Page 41 of Careless Whisper

She started to leave, but I caught her wrist—not tight, just enough to stop her. She looked down at my hand, then back up.

“Have dinner with me.”

My phone beeped, and Maren’s name flashed with a message that Reggie could read as clearly as I could:Interviews set for next week. Cabrera said just a formality. You’ve all but signed the contract. Thanks for hiring me, baby. I owe you big time!

I turned my phone face down.

She pulled her wrist away from my grasp. “I’m afraid I can’t have dinner with you, Dr. Graham. I have a rule against fucking men who are in a relationship.”

“For the last time, I’m not in a relationship with Maren,” I hissed.

“And for the last time, Dr. Graham, I’m not interested in having a relationship with you. Stop asking me out for dinner. Stop asking me out, period. I don’t want to have asituationhere in Seattle like we did in Boston.”

I watched her walk away, annoyed with her for being difficult. She was the one who had acted childishly and unprofessionally because she thought I was having an affair—she’d said as much toMaren and had tried her best to ruin my friend’s career. Granted, that was five years ago, and Reggie had grown, as we all had—still, she had no business being affronted in this manner.

Well, fuck her!I didn’t beg women. I wasn’t going to start with Reggie. She wanted to play hard to get? She’d find out I didn’t play worth a damn.

CHAPTER 15

Reggie

So, it was terrible when Elias became head of the department—likereallybad—but that was a walk in the park compared to what Dr. Maren Loring’s entry into Harper Memorial meant for me.

“What’s her damage?” Luther wanted to know.

I didn’t know where to start.

In the eight weeks since she’d joined the department, Maren hadaccidentallyleft my name off the rotation schedule twice, then blamed admin software when I asked about it. She pulled me from two surgeries mid-prep because shehad a bad feelingabout my readiness. Then there was the time that she told a resident, loud enough for me and everyone else at the nurse’s station to hear, that “Nurse Sanchez lacks the clinical judgment required for a Level I center.”

She’d reassigned a medical error that wasn’t mine and had already been documented as hers—until Ipulled the chart to prove it. Cindy hadn’t been happy with Dr. Loring about that, but she’d also told me to keep my nose clean, especially when Maren cut me off in rounds every time I opened my mouth and then complained I wasn’t contributing.

And last week? Well, that was a doozy! She told a patient’s family member that I was “in training”, as if I hadn’t been doing this for a decade.

“What’s it with you and everyone from Stratford?” Cindy had growled when she was known to be the calmest person I knew. “They’re out for your blood. Dr. Graham has calmed down, and now we have the Dr. Loring show.”

“Imaging how I feel!” I told her, feelingveryworn out.

“I tried to talk to Dr. Graham about it,” Cindy told me sympathetically. “He said he’s had a chat with Dr. Loring and?—.”

“I know,” I cut her off. I didn’t need to hear about how Elias was throwing me under the bus,again.

“I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” What the hell else was there to say? If an attending wanted to make your life hell, your life would be hell!

“I really thought I was doing you a favor.” Cindy shook her head in despair. She’d assigned me to Dr. Loring four weeks ago, which was when the shitshow began.

It made sense on paper. The cardiac rotation wasshort-staffed (as always), and Maren’s research trial came with a flurry of complex procedures that needed a nurse with experience. I ticked the boxes, and I was the best option. So, Cindy asked me to work with Dr.I Am The Biggest Bitch, and I agreed, even though my stomach turned every time I saw Maren’s name on the schedule and knew what she was capable of. I’d worked on a clinical trial for her in Boston and it had been the beginning of the end.ButI foolishly thought that since Elias seemed to have grown some gray cells, maybe Maren had as well.

Oh no! Dr. Maren Loring had not graduated from Mean Girl School.

She corrected my charting in front of junior staff, asked pointed questions about supply errors that didn’t exist, and more than once told me to “stay in my lane” when I suggested an alternate chest tube position for a patient whose anatomy had been challenging to navigate. And every time, I kept my mouth shut because I remembered Boston—I remembered what happened the last time I defended myself against Maren Loring.

But four weeks on, even Cindy was getting exhausted from the drama.

She pulled me aside once after a long valve replacement and said, “This isn’t sustainable. Two attendings. One nurse. I can’t referee both sides.”

I understood, and I told her I’d handle it even though I had no clue how to, especially when an order hadn’t been entered correctly because one of the post-op residents forgot to confirm the transfusion note in the chart. I noticed it mid-case, called it out, and resolved it. The patient was fine.

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