Page 128 of Altius
“Oh, no, I would never,” I said with false concern, resting a hand against my chest. “We’re just two colleagues, full of mutual respect and admiration, having an honest chat.” My demeanor turned cold. “Aren’t we?”
She eyed me warily, fear flashing across her face before hardening into resentment, then turned her computer monitor back toward her. “Very well. I won’t object to your working for Redwing.”
“You can’t. There’s nothing in my fellowship agreement that forbids it. I was informing you out of respect.”
“If this conversation has been your idea of respectful—”
I sighed, cutting her off. “Do you really want to go there?”
“Oh?” Her voice rose—brittle, almost shrill. “Did we not bend over backward far enough to meet your omega standards?”
“No.” I shifted forward, meeting her eyes, giving her time to absorb that my omega was not to be taken lightly. “The problem is that you don’t understand. I didn’t come here to be the most congenial little omega physician this university has ever seen. I’m here to domybest. To meet my own exacting standards regarding patient care—and, yes, research. Am I supposed to be grateful that you recommended me for a junk project? That’s what PheroPass was back in July. A waste of everyone’s time—including Cal’s—and especially mine.”
Her nostrils flared. “That’s quite enough.”
“Why, because I figured it out? You pre-judged me. Decided that I lacked the mental fortitude to do head trauma research after my accident. You never considered that my personal experiences might have been useful or provided insight to the rest of the team. Did you? No, you expected me to sit on my hands for a year and be happy about it. That an omega wouldn’t dare do more than wish and hope for Redwing to improve PheroPass. Well, that’s not how I operate.”
I narrowed my eyes against the noon sun reflecting off the snow outside, refusing to lose my cool.
“I admired you. I really did. Until I realized that you don’t treat me any differently than Verray treats its beta employees. Do you?”
The gaping silence spoke volumes.
“Well,” she finally choked out. “No matter how little I care for theprospect, good luck handling Redwing. But be very certain of your actions.”
Dr. Sethi pushed the consultant agreement toward me and flicked imaginary dust off her desk mat. Probably imaginedbanishing me from her office—and her pack son’s life—in one fell swoop.
Well, too bad.
She could sink my fellowship, but she couldn’t touch me.
Medicine was part of my identity. It wasn’t everything.
The realization flooded me with refreshing clarity. It was like discovering I’d had the key to a secret room hidden in my pocket all along.
I was more than my job—thisjob.
And I deserved more respect, too.
Everything worth having humbled me first. Pushed me, tested me, changed me. It left me broken in some way, fighting through pain, tears, or blood.
Gymnastics. My recovery. Medical training.
Falling in love with Cal and reigniting my connection with Wyatt seemed easy in retrospect…if I ignored the tightrope beneath my feet.
If I ever swayed too far in either direction, favoring my career over my personal life or vice versa, if my lingering traumas ever became unbalanced, if my health faltered…
I’d fall. Again.
And hard.
Failure was a very real possibility. The kind that ruined reputations and closed doors forever.
But I’d rather fail on my own terms than be cowed into submission.
Besides, a narrow road was still a road. I just had to keep moving forward.
“Thank you,” I said, slipping the agreement into my bag. “I appreciate your candor.”
