expect you to be back yet---none of us knew you would be—and I think it would be nice to give her time to find another job.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem at all. I’ve already told the board that I won’t accept a salary until the second quarter, to make up for my abrupt departure and return. So I don’t see why they wouldn’t be amenable to keeping Dr. Wakely on the payroll.”
“Thank you.” I nodded stiffly.
“I’ve been trying to catch up on the charts and see who we’re working with and where they are in their treatments.” He tapped one manila folder. “Good news on Donnie Crew, huh? He’s come along nicely. In full remission?”
“He is. The experimental treatment was a success, and he tolerated the infusion of new stem cells incredibly well. His numbers are great—and even better, he’s in a very good place mentally and emotionally, eager to see what the future brings for him.” I smiled a little. “He’s very excited about being part of the acupuncture and ventilator study, too. He told me that he’s using it to impress women.”
“Sounds like Donnie. That’s really good news. Thanks for following through with him while I was away.”
“Of course. It’s my job, after all.” I waited for whatever he might have to say next, but Deacon didn’t seem to be in any rush to keep talking. I tapped my foot. “Did you have anything else you needed to discuss?”
“Ahh . . .” He picked up his tablet and scrolled through whatever was on the screen. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions as we go along and I catch up. I’ll do rounds with you this morning, if you don’t mind. I can just listen—and maybe you can introduce me to the patients I don’t know.”
“I can do that.” I inclined my head.
“Okay. Now that we’ve settled the work issues, don’t you think it’s time we talk about us?”
My breath caught. Typical Deacon—he’d lured me into a false sense of security by keeping things strictly business and then sucker punched me with a single question.
I shook my head. “I really don’t.”
“Emma.” Deacon stood up and circled the desk until he stood in front of me. Reaching out, he tried to catch my hand, but I pulled away, shooting him an icy glare.
“I don’t want you to touch me.”
“Fine.” He heaved a long breath. “I’m not trying to start up anything again. But I also don’t want our history to interfere with our working relationship.”
I straightened my shoulders. “I don’t plan to let that happen. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Good to hear. I appreciate you as a colleague, and I respect you as a doctor. I wouldn’t want to screw up the dynamic we had before I left last year.” He paused, and I sensed he was searching for the right way to phrase whatever he was going to say next. “I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit over the last year. What we shared beyond work was . . . intense. I’m afraid if we go down that path again, we might end up jeopardizing the way we do our jobs. I want what’s best for the hospital—and for both of us. I hope you can understand that.” His tone bordered on being patronizing—as if I’d walked into his office and lifted my face for a welcome-home kiss. Ha! Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime.
Injured pride and a ton of leftover hurt fueled a burgeoning rage. The white-hot anger burned through me, providing me with an eloquence I hadn’t expected to possess. “There is no us, Deacon. There never really was. You were just a decent fuck I enjoyed for a little while—and believe me, after you left, I had no desire for a repeat performance.”
He stared at me for a long, silent minute. “So this is your version of being civil and showing me the courtesy that I’m due as your fellow doctor?”
“No,” I snapped back. “That’s me being completely honest with the son of a bitch who’s talking to me like I’m a lovesick child in order to make himself feel better about having been a dick to me. And I mean that in both a professional and a personal sense.” I stood up. “I have to forgive you and let go of what you did as Dr. Girard, the man I depended on to show up and do his damn job. But I don’t have to forgive or forget