“Good,” Bette said, grinning. “Now I’ve got some more patients to see. I assume you do too.” She stepped forward, moving past Emily, and added, “See you tomorrow.”
Emily watched as Bette turned and walked towards a door at the back of the rehab area. Only once she disappeared behind it, did Emily’s feet unfreeze.
On her way back to her office, Emily’s thoughts were a tangled mess. The way the woman had stared her down––unshaken and confident––left Emily strangely hot and bothered.
One thing was clear, though; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been that thrown by someone. Running her palm across her forehead, Emily groaned. And now she had to spend an entire session with her tomorrow morning.Ugh!
3
BETTE
Bette stood in the quiet rehab center, arms folded over her chest, foot tapping impatiently on the linoleum floors. She checked the clock on the wall again—though she’d already done it twice in the past five minutes. Doctor Emily Sharp was late. Not by much, but enough to annoy her.
She’d dealt with late patients before. Some came all the way across the bridge and others had families to cater to, errands to run that ultimately meant they got caught up in traffic or a last-minute crisis with the kids.
Life, Bette knew, was rarely neat and predictable. She understood that. But Emily’s lateness… Well, it felt different. There was a certain air of entitlement that Bette didn’t like. She’d experienced it yesterday during their first encounter. It was as though Emily believed the world should revolve around her busy schedule. And frankly, Bette wasn’t having any of it today.
The clock struck 8:10 a.m., and Bette checked the schedule again, as though it might offer some consolation. It didn’t. It just made her more aware of how late Emily was, and how she would’ve preferred to start her day without the added irritationof waiting on someone who thought they were too important to be on time.
“Five minutes and we cancel?” Maggie asked, pushing the glasses that always migrated down, back up her nose. She was sitting at the reception desk, glancing up at the clock. “That’s the policy, right? If a patient’s fifteen minutes late.”
“Usually,” Bette replied. “But Doctor Sharp works here and her future career depends on whether or not we can get her shoulder functioning optimally again. I don’t think the chief of surgery will appreciate if we stand in the way of that.”
Maggie wrinkled her nose and sighed. “Damn politics.”
“It’s the way of life,” Bette added, also sighing. Some people got special treatment and others didn’t. It was just how life worked sometimes. Reba had once said that life was all about playing a game––knowing when to push and when to back off, and according to her, Bette didn’t play the game very well. She wasn’t pushing enough. And backing off had become second nature for her, a reflex she couldn’t seem to shake.
But Reba had always been the opposite, not just in the way she saw life but in how she lived it. She was a free-spirited artist to her core, and she had an unapologetic boldness about her—the reason Bette had been attracted to her in the first place—always charging forward where Bette would’ve held back.
“Well, sometimes the way of life sucks,” Maggie said, showing her young age. “I mean, why should we have to bend over backward because she’s got some fancy title? If she wants her shoulder fixed, she could at least act like it.”
“She’s in pain, Maggie,” Bette said somewhat amused. But the twenty-two-year-old had a point. “People act out when they’re in pain.”
“Yeah, well, there’s acting out and there’s acting like a jerk,” Maggie muttered. “You’d think surgeons would have betterbedside manners. My mom always says a fancy degree doesn’t mean a lick of common sense.”
“Surgeons aren’t exactly known for their humility,” Bette smirked.
“Clearly,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes. “You’re too nice Bette––”
The door to the rehab center suddenly swung open cutting her off.
Emily Sharp walked in.
She was wearing her dark blue scrubs, though Bette knew there was no chance she’d be stepping into an operating room anytime soon. Her auburn hair, which had fallen loosely over her shoulders yesterday, was now tied back into a ponytail, leaving her face fully visible. Somehow, it made those green eyes stand out even more, along with those lips––full and perfect as though they’d wandered off a magazine cover.
Yesterday, when they’d first met, Bette hadn’t expected Emily to be that…young. She couldn’t be older than in her early thirties. So successful already and yet she looked like she’d just recently walked out of med school.
Emily caught Bette’s eye and tossed a half-ass apology her way. “Sorry, got caught up in something.”
Bette resisted the urge to say something snarky. “That’s fine,” she said evenly, trying to keep her exasperation from creeping into her voice. “It just means we’ve got a shorter session.”
Emily shrugged, unbothered. “That’s not a problem.”
If there was ever a time to huff, now would be it. But Bette had to remain professional. It would be uncharacteristic of her not to be. One of the reasons she’d gotten this job was because of her ability to keep things calm, even when patients––especially ones like Emily––made it difficult. Her previous employer had given her a glowing recommendation for that very reason. Bette was the calm in the storm.
“Whatever works for you,” Bette said, leading Emily to a plinth at the opposite end of the rehab center and closing the curtain behind them. While she set up the space, she watched Emily out of the corner of her eye. The surgeon climbed onto the plinth, legs dangling off while her arms instinctively folded over her chest––the wince that had flashed across her face hadn’t gone unnoticed––as if she was determined to create some invisible barrier between them.
“Let’s take a look at that shoulder,” Bette said, turning to face her.
