Dylan moved his gaze forward, mouth watering, and resumed his jog. He kept running for another few minutes, hoping that the additional delay hadn’t caused him to lose his appointment.
By the time he reached building one-two-four, he was panting. He stopped, catching his breath, and looked up at the building looming over him.
It was a lot fancier than he’d expected. He double-checked the number on the side of the wall, confirming that he was at the right place, and walked over to the glass doors where he scanned the directory on the large copper plaque.
Halfway down the list, sandwiched between the names of a law-firm and the office of a private equity company, was the name of a doctor’s office.
Schaffer and Walker Private Medical Services
Dylan hadn’t been given the name of the clinic he was visiting – just an address – but that had to be it.
He walked through the doors and into the lobby, looking around and taking in the polished floors, copper paneled walls, and the glass sculpture hanging from the towering ceiling. The fancy décor made him feel wildly out of place, making him wish he’d worn something other than his patched puffer coat, ratty sneakers and worn-out backpack, but there was nothing he could do about that now.
He just hoped they’d let him in.
“Good evening, how can I help you?” a smartly dressed woman behind the reception desk asked, looking up from her computer and shooting Dylan a pleasant smile. If she found Dylan’s attire wanting, there was no trace of it in her voice or expression.
“Hi, I have an appointment at the medical clinic at five,” Dylan said, walking up to her. He swallowed, still breathing hard from his mad dash, and tried to smile. “I know I’m late, but I was hoping I could still make it?”
He surreptitiously wiped the sweat from his brow, moving his hair out of his eyes right after to disguise what he’d really been doing.
“Of course,” the receptionist said, reaching for the phone. “If I could have your name, I’ll call up and let them know you’ve arrived.”
“It’s Dylan. Dylan Landry.”
“Just give me one moment.”
Dylan chewed on his lip as he waited for the receptionist to make the call. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he didn’t get in, but he’d already waited a month for a doctor to check out the mole on his back and he really didn’t want to wait any longer, or have to pay when he had access to free care.
“Yes, hello, Cynthia. I have a Dylan Landry in the lobby, he’s running a bit behind on his five o’clock appointment. May I send him up?” The receptionist looked at him and smiled. “Yes? Very good, I’ll have him up shortly.”
Dylan let out a relieved breath.
“You can go up. Elevator number five will take you to the correct floor.”
“Thank you so much!” Dylan said, buoyantly happy.
He walked through the gate and made his way to the elevator, the doors closing and a voice announcing that he was heading to the fourteenth floor without him having to do a thing.
Looking at himself in the mirrored doors, Dylan winced at his disheveled state. His hair was a mess, windswept and untidy, and his skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat that was anything but attractive.
It was fine. Who cared if he didn’t look his best? It was just a doctor’s appointment.
Still, he should try to fix what he could. Combing his fingers through his chestnut locks until they lay somewhat right, Dylan fixed his hair and then used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and the back of his neck.
Before he could do anything else, the elevator stopped, the doors opening up to a reception area that looked more like a high-end spa than a medical clinic.
A woman in a set of black scrubs stood behind the desk on the left side of the room, and at Dylan’s appearance she looked up from her computer and smiled.
It was a customer service smile, plastered on and completely fake, and Dylan could feel the annoyance behind it. He walked up to the desk with his most contrite expression fixed firmly on his face.
“Hi, I’m so sorry I’m late. There was a problem with the subway tracks, and I-”
“It’s not a problem,” the woman cut him off, somehow managing to make the interruption sound friendly. “Dylan Lander?”
Dylan hesitated. “Dylan Landry,” he corrected, suddenly unsure.
“Landry?” The woman frowned down at her computer. “Could you confirm the reason for your appointment?”
