Page 37 of The Devil You Know
Ryan steps out of the elevator. At first I think he’s going to help me load the cart into the elevator, but then he lets the doors close behind me.
“What about your receptionist?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Barbara says it’s not her job.”
“Jane,” he says, “I don’t know why I’m the one who has to tell you this, but it’snotyour job to take the laundry down to the basement.”
“Well, nobody else will do it.” I try to keep the bitterness from creeping into my voice. “So it’s got to be me.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
Ryan seizes the laundry basket and shoos me away to push it back to Primary Care C. I hurry after him, nervous about what he’s going to do, but also glad that maybe I won’t have to do the laundry. I swear to God, there was areasonable chance that if I went to housekeeping, they’d make me wash the gowns myself.
Ryan pushes the cart all the way to the waiting area, then steps inside to find Barbara still hard at work on her nails. He clears his throat once, loudly, then she looks up.
At first Barbara looks horribly irritated by having her nail ritual disturbed. But the second she realizes who’s standing in front of her, the sour look on her face disappears and is replaced by a smile that I’ve never seen before.
“How can I help you?” Barbara asks sweetly.
Ryan rewards her with a sexy smile. “Hi, Barbara. I’m Dr. Reilly.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Reilly,” she coos.
“So we’ve got a problem here,” he says. “Dr. McGill is unable to reach housekeeping and we’ve got to get this laundry downstairs and some new gowns upstairs. ASAP.” His smile broadens. “Any chance you could help us out?”
“Of course!” Barbara jumps out of her seat so fast that it nearly falls over. She pushes past me, shooting me a dirty look, then grabs the handles of the basket. “I’ll be back in a jiffy!”
And just like that, Barbara takes the laundry down to the basement. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
“See?” Ryan says to me as I walk him into the hallway. “That’s how it’s done.
“You seem to forget,” I say, “that I’m not a super handsome surgeon.”
He grins at me. “You think I’m super handsome.”
I feel my cheeks grow warm, which means I probably resemble an apple. “I just meant, you know, in a general sort of way.”
“Nope, too late.” He’s still grinning. “Can’t take it back. Although it doesn’t explain why you won’t meet me for lunch.”
I texted Ryan back a quick apologetic negative to his lunch request. And his second lunch request. And his third.
“I’m just very busy,” I say.
“It’s not like I’m asking you to meet me in the call room, Jane.” He lowers his voice a notch. “Although we could if you wanted.”
During residency, Ryan and I desecrated nearly every single call room. Mostly it was out of necessity—at least one of the two of us was always in the hospital. And there were a lot of times we couldn’t wait till we could get to either of our apartments. I remember kissing him on that tiny, creaky twin bed in the call room as we pulled off our clothing, hoping neither of our pagers would go off.
Those were nice times.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say.
He raises one eyebrow. “The call room?”
I stare at him. “No! I mean, yes. The call room isn’t a good idea. But lunch isn’t a good idea either. My husband wouldn’t… you know…”
“Oh.” He looks down the hallway at the elevators. “So Pip doesn’t approve of us being friends then?”
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say again.
