Page 37 of Vengeance (Ruthless MC 4)
I still wear extensions, but not that stupid weave. I pat the latest 1B crochet curls that are just long enough to be pulled up into a half-ponytail for deliveries and short enough to not look ridiculous.
Also, really cheap. Bernice did the underlying cornrow foundation and install for me a couple of days ago, so all I had to do was buy the hair. And, you know, put up with Bernice teasing me about still being so frugal, even though she nabbed me a good job here in Kentucky with her and I don’t have any debt. I didn’t dare to go back to the roadhouse after my escape, so I sold my house in Nashville to complete my five-year checklist item of paying off my student loans. The pure profit sale also allowed me to buy a much cheaper condo in Louisville.
But I didn’t mind Bernice teasing me. This hairstyle makes me look exactly like the person I want. A capable ob-gyn who definitely doesn’t have weird sex dreams featuring the guys who basically kidnapped her and held her against her will over two years ago.
Don’t be crazy. Don’t be crazy. Don’t be crazy.
I plaster on a happy-not-crazy smile before throwing open the door to the little boy who inspired quite a few unexpected checklist items on my current five-year plan. Unfortunately, he’s also gotten into the habit of letting himself out of his room, as opposed to waiting for me to come get him now that he’s made the switch to a toddler bed.
He hasn’t quite turned two yet, but he’s huge, like his father. So it looks like a little three-year-old with burnished brown skin and long black curls that he refuses to let me cut has found his way to my door.
The sight of him lights up my chest, just like it always does.
“Look who’s up early!” I lift my arms and cheer, “B2! B2! B2!”
“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” B2 cheers back. Then: “Up! Up! Watch Cocomelon!”
Urgh! It’s becoming a job to lift him in my arms. I think we’re going to have to have the “Mommy can’t carry you everywhere" talk here pretty soon.
But I heave him up, somewhat impressed that he woke up this early. Has B2 figured out that knocking on my door before the number on his digital clock turns to seven is the only way he’ll get a hit of that drug disguised as a kiddie show before we leave for daycare?
I’ll have to ask his namesake aunt when her five-year-old little girl, O2, started gaming the system for extra screen time.
But then I remember she won’t be at the clinic today. Almost everybody but me will be at Glendaver Castle for the wedding of the guy who runs Dr. Olivia Glendaver’s Woman & Disabilities clinic in New York. So that means I’ll be the one in charge of the location she opened here in Kentucky—at least for one day. Tomorrow, it will be back to living life under the good-hearted but poorly organized doctor’s ridiculous system.
I don’t want to call her clinic chaotic. But Olivia’s idea of delegation is an every other month reminder during one of our daily morning meetings that we should all be checking things off the to-do list when we have a moment or two.
The paper to-do list that she taped to the wall of the break room, as opposed to administering it digitally with due dates and delegated tasks.
She’s a lovely, lovely person who raises lots of money for, and has dedicated her career to serving, a severely underfunded and often ignored patient community. But a good—or even decent—administrator? No, she is not.
No complaining from me, though. If not for Olivia's egalitarian attitude, there’s probably no way she would have hired not one, but two visibly pregnant staff members. My best friend Bernice five years ago, and then me fresh out of my residency.
She even provides free daycare in the backhouse of her castle, which became a life-saver when the pandemic hit.
The childcare’s not exactly state-sanctioned. But Minerva, the woman who runs it, is a gem. A somewhat batty gem, sure. She claims to be a sorceress because Olivia made her stop saying witch. And she places lifelong spells of protection over all the children in her care—which she claims is the reason Olivia ended up marrying her soulmate, a reformed Chinese mafia dragon, instead of the New York iBanker she was engaged to before.
Okay, not just somewhat batty. But beggars couldn’t be choosers during the pandemic. And the children adore her. Like many of the clinic employees, I ended up checking my reservations and leaving B2 in her care, even after vaccines came through.
Besides, Olivia’s disastrous administration is an opportunity for me. Yes, her lack of protocol sets my brain on fire. But at least she recognizes administrative talent.
