Page 2 of The Doctor's No-Strings Deal

Megan burst out laughing and gave her mom another hug and kiss. “You’re so weird, Mom.”

“That’s why you love me,” her mother added as she flew out the door.

“I love you for lots of other reasons, too.” Just before she closed the door behind her, Megan called back. “No dishes!” But she knew it was useless. Her mother didn’t often have the energy to take on daily tasks, so whenever she did have the energy, she almost always overexerted herself. It wasn’t ideal, but Megan knew it was useless to try and stop her.

Sadie Bright had a stubborn streak about a mile wide, and Megan knew exactly what the apartment would look like when she got home. The dishes would be done, the kitchen and dining area would be clean, and her mother would be crashed out in bed, exhausted for the next week. Megan smiled at the thought because Sadie was Sadie, and she was glad the diagnosis hadn’t changed who her mother was. She’d be happy to take over the homemaking for weeks at a time if it meant her mother got to feel like herself for a day.

As soon as Megan started peddling, she realized what a mistake it was to wear a short skirt while biking, but it was too late. Luckily, in the city, most people minded their business and didn’t seem to care. When she came close to her bus stop, Megan hopped off her bike and tried to straighten her wrinkled skirt to no avail.

She had always loved bus stops and the like, where people would gather to wait and chat and just be together. In Philadelphia, the bus stations were almost as nice as the train stations. Some of the kids she grew up with criticized these public spaces, claiming they were dirty and maybe a little dangerous, but Megan didn’tthink so. Her mother had been taking the L her whole life, and she was just fine.

A busker sat on the curb, playing a violin with his case open. On her way past, Megan dug a dollar out of her purse and dropped it into the case.

“Bless you!” the busker called out after her.

She turned back. “No, bless you! And thank you for the music!”

The violinist smiled wide while he played. “You have a wonderful day now!”

“I will!” she answered. “It’s my first day of residency — wish me luck!”

“Good luck, beautiful!”

That interaction put a smile on her face as she waited for the bus. And her smile didn’t fade even as she stepped aboard and found she had old chewing gum stuck to the sole of her shoe. It brought back all kinds of memories, and made her nostalgic for a childhood filled with things other people might not appreciate quite as much as she did. Old gum on her shoes and buskers on the street corners.

Today was going to be amazing, and the gum was just a sign that things were going her way. That’s how she saw it, anyway. She gave up her seat to an old woman who said something to her in a language she didn’t understand. Certainly, it included thanks and well wishes. Megan could tell. A couple men on the train complimented her appearance, and she thanked them with a warm smile, which they didn’t seem to expect for some reason. When the girl sitting next to her turned up her music, Megan knew it was so she could hear it too. She grinned at thegirl and thanked her, saying how much she loved the song. The bewildered girl stared at her, but eventually, she came around and smiled back.

Megan always found it easy to make others smile. All she had to do was assume they had the best intentions, give them all the benefits of every single doubt, and let them feel truly appreciated. She was generous with her smile and her laugh and her gratitude, and people definitely noticed. It was a skill she had learned from her mom, and it had treated her well in life.

In fact, she was looking forward to using her people skills with real patients instead of just fellow students. One of the reasons she knew she would make a good doctor was how much she loved being around people. She tipped her invisible hat to everyone who passed her on the train, and a good sixty percent of them smiled back. Maybe that was the only smile they would get that day, but everyone needed a daily dose, and Megan was glad to provide. Healing wasn’t just about medicine, and Megan understood that more than most.

CHAPTER 2

CHARLIE

If anyone had asked Charlie Sullivan, as a child, what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer would have beena doctor. He didn’t even have to think about it. There was never a moment, growing up, when he strayed from this goal — when he thought maybe he might like to be an astronaut, a professional athlete, or a fireman like most other boys his age. No, the answer would always have beena doctor. But, of course, no one ever asked him that question because anyone who knew his family already knew what Charlie would be when he grew up.

His brother, Justin, was a heart surgeon. His father was a renowned neurologist. Even his grandfather and his father before him worked in medicine. The Sullivan side of Charlie’s family only ever did one thing, and they did it remarkably well. Advancements had been made in research and development in the name of Dr. Sullivan, and it didn’t seem to matter which Dr. Sullivan was on the line. They all shared the same reputation.

They all shared the same appearance, too: near-white blond hair, striking blue eyes, and skin fair enough that none of them went outside without sunblock on. They all knew better. Theirgreat uncle had been a dermatologist, after all. The Sullivan men were all over six feet tall with an imposing aura and a resting facial expression that would have been called something very specific if it appeared on women instead of men. They were serious, and no one doubted it. Their patients tolerated a cold bedside manner with the knowledge that the tradeoff would be worth it. They were getting the best care possible. No one else could even compete.

The weight of that reputation was one Charlie had carried his whole life, but over the course of the last few weeks, as his residency drew closer and closer, that weight seemed to double. Everything felt heavy. His eyelids didn’t want to open in the morning. Sitting up took more muscle than usual. He rolled out of bed with a low groan and silenced his alarm. It took all his will not to just drop back into bed and embrace unconsciousness for a few minutes more.

The apartment his father kept for him was a microcosm of the home he grew up in: floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive carpets, mahogany everything. It was the lap of luxury some would say, but Charlie hardly noticed anymore. This classic smoking-room style was what his father preferred, and so naturally, it had to be what he preferred, too. Everything boiled down to class in the end. If you want to utilize the privileges that come with your own class, you have to embody it in every way possible. Hence the bookshelves full of leather-bound volumes no one ever read, the heavy velvet curtains no one ever drew, and the expensive hung paintings that no one ever really appreciated.

It was all for show. All of it. But Charlie was used to the performance. He’d been doing it his whole life, and by now, he couldn’t imagine living any other way.

He showered and dressed, feeling as though his father were watching over his shoulder the whole way through. He could almost hear the man warning him to wear a tie despite the fact that he would be in scrubs for most of the day.You only get one chance to make a first impression,he would say.

If there was one thing Charlie knew for sure, it was that there would always be something he hadn’t thought of, and his father would inevitably think of it and point it out. Somehow, even though Charlie hadn’t lived with his parents in years, his father continued to do just that. So when the phone rang on that fateful morning, he knew exactly who was calling him.

His father had barely said good morning before he launched into the checklist that Charlie knew was coming. He definitely didn’t spare a thought for platitudes or a singlegood luck.“Are you dressed? You remembered to wear a tie and jacket like we discussed?”

Charlie put his phone on speaker and laid it on his dresser while he continued to get ready. “Yes, Dad.”

“Which tie?”

That was a level of specificity Charlie hadn’t expected. “The green one?”

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