Page 42 of Vengeance (Ruthless MC 4)
We used to run into Dennis more often before he pulled his son out of the backhouse daycare. Our kids got along fine, and my son tolerated Dennis well enough, even though he insisted on calling him Bernie Man instead of his preferred B2. He’s not fully named after Bernice, like O2 is named after Olivia. But B2 caught on with our work and daycare circle so thoroughly, my son sometimes corrects people when they try to call him Bernardo.
I suppose Dennis wouldn’t make a terrible person to date.
But just in case, I mentally go down the checklist in the Possible Husband to Start Family? section of my Evernote to see if there are any blatant violations. To my surprise, he ticks off almost every single box. And the ones he doesn’t check, like willing to have more children, is something I could easily find out on a first date.
So why is there a queasy feeling in my stomach? Like I’m betraying the three men I belong to—the three men I can’t stop missing despite myself.
Because you’re being crazy, Allie, the voice in my head answers. And. Don’t. Be. Crazy.
The voice which fully aligns with my list is right. I tamp down my initial reaction and say, “Okay.”
“Okay!” he repeats with a ton more enthusiasm than me. “Great! So is five okay? I can pick you and Bernie Man up at your place, then I’ll bring you back to mine to introduce you to Mama so you’ll feel more at ease leaving him in her care.”
Wow, that is both thoughtful and considerate. I should be so, so into this guy.
I clamp my lips and nod with an equally enthusiastic expression because I am not going to throw up. I am going to be a totally sane person who just got asked out by a handsome, thoughtful, and considerate Black doctor. Not a—sorry, Dr. Tiwari—total nutcase.
“Cool,” he says, backing away. “I should return to the front. Good luck with the big meeting—not that you need it.”
“Thanks,” I answer, my voice a little weak.
But he’s right, I tell myself as I continue toward Olivia’s office. I don’t need luck. I’ve worked hard and overcome. And now I’m getting everything I deserve—including a date with a suitable candidate for a long-term relationship.
And as it turns out, Dennis was wrong. I find Olivia’s door open, and she’s already sitting at her desk when I arrive at her office, as if she’s just as eager for this meeting as me.
“Look at you, Miss Five Minutes Early,” she says when I tap politely on her door. She waves me in as enthusiastically as Dennis asked me out. “Come in, come in. I was just going over your list of suggestions, but we can do this together.”
Yes, I don’t need luck. Or the three men I can’t stop fantasizing about.
I stride into Olivia’s office with total confidence, then walk out less than fifteen minutes later without a job.
CHAPTER 20
ALLIE
I spend the three hours after my meeting with Olivia walking in circles around Waterfront Park, trying to figure out how everything all went so off-plan.
But as bad as the muscles in my feet hurt from overuse when I return to my car to retrieve B2 from the backhouse daycare, I still don’t have any kind of good answer.
I mean, sure, I wasn’t expecting Olivia to set my suggestion list down after skimming through page one of five to say, “I think we have a big issue here.”
“I know, right?” I agreed.
At first, I assumed she was overwhelmed with the amount of work it would take to get the clinic on track.
“Just keep on going,” I encouraged her. “Page five has a timeline for how we can get all my changes implemented over the next year.”
Olivia folded her hands over my suggestion list. “No, the big issue I’m talking about is you.”
“Come again?” I still didn’t understand what she was getting at.
And Olivia sighed a little. Like she sometimes does with staff who keep forgetting to either use a phone or make their handwriting clear when dealing with hard-of-hearing patients.
“Everything in this document goes against our stated mission of treating our patients with honor and care. I mean, your very first suggestion is to give everyone tablets so they can fill out patient paperwork while they’re still in the examination room.”
“Yes, that would cut the time doctors spend on each consult almost in half,” I pointed out.
“But how are we supposed to show our patients that we care and honor them if we’ve got our face buried in an iPad? Not to mention how hard it would be to sign or make sure our lips can be visibly read.”
Okay, that’s a valid point, but she continues on before I can tell her that the software I want the clinic to adopt can also be used on easily pocketed mobile phones.
