Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
She was still surprised, her breathing slowly increasing. “I have no problem joining you, Dex. I just… I’m surprised you would sacrifice more of your time for this.”
I didn’t see any other solution. “There’s no other way.”
“But this still doesn’t fix the appointment time issue….”
No, it didn’t. There were too many patients and not enough time. Everyone wanted to see me because I seemed to be the only doctor in the country who actually gave a damn about them, which wasn’t fucking right. If other physicians actually had a heart, this wouldn’t be such a problem. “I realize that.”
“And you need to have a life, Dex. You deserve your own happiness.”
“Saving lives is my happiness.”
Her eyes softened. “But you’ll meet someone and settle down—”
“I’ll never meet someone and settle down. I don’t want a wife, and I don’t want kids. Ever.” I would spend my time making a difference, and whatever free time I had would be spent with my family and friends, the tail I picked up at the bar, and whatever else I could squeeze in. “My life is my work—and I’m fine with that.”
The day passed within the blink of an eye.
I saw patient after patient, and before I was done with the previous one, Andrea already had the next patient in one of the rooms, getting their vitals and everything else. Like clockwork, they cycled through, and I barely had two minutes in between to piss and drink my coffee.
It was not the way I wanted to run this practice.
But Sicily was right—there was no other way.
The alternative was to turn people away, and apparently, I was already doing that.
After the last patient left, I relaxed into the couch with my fingers interlocked together behind my head, looking at the ceiling for a moment, replaying everything that just happened.
The door opened, and Sicily came inside with food.
How did she take all my notes, run this office, and then go get me a hot meal?
She placed the container in front of me, chicken marsala with noodles, and then she opened a bottle of white wine and poured a glass.
All I could do was stare at her.
She answered my unspoken question. “I’m sure you’re starving.”
That fifteen-minute lunch I took wasn’t enough time for me to scarf down more than half a sandwich. “I just don’t know how you had time to do this.”
She gave a playful shrug but didn’t answer.
I set the food in my lap and ate, slicing the fork into the tender meat and placing it in my mouth.
She sat across from me and opened her laptop. “I thought we could take care of a couple things while you eat. I’ve got a few referrals from primaries, Roger from Kline Clinic sent over a couple of notes, and I have your surgery schedule for next week.”
“Alright.” I nodded and listened to everything she had to say, finding it much more relaxing to eat my dinner and talk to her about it than hunch over my desk and type all this out myself.
Having an assistant fucking rocked.
Made me realize I wouldn’t be able to do as much without her.
“Also, we do have one more client coming in today.” She finished typing and shut her laptop, wearing high-waisted jeans with a deep olive- green turtleneck, her dark hair pinned back loosely. She somehow managed to run around all day, take my notes, and still look like a supermodel while she did it.
“What do you mean?” I stopped eating because my muscles were stiff again. I was happy to help anyone who needed help, but I was looking forward to hitting the gym and then crashing on the couch right after I got out of the shower.
“It’s a VIP client,” she explained. “Wanted to come in when no one was else was in the office.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “Was that on my schedule?”
“Yes.”
I must have been too focused on the next patient to care about the person coming in after hours. “Who is it?”
“They wouldn’t tell me. They had Andrea and me sign NDAs.”
“Do I need to sign one?”
She shook her head. “They didn’t ask. Your reputation proceeds you.”
I went back to eating. “When will they be here?”
“In about ten minutes. So, relax for a bit. I’ll let you know when they’re here.”
Sicily stepped through the open door with my new patient and his entourage.
With just one look, I knew exactly who he was.
Rock star, music legend Dylan Dubois. He got his start in the sixties, revolutionizing the music industry, selling millions and millions of records, going double platinum for all, and still selling out stadiums even though he’d just crossed into his seventies.
It was ironic—because I’d listened to his music last week on the treadmill.
But I couldn’t be a fan of my patients. I had to be professional, to make them feel like a regular person, that my focus was on their health and not their achievements. I plastered a smile on my face and extended my hand. “Mr. Dubois, it’s a pleasure.”