Damian is staring at me like I just performed open heart surgery. “Jealousy lines?”
I take another sip of my margarita. “You’re welcome.”
He starts laughing. Not polite laughter. Belly laughs. The tension dissolves completely.
But I know this isn’t over. Not even close.
18
DAMIAN
I should not be smiling.But I am.
Amber’s exit should have rattled me, what with her threats about Meron. It should have tightened the vise of consequence that always clamps down when she decides to be theatrical.
Instead, I’m impressed. The only other person I’ve seen cow Amber is my mother, and even Mother is too nice about it since Amber gave birth to her grandson.
Perry sits across from me like she just swatted a mosquito instead of dismantling my ex-wife’s composure in under sixty seconds.
“That,” I say slowly, “was reckless.”
“That,” she replies calmly, “was necessary. Amber needed to be put into her place. In fact, I’m thinking she’s needed that for a long time.”
I lean back in the booth and exhale. “You don’t understand how vindictive she can be.”
She arches a brow. “I dated your son.”
Fair. “This isn’t social maneuvering,” I continue. “Amber’s boyfriend—or fiancé, depending on which one is speaking—is my department head. You are my patient. Amber will weaponize both of those facts.”
“I am yourformerpatient,” she corrects.
“That distinction won’t matter if she doesn’t want it to.” The more I say it aloud, the more the reality crystallizes. Meron already hovers. Already looks for procedural missteps. Give him an incentive, and he will escalate. “She’ll talk. She’ll imply impropriety.”
“And?”
“And hospital boards do not enjoy scandal.”
Perry studies me carefully. “You’re spiraling, Damian.”
“I’m assessing.”
“You’re spiraling. I know because you’re making the same face I always do when I’m spiraling.”
The word sits uncomfortably close to truth. I rub a hand across my jaw. “Amber enjoys destabilizing my life. If she senses leverage, she’ll use it.”
“Okay,” Perry says calmly. “Go regroup.”
I look at her. “Excuse me?”
“You’re wound tight. Go splash cold water on your face. Give yourself one of your very best pep talks. Then come back and eat your tacos.”
The absurdity of the suggestion disarms me. “This is not a pep talk scenario.”
“It absolutely is. You’re letting her ruin dinner by fearing she will ruin your life. Cold water on the face, then tacos.”
I hold her gaze for a moment. She’s not dismissing the risk. She’s refusing to be intimidated by it. And that difference unsettles me in a way I don’t expect. “You’re not worried.”
“I’m not letting her win by ruining my dinner. This food and the company are too good to let her win.”
