, a decent meal and a fuck, but cardiologists can’t be picky. I take what I get, and today that is fifteen minutes with my cousin, and what looks like a day old croissant and a lukewarm coffee.
“I’ve been here for awhile.” He slides off his suit jacket, placing it over the back of his chair. “Sorry if the pastry is dry, and the coffee cold.”
I take a bite of the croissant and wash it down with a mouthful of the bitter coffee.
He watches me chew, his gaze falling to the front of my scrubs where my name is stamped across the left side of my chest.
“It’s good,” I tell him before I go in for another bite. “How are you? Astrid? Stevie?”
“We’re all fine.” He sips from the cup in front of him. “I’d ask how you are, but you’re living a doctor’s life so underpaid and overworked?”
I’m both. Our grandfather left me enough money when he died that I could drop the career and adopt a new, much less stressful one, but medicine is it for me.
It’s always been.
A slice of the inheritance funded my education. Dutch, our grandfather, would be proud.
I knew I wanted to be a doctor decades ago. That desire intensified as I got older until I made the announcement that I was heading to medical school.
My mother cried. My dad did the same.
Making them proud has been the icing on the cake for me.
“I’ve been swamped,” I admit before I finish the croissant. “How’s work for you?”
Berk owns a publishing company. He’s made the dreams of a host of people come true. In his way, he’s changing lives, too.
“It’s been great,” he admits. “I’ve got a few projects on the go. They’re big, but nothing I can talk about yet.”
“Not even to me?”
He laughs. “If I tell you, you’ll have to tell me what was wrong with Eloise’s friend. What was the guy’s name? Daxton?”
Hearing her name sits me up straighter. “You know about Daxton?”