Grumpy Doctor

I couldn’t really tell.

She was pretty though. She had on light blue scrubs and a short white jacket. The jacket length was a strange hospital tradition: the longer it was, the more senior the wearer tended to be. Attendings had the longest jackets, interns had the shortest. Med students didn’t get a jacket at all.

I didn’t wear mine most of the time. When I went to see patients, I put it on, but usually I left it in my office. Doctors had an ego thing, loved to wear the stupid jacket, like it was the uniform that gave them power somehow. It was true that people treated you different when you had it on, but I couldn’t let myself go down that route.

That damn article was bad enough for my ego. Got me all inflated, made me think I could do things beyond my ability.

And a man paid dearly for that.

The elevator doors opened and we stepped out. I took her down the hall, past the main surgery suites, and to a small supply closet. I flipped on the light and gestured. “Welcome to your new home for the day.”

“Sorry, what?” She frowned at the room. There were racks of supplies lining each wall, and at the far end were a few industrial washing machines. The hospital had a washing room down in the basement that was fully staffed and ran around the clock, but this spot was for smaller loads that needed immediately attention.

I pointed her toward a basket of scrubs. “Clean those. When you’re done, make sure all this crap is arranged and where it’s supposed to be. People are getting lazy around here and this closet’s looking like a shithole.”

She gaped at me. “You want me to do laundry?”

“Laundry and straighten up, yes.” I turned to leave. “Any questions, go ask someone else. You shouldn’t need to ask questions about this.”

“Wait,” she said.

I looked back. “Yes?”

She gaped at me, gesturing around. “I’m a resident. Aren’t there… I don’t know, janitorial staff for this stuff?”

“Of course,” I said. “And I’m sure they’ll ask what the hell you’re doing. Just tell them I’m making you clean.”

“Piers. I’m not doing your laundry.”

“I thought we talked about this already.”

“I went to med school.”

I turned on her, jaw tightening. “And what? That means you’re too good for laundry now?”

“I don’t—”

“But you do,” I said. “You think you’re too good, but I’m here to teach you that you’re not too good. Nobody’s too good. So do the damn laundry and don’t complain, or we’re finished.”

She glared at me, pure defiance. God, I liked that look. It was hard and full of anger, and I was almost tempted to give her a break.

But I had a reason for this.

New residents were cocky. They always were, especially the smart ones that did well in school. They came in here and had no clue how a hospital ran, but they thought they knew medicine, thought they knew their place in the world. Even with all that training, all that memorization, they still didn’t know a goddamn thing.

I was like that. Hell, I’m still like that. My ego is a problem. I’m well aware of it, and I try my best to keep it in check—but that’s not always possible.

She needed a reminder, right off the bat, that she didn’t know a thing.

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not going to be your little… your little bitch.”

I barked a laugh. “Don’t worry. I have a method to my madness.”

“Good.” She walked over to the laundry basket and dumped it over into the machine. “I can do laundry. I can shine your shoes. Anything else, sir? Maybe I can bring you some coffee?”

“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Coffee would be great. Maybe you can serve it with a smile, too.”

She glared at me. Beautiful girl.

Dangerous girl.

“How about I dump it in your lap?”

“Then you can change my scrubs for me. I bet that’s something we’d both enjoy.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Good, let her stew on that one. I waved and walked to the door, and left before she could respond.

Dangerous, dangerous girl. I shouldn’t have said that last bit—I knew it was too far. I didn’t know her and she didn’t know me, and making any sort of borderline joke might mess things up between us. Then again, I couldn’t help myself. The look on her face was worth it. Almost, at least.

I headed up to my office to prep for my surgery at eight, thinking about what I was going to do with that girl, and how I was going to get through the next year.

As I went, I thought I caught sight of someone—a man in a dark jacket, lurking near the elevators in a baseball cap and jeans. A man I recognized, a man I’d been avoiding for a few weeks.