Grumpy Doctor

“Your boss is here,” John whispered. “Better go.”

I nodded. “See you, guys.” I walked over to Piers and crossed my arms as he looked at me.

“How’d that go?” he asked, nodding his head toward the surgery suite.

“Good,” I said. “Dr. Baker actually takes the time to explain what he’s doing.”

He grunted. “Of course he does. That guy’s ten years past his prime. Come on.” He pushed off the wall and started walking.

“Where are we going?”

“I need you to do laundry for me.”

I wanted to argue, but I was tired, and honestly, I thought laundry would be better than wandering around with the pack of frat bros back there. They were nice, and could be fun, but I needed a break from their crap. I followed after Piers and let him take me down into the lobby, then out into the street.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“There’s a laundromat around the corner.”

I slowed and came to a stop. He didn’t notice for a bit and had to stop then come back, looking annoyed. “What now?”

“You can’t treat me like I’m your personal assistant.”

“It’s part of the learning process.”

“Piers. I’m serious.”

He scratched the back of his head. “How about this. You do my laundry, and I’ll let you sit in on another procedure tomorrow. What do you think?”

I thought he was a total dick. I should be sitting in on all his procedures every single day. That was how I would learn.

But I knew that if I pushed back, or if I told him that painfully obvious fact, then he’d just pull back and withhold what I needed, only because he could.

Asshole. If he weren’t so good—

“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not your damn maid.”

He shrugged. “Never said you were.”

He turned to start walking, but suddenly stopped. His face dropped and it looked like his skin went pale. His hands tugged at his shirt, and he squinted, staring at someone across the street.

I followed his gaze. “Oh, hey,” I said, “I saw that guy earlier. Do you know him? Was that why he was staring at me?”

Piers looked at me sharply. “What did you say?”

“That guy,” I said weakly, nodding toward the man in the dark jacket and the baseball cap. He was already walking away, not hurrying, but moving with purpose. “He was watching me. Earlier, in the hospital. Do you know him?”

He worked his jaw silently for a second then grabbed my arm. His hands were firm, but not rough as he tugged me along.

I didn’t argue. His face was strained, like something was wrong, and I was more confused than anything else. He tugged me along until we reached the laundromat, then we ducked inside together.

The place was mostly empty. An old woman sat near a dryer, reading a magazine. A bag of clothes sat unattended next to a washer—his stuff, I figured. He was so arrogant, he couldn’t imagine someone might steal from him.

“Who was that back there?” I asked once he released me. I felt the strange desire for him to touch my skin again.

“Nobody,” he said. “Laundry. Clean it.” He turned to leave.

“Wait,” I said. “Hold on. That guy clearly knows you and he was watching me. What the hell’s going on?”

Piers stood there and I could see the tension radiating from him. It was painfully obvious that he didn’t want to have this conversation, but I wasn’t about to let it go. That guy was weird, and the way he was reacting was even weirder.

“He’s a private detective,” he said.

“He’s a… what?”

He looked back at me. His expression made me take a step back. His eyes were pained—his lips pulled into a grimace.

“Private detective,” he said. “Hired to follow me around. And now you too, apparently.”

“Hold on.” I held up my hands. “I don’t want anything to do with that.”

“Too bad,” he said. “Get used to it.”

“Why? I mean, what?”

He kept staring, intense and gorgeous. I thought of that hand on my leg. I thought of him making me do laundry in exchange for doing his damn job. I thought of his fingers moving, so sure and perfect, like weaving a magic basket.

“When you’re a surgeon, you get your control. But you also get the blame when things go wrong, and they will go wrong, doesn’t matter how good you are. Things go wrong sometimes.” He turned away. “Don’t ever forget it. Bring that bag to my office when you’re done.”

He left, hustling down the street. The small bell near the door rang as it slid shut.

I stood there, confused as all hell. The lady with the magazine glared at me and shook her head.

I didn’t know what Piers meant. I mean, I understood that surgeons lost patients sometimes—there was no getting around that, it happened to everyone. But we saved way more than we ever lost. It was a balance, and a positive one at that.