Page 19 of Doc Showmance
“If you go on a date with Ian or a planned outing to help the storyline, then the cameras will go.”
“That would be the only situation. They won’t follow me home or to the store or anywhere else that’s personal. If I catch that happening, then you will put that you are in breach and the contract is null and void. You will still owe me the full payment, though.”
“Okay.”
“I want more compensation. Several months of this hell when it sounds like you’re going to try to make me a celebrity…” I groaned, slouched in my chair, and stared at the ceiling to take in the white tiles. “Shit. That means there may be people other than you trying to follow me.” I straightened my back. “I’m not doing interviews. I—”
“You will do interviews. A few. You have to in order to help us PR this. Maybe you do speaking engagements at veterinary events or fun places like the zoo?” Marianna offered.
“Veterinary events? Like a conference for colleagues? What would I talk about? How to survive being on reality TV? How to be a total asshole to colleagues like Kovac and come out on the winning side?” I cringed.
“There will be some necessary PR. That’s not negotiable.”
“Will I have to hold Ian’s hand and act all cute?” I slapped a hand over my mouth. “I think I vomited in my mouth.”
Marianna laughed. “You’re funny. Yes. Handholding is a no-brainer.”
“Then I want a lot more to do this.” When the producer scowled, I scooted my chair back from the table. “I can go. You can have your thirty percent of my time and nothing else as my contract stands now. No fake romance. I’ll avoid him at work as much as possible.”
Marianna leaned forward. “Ten thousand a month. Negotiable again in six months, although this may only last for two.”
“Fifteen thousand.” My heart lurched. That would pay for so much. “For clarity, that is on top of my regular pay? Dr. Morris, that doesn’t change, right?”
“Right,” he said. The man could be a world class poker player since he gave away no emotion.
I said, “Put that in the contract. I want thirty thousand up front for the first two months. That’s fifteen thousand a month extra.”
“Fine, whatever.” Marianna leaned back and looked bored. “Anything else?”
I should’ve asked for more. “I’m not an actress. I can’t memorize lines. I won’t be moved around like a puppet for the camera. I’m going to do my thing. I refuse to be told how to do medicine or interact with clients. I want that in my contract. You cannot dictate how I practice. You can’t get in the way of what needs to be done for a patient. You do that, one of your people does that, and the contract is void. If you’re going to try to force something between me and that…between Ian and I, then we’ll need to figure out how it happens organically. To do that we have to start where we are now, which is that we hate each other. Okay?”
“You can’t avoid Ian. You’re going to have to have on-camera time with him daily. You understand that? You’re going to get in the confessional, and you’re going to talk about him.”
Shit. I swallowed but nodded. I needed to meet with him outside work to organize this. “I’m not sure about PDA or kissing, though. This is a professional place of work.”
She pursed her lips, but said, “I’ll have the changes drafted for you to sign this afternoon.”
“I’m going to have my lawyer review it tonight and will bring it back tomorrow. If it doesn’t have those stipulations in it, I won’t sign it.” Big lie. I’d love to have Bruno take a look even though he wasn’t focusing his studies on contract law, but the whole clause about fake romance wouldn’t go over well. So, no showing Bruno. I didn’t know any other lawyers.
“Sure. Look it over. But you’re going to smooch on camera. So get ready to pucker up.”
7
Ian
Day three of work. No clue if Amber approved whatever contract changes she’d negotiated a few days ago. So far, she’d avoided me.
The few appointments I’d seen so far this morning—an inappetent rabbit, a seizing iguana, and a feather-picking parrot—proved to me I missed working in the trenches. Kind of. Dealing with distraught people on top of negotiating how to fit what needed to be done into a budget stressed me. The hospital was in a nice area, but since it was emergency it drew from people everywhere, especially when it came to exotic animals. But I wasn’t giving up my dream: zoo medicine. Or, if I couldn’t get a zoo position, which came up about once every twenty years, I’d continue highlighting exotic animal medicine around the world on TV.
A bout of cursing echoed through the treatment room, drawing my attention. The dog with diabetic ketoacidosis that Amber had been working with most of the day looked like it might be crashing. I rushed toward the crowd around his cage to…to what? I sucked at CPR. I also didn’t want to push being in her space.
The dog wasn’t arresting. Just not doing well.
Cameras moved in.
“Can I help, Dr. Hardin?” I asked. Her glare was exactly why I should’ve stayed away.
“Can you?” she shot back. A long sigh rolled out. “Mylanta.” She crossed her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m just not sure where you are with your medicine since you’ve been gallivanting around doingun-reality TV for a while. This dog is giving up the fight.” Amber lifted the miniature schnauzer’s head to make eye contact. “Don’t give up on me, Noodles. Your mom needs you. Please.” She and the dog had a silent communion for several seconds. She nodded. “He’s not done fighting. So neither are we. Susan, get him on a heating pad and let’s put in a central line.”
