“No, letting ten extra people start working when we can’t afford to pay them?” He actually had the nerve to smile. “Now, that would’ve been illegal.”

I glared at him.

“Okay, that was a bad joke. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Anyway, although we’ll be unable to have you on staff here for our current term, our Human Resources Department worked overtime over the past few months to call every hospital in the state to help us figure out a solution to our embarrassing dilemma.” He pulled out a folder and flipped through the pages. “We sent over your board scores, your attendance record, and of course, recommendation letters from every doctor who was impressed with your work on rotations.”

Smiling, he slid the folder across the desk to me, but I didn’t dare open it. All I could see right now was my lifelong dream slipping away with every second that passed.

“Human Resources determined that Park Avenue Wellness Group is the best fit for you, given your preferred specialty and your love of therapy. The team there was excited to offer you the spot and their salary offer is quite high, the highest I’ve ever seen for that position.”

“Seriously?” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “You’re asking me to commit to a residency at a private practice? Is this some type of joke?”

“Park Avenue Wellness Group is actually the number one private practice in the state, and within the top ten in the country. They have a staff of world class doctors who are all renowned within their respective fields and a facility that rivals the best hospitals. Not only that ...”

I tuned him out. I couldn’t bear to listen to another word.

In all my years of aspiring to be a doctor, I’d always pictured myself running through the halls of the number one hospital in the state. The hospital I was currently sitting in right now, the very same one where I just worked my ass off as an intern. I’d never, ever dreamed of entering a private practice, let alone working at one because I always felt that their doctor-to-patient ratios were far too small. Too little variety in the cases to really challenge me.

“Are you listening to me, Dr. Madison?” The chief’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“No, sir.” I admitted. “Not at all.”

“I figured.” He stood up and walked over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Human Resources put a ton of work into the file I just gave you. It’s everything you need to know about Park Avenue Wellness Group and why we think this is going to be a total game-changer for your career. These things happen for a reason, you know?”

These things happen when you hire people who don’t know how to count ...

I forced myself to smile and extended my hand. “Thank you for being such a great mentor, Chief Tomlin.”

“No, thank you for being one of the best students I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching.” He shook my hand. “And hey, this is just a minor setback. The second you complete your residency, give me a call. I’ll move hell and high water to get you onto the official staff here.”

I didn’t have the energy to entertain that last comment right now. I simply picked up the file he gave me, stated my thanks one last time, and left his office. Not wanting to prolong my cruel change of fate any longer, I took the elevator to the bottom level and headed into the interns’ locker room. I pulled out my white coat and my change of scrubs, and quickly stuffed all of my textbooks and binders into my backpack.

Ignoring the “What’s wrong, Natalie?” and “Why are you crying?” from my colleagues, I left the hospital and tossed the file about Park Avenue Wellness Group into the first city trash bin I saw.

***

Later that night, I sat across from the man I’d met via the NewYorkMinute dating app, Charles Landon. I was determined to turn this day around and was very much looking forward to rubbing this night in D-Doctor’s face by telling him all about the many ways Charles fucked me.

Why do I get so aroused by telling a stranger about my non-existent sex life and fantasies?

“Um, are you going to order something to drink, Natalie?” Charles waved his hand in front of my face and I realized the waiter was staring at me and tapping his notepad.

“Oh, yeah.” I glanced at the wine selection on the menu. “I’ll have a glass of Château Guiraud.”

“An excellent selection, Miss.” The waiter smiled. “Might I also suggest —”

“That wine is seventy dollars a glass,” Charles interrupted, frowning. “I don’t think so. Can you pick something else, please?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize it was that high.” I glanced at the wine menu again. “Can I have the Château Piedmont, then?”

“That’s thirteen dollars a glass.” Charles shook his head. “How about the Shirley Temple?”

“Sir,” the waiter said, looking just as confused as me. “The Shirley Temple isn’t a wine. It’s a fancy way for our adolescent patrons to order ginger ale with a dash of fruit syrup and a maraschino cherry.”

“It’s also perfectly priced at four dollars.” Charles snatched my drink menu away and handed it to the waiter. “We’re just here for the drinks and the atmosphere. We’re getting Burger King after this, thanks.”

“Okay ...” The waiter gave me a look of “What the fuck?” and I forced myself to smile. “One Shirley Temple and a glass of water.”’