ELIZABETH

In the resident’s locker room I’m gathering keys from my purse, dressed in red denim pants and a white sweater, long hair freed from the cumbersome stranglehold it was in. We had a pipe burst above ours so all the doctors are having to cozy up in these close quarters.

Janet Gilroy shuts her metal locker in the next row, calling out with her usual lack of emotion, “That was exciting, wasn’t it?”

Even though I know what she’s referring to, my mind somersaults to the Seventh Floor and I hum a casual, “Mmhmm.”

“Never saw a man screaming at his family like that, have you?”

“I’ve seen a lot of things I’d rather not have,” I mutter.

“The lack of respect was shocking.”

I pause. “To him, you mean?”

“When he lost it, I was secretly glad.”

Sliding my purse-strap over my shoulder, I agree, “Those people would have gotten on my nerves, too.”

“His kids were so controlling, and there was something off about them, didn’t you think?”

“He has money and they want it when he’s gone.”

Janet blankly stares at me. “Oh.” Her gaze drops to the bench where she left her light jacket. Tugging it on, she thinks about this.

I could be leaving, but the sudden awareness of how little natural instinct Janet has for behavioral psychology gives me greater pause. Perhaps her youth and lack of life experience is the cause. That man’s middle-aged children could not have been more transparent to me if their skulls were made of cellophane. They have no love for the man, although they faked it with insincerely concerned questions.

Her eyes flit up as she asks, “Why?”

“Why?” I repeat, and take a moment to consider how to explain it best. “Some people believe that their parents are banks, not people. What they’ve earned, their children think they have a right to it, as if it was them who spent all of those hours.”

Staring at me like I’m speaking a foreign language, Janet asks, “And you don’t think so?”

“Hell no,” I frown at the absurd idea. “Of course I don’t.”

“My parents are first-generation immigrants. They own small businesses, and every hour they’ve put into them is theirs. Watching them taught me to work harder so I can make them proud.”

My eyebrows rise. “Your mission is successful, Dr. Gilroy.”

Her lips twitch, then go flat again. “Thank you.”

Caden and Dev walk in the door, jovially chatting about the new baseball team, the former admitting with a laugh, “C’mon, you’re making me regret turning you down.”

“You should regret it! We’re kicking butt and you wouldn’t believe the Home Run I hit two nights ago, man.”

Upon sight of us, the reaction is comical.

Dev looks awkward for not wanting to appear too casual in front of me while simultaneously quieting at the sight of Janet for an entirely different reason.

Caden purses his lips and nods to himself. I can practically read his thoughts: Nothing to see here. It’s just another day. Didn’t have sex with anyone in this room, and sure didn’t leave a small bruise on her ass, either.

Satisfied I’m pulling off my poker face better than he, I take a moment and check my phone, even though I already read emails on it before I walked into this room.

Janet asks Dev, “Why didn’t you invite me onto the team?”

This flicks my gaze up for his response.

He glances over, wondering if I’m listening.

So I hold on him—no sense in hiding my curiosity now.

“You know why, Janet,” he shrugs.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I really don’t.”

Irritated that she’s put him on the spot, he says with less patience, “Yeah, you do.”

Without the slightest inflection change she repeats, “I really don’t.”

He is seething and Caden claps his shoulder, smirking, “She’s messing with you, Dev. Don’t fall for it.”

Janet frowns, “I’m not messing with him.”

Caden stares at her, unsure if she’s lying. Clearing his throat, he presses the code to open his locker. “He knows you’re too ambitious to take the time off, Janet. Just like me. It’s not personal.”

Blinking at him, it’s unclear if she believes him. My instinct is telling me she does not. Dr. Janet Gilroy shows even less emotion than I do. I’ve never seen her crack. That coupled with her skill is why I believe she’d make an extraordinary addition to the staff here.

Having no reason to remain among them I curtly nod my goodbye. “Have a good morning, team.”

“Goodbye, Dr. Myers,” Dev briefly waves.

“You know…” I pause, and turn to face the three. “I think it’s unfair and unkind to not invite someone to an activity with their peers when other people received an invitation.”

Dev points at Caden. “But!”

Caden smacks him, shakes his head.

Janet is watching them, face blank.

Dev sighs, “Would you like to join the team, Janet?”

“Yes, please.”

Caden nods to me. “You’re a good egg, Dr. Myers,” just like he would any other day, but he pulls his scrubs-shirt off at the same time, tugging up the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath. His perfect chest flashes the room, taut abs winking at me.

I avert my eyes with precision, but the glint in his makes me wet for hours to come.

“I’ll walk out with you,” Janet offers, calmly lifting her plastic, modern backpack and tugging it on as we exit. The door closes, cutting them off from hearing us, and she mutters, “I don’t get what the nurses see in him.”

My eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Sorry. I shouldn’t talk about it. Especially not with you.” Glancing to a clock, she changes the subject. “I might splurge and get a donut on my way home. I earned it.”

“What did you mean about the nurses?”

Janet meets my interest with a blank stare. “I don’t want to talk about him since we’re in competition.”

“You’re not discussing his talent as a doctor.”

“True.”

As we walk into the grey-blue light of breaking dawn, she still hasn’t answered.

The two of us part ways for our separate vehicles, mine in the assigned, preferential parking space. This is what I earned. She can have her donuts.

As I slide into my Audi, irritation niggles at my brain. That’s the problem with Dr. Gilroy and her self-mastery. When the young woman sets her mind on something, she sticks with it. And I can’t blame her—gossiping to me about him isn’t smart.

She might not be great at empathy but she is brilliant when it comes to ambition.

“Damnit,” I sigh, “What nurses?” as I turn up Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1.

Rolling by the entrance, Dr. Cocker and Dr. Mangal stroll out in their civilian clothes. It takes every ounce of willpower I’ve got to not languidly drink in the sight of his blue jeans, sexy boots, and tight-fitting t-shirt. Our eyes lock as he listens to his fellow resident animatedly tell him about something I can’t hear over my music.

My windows are down.

Caden calls out, amused, “Nice tunes!”

I slow to a crawl and smirk at the two men, including them both to be safe. “This is my jam. The heart wants what it wants.”

He grins and Dev congratulates me, “Excellent taste! How do you feel about Bach?”

“Too macabre.” I speed off, a slow grin spreading on my face.

That flirtation was enough to brighten the rest of my day.

I even stop for a donut.

What the hell—everything in moderation, right?

I hope ‘everything’ includes more dirty talk.