His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,21
pang of nostalgia as I look around. “The other interns and I used to come here all the time because it’s so close to the hospital. We did a lot of bitching and unwinding here. It hasn’t changed much.”
I glance around, seeing the place through her fresh eyes. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s cozy and intimate and I love it. They serve coffee and pastries before noon, then segue into light bites, wine and cocktails with kick as the day wears on. Sometimes they bring in up-and-coming jazz bands. It feels like an old friend.
I have a lot of good memories here.
And one bad one.
Don’t be a fool. Don’t throw yourself at a man who will never feel the same way.
I feel my buoyant mood faltering and shove the memory far away. No need to wallow in the past. It’s over and done. No good can come of it.
“So,” Kelly says, resting her elbows on the table and leaning in with gleeful nosiness as she rubs her hands together. “What did the Sphinx want the other day? Tell me everything.”
“You’re not going to believe this. It was a job interview. He offered me a fellowship with him.”
Kelly’s smile vanishes. Her lower jaw drops and hovers just above the table for a long beat or two.
“What?”
“You heard me.” I can barely contain my excitement. “You know he’s starting his new practice, right? He wants me on the team. We have the same vision about working on cutting-edge practices. And he’s paying me enough money to put a real dent in my student loans. I feel like I’ve won the lotto and found a pot of gold under my pillow.”
She continues to gape.
“Stop being weird,” I say as a ring of heat winds its way around my neck and begins its slow crawl north, to my cheekbones. The heavy note of defensiveness in my voice doesn’t help matters any. “You don’t look very happy for me.”
“Of course I’m happy for you,” she says, snapping out of it and trying to work up a passable smile. “It’s just that I didn’t see that coming.”
“Neither did I.”
She frowns thoughtfully, staring into the depths of her margarita. “So what made him hire you?”
“Hopefully, it’s because I’m the kind of surgeon he wants on his team. Like he said when he hired me,” I say, stung.
“Of course you are,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Don’t go getting your panties in a bunch. You’re a great doctor. Anyone would be lucky to have you. It’s just… You’ve been talking this whole time about how hard it is to land a fellowship. Especially in plastics. And you just had this casual interview? You didn’t have to submit your résumé or anything? Or meet his partners? I’m not saying any of that is a bad thing, but…isn’t that unusual?”
I shrug, trying to look unconcerned and not at all as though I’ve been asking myself the same questions on an endless loop. But she’s right: I’m a highly competent doctor, but no one’s counting on me to light the world on fire with my groundbreaking surgical techniques. Besides that, fellowships don’t just land in people’s laps. Plenty of other doctors who are still looking have better credentials than mine. And I’m betting that none of them hit the same speed bumps during their residency that I did and needed a leave of absence.
Why did he hire you, Ally?
Why did he hire you?
I tell her the same thing that I’ve been telling myself:
“It may be a little unusual, but we’ve worked together before. He already knows me and knows that we have similar work ethics and styles because he trained me. I’m a known quantity. He probably wants to save himself from a whole big search and hiring process. Why reinvent the wheel? Plus, we’re both interested in new techniques for skin grafting and stuff like that. So we share the same vision, like I said. And this is the biggie—he’s got the money and resources to do whatever he wants to do with his practice. He doesn’t have to jump through any hoops he doesn’t want to.”
“That makes sense,” she says, her expression clearing.
“Anyway, I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. I’m not stupid. What the hell do I care why he hired me as long as I’m hired?”
“Amen to that, sister,” she says fervently, offering a fist bump.
“His reasons for hiring me are none of my business,” I say, raising my glass to her before sipping again.