Page 49 of The Potter

She eyes the door to her room.

“I have some calls to make. I’ll wait for you out here.”

“Out here?” Her eyes look like giant sapphires as she just stares at me.

“Yes, out here.” Those plump lips of hers start to twitch, and I add, “Hurry before I lose my patience.” I seriously need a punch to the face.

Halle chuckles out this dainty laugh and reaches for the door. “Sure thing, Vance.”

“It’s Dr. Potter, not Va—” She slams the door, cutting me off and inciting fury in my bones. Maybe it’s that southern accent or the playfulness in her tone, but she irks me to the point of madness. I need another sparring round with Astor. Maybe he can beat out whatever this is.

When Halle has disappeared into her room, I pull out my phone and dial Richard. He answers on the third ring. “I expected you to call yesterday when I left you a message.”

“And I expected you to make an appointment to speak with me like everyone else.”

It’s been a rough twenty-four hours, and unfortunately, Richard will bear the brunt of my frustration. Again.

“I’m not everyone else, Dr. Potter. I’m your attorney.”

And a really sucky one at that.

I sigh, getting out of the car. I need fresh air for this conversation. “What did you need?”

Richard pauses, likely deciding if he has the patience to deal with my shit through this entire case. “Calista’s attorney set a deposition date.”

“When?” I ignore the ringing in my ears, choosing to focus on the chipping paint on Halle’s door.

“September.”

Great. Only two months away.

I can hear the hesitation in Richard’s voice before he adds, “This is important, Vance. If this deposition goes bad, you could lose your case.”

And the practice.

Calista’s lawsuit is personal, but she’s attacking my practice and therefore, my patients. They don’t deserve to be without access to plastic surgeons. We’re the only practice left in the Bloomfield area. The other plastic surgery office closed last year.

“I understand, Richard.” Gritting my teeth, I pace around the parking lot as Richard rambles on about proof and experts. I don’t absorb any of it. All I can see is his face, begging me for help.

“Please, Vance. I trust you with my life.” Dark circles framed his eyes. I’d never seen him so haggard. Then again, I’d never seen him beg, either. “Please, brother. Don’t let me lose her.”

“Vance? You still there?” Richard’s clipped words pull me from the memory—the never-ending nightmare that always ends with me drunk, surrounded by broken glass.

“I need to go.” I swallow past the knot in my throat.

“We need to prepare for your deposition.”

No matter how many hours I pay Richard to prep me, the story is still the same. “Have Serena put it on my calendar.”

“Dr. Potter, I know Logan was your—”

I end the call. Richard is paid by the hour, and that sentence was headed in the direction of fatherly advice—which he can keep. I know what I did, and I’ll live with the consequences.

“Halle!” I bang on Ms. Belle’s door. I don’t know how long she needs to get dressed, but she knows I’m in no mood to wait much longer.

“Chill, asshole. She’ll be out in a minute.”

The smoke and asshole comment I could ignore. But it’s the “she’ll be out in a minute” that has me staring down at a five-year-old in two seconds flat. “How do you know Ms. Belle?”

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