Page 22 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
Jesse just laughs. “I’d love to see you fire me. Your little company would fall apart in ten seconds without me.”
James snorts, yanking open his truck door. “Funny, cause I seem to remember it was going just fine without you.”
“Oh yeah? And who, pray tell, found you your CPA to sort out your messy-ass books?” Jesse demands, climbing up into his own truck. “And who has the supply contacts at Pella and Kohler, hmm?”
James starts his engine, and then leans through the open window, shouting, “One word, asshole: Lunchbox!”
“That was second grade! Let it go already!” Jesse shouts back.
I laugh at their banter, which continues even as they drive away. When they’re gone, I head back inside, clean up dinner, put the leftovers in the fridge, and pour the rest of the wine into my glass.
Feeling at loose ends, I wander around my house, sipping wine and mooning about Jesse like a lovesick teenager.
He’s just so dreamy!
Chapter 5
My phone rings while I’m in a room with a patient. I’m happy and mad all at once. Happy because it seems to be working, and mad because I’m with a patient. My luck being what it is, it was in the back pocket of my scrub pants this morning, when I pulled my pants down to go pee and my poor phone took a swim. I fished it out within seconds of it hitting the water. I blew it dry and stuck it in rice in an effort to get it working. It still works…sort of. But it won’t go to silent, the screen is marbled and watery, and it won’t charge. So now, with my phone ringing in my pocket, it sounds like it’s…well…still at the bottom of the toilet bowl.
I’m in the middle of checking my patient’s blood pressure.
“You need to answer that?” he asks. The patient is a seventy-five-year-old man, a regular, and a mild hypochondriac. And a serious crank.
“No, it’s okay. I dropped it in the toilet this morning and now it won’t go into silent mode. Sorry, Mr. Christensen.”
“Shoulda left it at home, then, or in the car,” he grumbles as I write down his blood pressure. “Unprofessional, is what it is. Damn cell phones ringin’ all the damn time. Everybody staring at a screen insteada interacting with folks.”
“Your blood pressure is still pretty high, Mr. Christensen,” I said. “It’s one-thirty over eighty-seven. You’ve really gotta work on getting that under control.”
“Oh, save it for the real doctor,” he grouses. “Don’t need a lecture from some damn nurse.”
I roll my eyes at him, but go through the rest of the visit in silence.
After I’m done with Mr. Christensen, I stop by the desk and shove my phone at the bottom of my purse—because he was right about it being unprofessional to have my phone ringing in the room with a patient. Then I have three more patients—an embarrassed high school senior with a gnarly STD, a toddler with a cold and a helicopter mommy, and a middle-aged woman with swimmer’s ear.
By the time I’m done with all of them, Dr. Bishara is finished with Cranky Christensen.
“Imogen, a word with you please?” Dr. Bishara says, indicating his office.
I sigh. Here we go.
I follow him in, close the door, and lean against it, refusing to play his power game, the one where he sits on the corner of his desk and tries to intimidate me.
“Sit, please,” he says.
I smile. “I’m fine, thanks. I have patients to get to. What’s up, Dr. Bishara?”
He glares at me through his thick glasses. “Mr. Christensen said your phone rang while you were with him. We have a very clear policy regarding cellular devices, I do believe.”
“Yes, Dr. Bishara, I’m aware. But I dropped it in the toilet and now it won’t go on silent mode. It’s in my purse, now.”
“If your phone cannot be silenced, it should remain at home.”
“I have aging parents who live in Florida, Dr. Bishara. I can’t just not have my phone.” Which is true enough.
“Then replace it.”
“I can’t afford to, at the moment.” I hesitate, and then go for it. “Which does lead me to think…I’ve worked for you for ten years, Dr. Bishara. I’ve never been late, never called off, and I cover more shifts than anyone else. I’ve also never asked for a raise.”
Dr. Bishara removes his glasses. “Imogen, I do not think this is the right time for this conversation. I am in the middle of reprimanding you for violating our cell phone policy and you ask for a raise? What kind of logic is this?”
“Reprimanding me?” Oh—now I’m pissed. “Reprimanding me? I’m your best employee! How many other times has this happened? What about Tiffany? She’s literally always on her phone! She answered a call while she was with a patient, and you said nothing. But my phone goes off one time—something I can’t fix right now because my phone is broken and I can’t afford a new one because I haven’t had a raise in six years—and you reprimand me?”
