Page 4 of Ice Cold Hearts

Yes!

I spy an empty spot right near the front. With how tightly wound I am right now, I nearly tear up at the sight of it. My shoulders slowly drop away from my ears. I take a deep breath.

This is a good sign. I’ll be able to slip in quickly, read Jenna’s notes, and be ready for whoever is waiting to meet me.

An obnoxiously green sports car whips into the spot I’m about to turn into.

Shit.

I slam my foot on the brakes to avoid T-boning them and lean on the horn.

Of course, it’s a man who hops out of the car.

You’d think after cutting me off and almost causing an accident, he’d show a little remorse, right? Maybe he’d flash a guilty grimace or give an apologetic wave. That’s what a normal person would do. Does he do that? No.

This jerk slides out of his car as cool as a cucumber and has the nerve to make the universal what the hell hand gesture at me. My brain must be short-circuiting because all I can do is stare at him with my mouth hanging open like a guppy.

He takes a few steps toward my car. I can see his mouth moving but I can’t make out what he’s saying. Against my better judgment, I roll down the window.

“What?” I snap.

“Are you going to tell me what you want from me or are you going to keep blocking my way?” he asks cooly.

Everything that’s gone wrong today spins around my head like a demon carousel—the elderly patient collapsing in the waiting room, the pediatric patient vomiting on me during exercises, stubbing my toe twice, guilt over leaving Audrey, and then this asshole.

“What do I want? I want you to be a decent human being and not snipe spots out from other people who were going to park there first. I want you to be someone whose head isn’t so far up his ass that he can see his own ileum and apologize to me for being smug instead of sorry. And you know what? Whatever you’re here for, I hope it’s terminal.”

I peel out so fast the tires screech.

My breaths are jagged. My heart is still pounding in my chest when I reach the parking garage elevator. I can’t believe I said all that. I don’t even regret it. It felt amazing to get everything off my chest instead of burying it under a cheerful bedside manner. My hands are still shaking and I can’t stop pacing. I’ve already pressed the elevator button three times. Where is it?

I try to calm down. There’s no way I can see a patient like this, especially not one this important—unless the director was lying through his teeth again.

Stairs. I need to take the stairs.

When I reach the fourth floor, I’m still out of breath but in a better mindset to work with a patient. I slip through the back entrance and hastily change into my scrubs.

At the door of my office, I do my habitual double-check.

Scrubs and sneakers?

On.

Hair?

Up.

Embarrassing dress and plastic shoes?

Banished to the darkest corner of my office closet.

Ready to make a life-changing first impression?

Absolutely.

Based on the low murmuring I can hear from the waiting room, my patient is already here. I'm only five minutes late. In hospital time, it's twenty minutes early, so things are looking good.

I stop at Jenna’s office to grab the file and skim over it as I walk to the front of our wing.

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