Prologue
Dr. Mahasin Noelle St. James
“Dr. St. James, your last patient left over an hour ago. What are you still doing here?” my assistant Amber asked. “You need to go catch Fendi before they close and pick up those items you have on hold. Today’s your last day.”
Amber wasn’t just my assistant in the practice, but also my personal assistant. Smart, punctual, and organized, she was the perfect right hand. And a pain in my ass. This girl couldremember every baby on my stork wall, and every Monday, I swore I was going to start a diet. She always managed to appear the second I picked up a cookie. Still, I wouldn’t trade her for the world. She kept me informed about new self-care treatments for our Serenity mommies-to-be, while somehow strutting into work flawless inmysize nine jeans.
“Oh shit, yeah, you’re right,” I said, clearing my desk. “Hand me the order forms so I can go through them and sign off on the check before I leave.”
“Boss, we can handle all that in the morning. Nothing in there is urgent,” she said, helping me gather my things.
Amber had assisted me on four hundred and thirty-four deliveries—labors ranging from thirty minutes to twenty-six hours—so it’s safe to say she had the patience of a tree. The fact that she was rushing me out tonight? Suspicious.
“Ms. Perez,” I said softly, glancing at myAudemars Piguet. “We’re officially off the clock, correct?”
“Yes, Mahasin,” she replied, sounding more like my best friend of twenty two years than my employee.
“Bitch, why the hell are you rushing me out of my own building?” I laughed.
She chuckled, sighed. “Damn, was I that obvious?”
“Like a sore thumb, hoe,” I shot back. “Wassup?”
Amber hesitated, her eyes shifting from excitement to what looked like empathy. I threw my bag over my shoulder, checked that I had my phone and car keys, and braced myself for whatever was about to make us both cry.
“Amber, what’s going on?” I asked, gently touching her arm. “Are you quitting? Because best friend or not, you signed a contract. You owe me two weeks’ notice, and Iwillsue your ass.”
We both laughed, the tension breaking.
“Girl, no. Nothing like that. I have a date. I need to get home and get ready.”
“Okay, then, why the hesitation? Either you’re paying for dinner, or he’s packing a little dick. Which one?”
She smacked my arm and laughed.
“First off, you know there’s a height requirement to ride this ride. And second, I’m not paying for shit—I’ll pretend I’m going to the bathroom and sneak out before the bill.” She paused, then added with that same apologetic look from earlier: “I’m going out with Creed.”
“Oh.” My voice dipped, sorrow lacing my tone.
Creed. My ex’s best friend.
Normally, my girls and I didn’t touch men from the same circle. But that rule went out the window the night we ran into Creed and Ezra outside the movies. Both were dressed sharply, smelled good, and looked so damn fine we were practically drooling.
Ezra and I dated for a few weeks, sometimes double-dating with Amber and Creed. Everything about them seemed solid—educated, financially set. Well, at least Creed was.
Ezra, on the other hand? Different story.
One day, he borrowed my car because his Lamborghini was in the shop. No big deal. Until three hours after my shift ended, I was still waiting. When he finally pulled up—in a car that wasn’t mine—I was ready to beat his ass.
Turns out, the man had a gambling problem and lost my Lexus in a bet. To this day, I don’t know who ended up with it, and I probably don’t want to know. After pressing charges and suing him, he had the audacity to call me from a blocked number, asking me to co-sign a payday loan.
My dating life, just like my taste in men, was a disaster—bad habits, no drive, no ambition. But I wasn’t the type to make my friends wallow in my misery. I was happy for Amber and Creed. I just hated that she felt she had to hide her happiness from me.
“Aww, Ambs, come here,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “I appreciate you being considerate of my feelings, but don’t hide your happiness from me. If anything, come into this office every day rocking that shit like a Chanel brooch. Give a bitch hope.”
We laughed as I shut off the lights and we headed out to our cars.
They must’ve been giving shit away in Fendi today, because the line was unusually long. Unlike Amber, the only thing I had patience with was childbirth. My feet hurt, I was hungry, and I had to pee.
