Page 59 of Bad Blood

18

Check-Ins

Brighton

Thursday, May 18 th

11:47 a.m.

“You can’t do that—”

“I wasn’t asking your permission,” a female says from out of view.

Voices and hurried footsteps draw my attention from the hall. I find Kline and his soon-to-be ex-wife stopped in the doctors’ lounge doorway. My heart sinks, realizing now may be the moment I’ve been dreading. I don’t know how to broach the subject of him dating the victim and my curiosity surrounding it.

The ability to disappear would be helpful.

They glare in my direction with scowls and arms crossed, instantly replacing my worry with an escape plan.

“Just sign it.” Margo gives me a deprecating smile. “If it isn’t your star pupil.” She takes an unwelcome step into the lounge as her eyes rove over me.

“You’re not getting the house in Vale,” Kline murmurs, wiping a palm over his chin as he sniffles and rubs his eyes before jutting his lips out.

“Hi, Margo.” I hate being the center of her attention. I fight hard not to recoil as I pause with the salad-filled fork raised to my mouth, my eyes bouncing between them. I close Liam’s file in front of me, stuffing it in the middle of the pile to my left, and pocket my voice recorder. I’ll get back to reviewing his surgical note later.

“Brighton.” She gives me a tight-lipped smile and arches a well-manicured brow.

Guess my lunch break is over. I give the two of them a hesitant smile, lowering the fork to my barely touched bowl. “Give me a sec. Almost done.” I replace the lid and lick the Caesar dressing remnants off the fork before dropping it into the sink.

Kline clears his throat, loosening the collar of his gray button-up shirt. “We have a meeting.”

“Awe, how sweet. We. I love how he makes the two of you a ‘we.’ ” Margo’s smile slides from her lips, her eyes scanning over me. Again. I drop the bowl into the trash. “Does your meeting have to do with the malpractice lawsuit I saw plastered on the news?”

Kline stiffens as he unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them to his elbows. His eyes are cold as he steps into Margo’s personal space, taking her by the arm and pulling her the rest of the way into the lounge.

I reach for the charts on the table and tuck them under my arm as I ease along the counter toward the door and slip past them, hiking a finger over my shoulder as I make it into the hallway. “They moved the meeting to tomorrow. I have a couple of patients I need to—”

“Have they released what it’s for this time? Does it have to do with you again?” She yanks away from him, brushing a hand over her flawless blonde bob. She rolls her ice-blue eyes at Kline as she steps toward me, grabbing a hold of my chin and inspecting my face. “I’d watch out if I were you. I wouldn’t want my name tied to him if it were me.”

“I’m busy. I need to get back to patients.” I glance between them, holding my hands up as an act of surrender. I want no part of whatever’s going on.

“You look like all of them.” Margo tsks, clucking her tongue. Who is she talking about? She closes the distance between us and twists a strand of my hair between her fingers. My dark-brown locks are a stark contrast to her white polish. Her scrutinizing attention makes me nauseous.

Kline tenses and a pinched expression spreads across his face. “Margo,” he warns.

“Are you waiting to date her too? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” Her tone is condescending, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth as she drops my hair.

“It’s time for you to leave.” He directs her out of the doorway and into the hall, past me. She pushes against him to look back at me as he shoves her toward the exit.

“I’d watch myself if I were you.” She replaces her gruff irritation with a sickly-sweet pitch, mocking him. “Kline has a type.”

What I think—scratch that—what I know about Kline and Margo is irrelevant. And I can’t keep up.

There’s the pending divorce.

He’s been dating other women.

What does any of this have to do with me?

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