Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Dad came closer and placed his hand on my shoulder, giving me a fatherly squeeze. “Your professional life is just beginning, Daisy. You will be revered the way you deserve—in time.”
“Well, it happened a lot quicker for you and the boys.”
“I know.” He dropped his hand. “We live in a world where a woman has to jump twice as high to get half the credit. I wish that were something I could fix for you. If I could, I would. But just know that I’m so proud of you. So is your mother. So are your brothers. And you should be as well.”
The three of us had dinner together, Mom and me splitting her meal.
Dinner was paired with a white wine, and I went through a couple glasses until my cheeks flushed. “So, what’s the big deal about Atlas?” I sliced my fork into the salmon fillet and placed it in my mouth. “Is he a cartographer?”
Dad’s eyes filled with amusement. “I like his name. Unique.”
I rolled my eyes and continued to eat. “So, really, what do you like about him so much?”
Dad took a few more bites as he considered the question. “He’s not only brilliant, but innovative. He thinks about situations differently, a lot like Derek. We’ve been doing research together, and even though he’s taking this new position, we’ll continue that project together. When he asked for the recommendation, I was a bit disappointed to see him go, but I offered him part-time research and he took it. I also understand that people like that don’t work for somebody else. They run their own show at some point, so he was never going to stay forever. And as a person, he seems like a nice young man. Don’t give him a hard time.”
“I give everyone a hard time.”
“I know. But maybe tone it down.”
“I never tone it down.”
He chuckled. “I know that too.”
“Why does he even want the job?” I asked, confused. “He can do research with a Nobel Prize winner.”
“His interest in patient care is far more holistic. There are several aspects to medicine, and he wants to be involved with each one. He’s the founder of the Diagnostic Network. I’m sure you’ve heard of that.”
“The platform that allows you to pitch a patient’s case, and a network of physicians and researchers all over the world work together to figure it out?” I’d heard of it before, and it had good success most of the time. But everything was virtual, and patients had to spend a lot of money to get care because they had to travel internationally to see the physicians who could possibly help them.
“Yes.”
“Hmm…”
“Like I said, he has a lot to offer you.”
3
Daisy
Dylan and I didn’t speak again.
I focused on my patients and the mounds of paperwork that held the key to my questions. Everyone had a different process, but I had a large bulletin board that took up one entire wall of my office, and I pinned my tests and lab work there so I could sit in my chair and stare at it, sometimes for hours after the clinic closed. I wouldn’t even realize the time until the motion detector lights all went out and I was surrounded by darkness.
After the conversation with my father, I realized I needed to let my anger go. It didn’t matter that it was unfair, that there was sexism involved, that the new guy wouldn’t know the ropes, regardless of how smart he was.
It was what it was.
I drank my coffee as I sat behind my desk, looking over the new labs my assistant had just dropped off.
A knock sounded on my open door.
My eyes lifted as I finished my drink.
Then I nearly spat it out when I saw the six-foot-three hot piece of man standing there.
I choked down the coffee then gave a couple coughs into the inside of my elbow. “Sorry about that.” I grabbed a napkin and quickly wiped my mouth to hide the coffee stains that were probably in the corners of my lips.
Damn, my new patient was fiiiiiiiine.
Hot damn.
“It’s no problem.” A deep and masculine voice left his throat, enhanced by the British accent.
Fuuuuuuck, he’s English?
My lucky day.
He stepped farther into my office and approached my desk, wearing a dark blue hoodie and snug jeans. The sleeves were tight on his muscular arms, and the pockets on the front of his sweater were smooth, pressed to his flat stomach. He had everything I liked in a man, narrow hips perfect for my thighs to squeeze, long legs that weren’t bulky, short dark hair, and a shadow on his jawline that went down his throat slightly. And he had those cords along his neck, that tightness to his skin showing he didn’t possess an ounce of fat anywhere—except maybe in his fat dick.