“How have you been?”
"Great." I try to swallow the lump in my throat as he closes the door behind him.
“Morning sickness any better?”
“Oh, way better.” I nod.
"Please take a seat." He motions to the chairs, and I take one of them. There's a room off to the side, and I can see a bed and monitor. That must be the examination room. I have to get what I have to say before we get to that point.
"So, what is it I can do for you, young lady?"
I shift in my seat. "Oh, the usual, check-up stuff," I say, realizing this was not a very well thought out plan.
"Did you honestly believe that you could pass off as a patient of mine? For one, that stomach of yours is pretty flat for five months. Impressively so. Secondly, I meet all my patients before they even arrive in my consulting room. So, you have two minutes to explain yourself, or I press this button here, and you can explain it to security."
I narrow my eyes at him, my face breaking into a smile. "You got me." I throw my hands in the air. "But, I wouldn't be so quick to dish out threats, doc, not when you haven't even seen my cards yet."
"I'm not playing games. Who are you, and what do you want?"
"Information," I tell him.
“What sort of information?” His brows tug together.
"On an old patient," I tell him, leaning forward.
“You didn’t actually think I would just hand over information about my patients. You’re crazy.”
I reach into my bag, and he looks slightly nervous. "I'm not going to kill you." I roll my eyes. I retrieve an envelope and slide it over to him.
He opens it and gasps. “How did you -?” The color drains from his face.
"That is a story for another day. If you don't want that broadcasted, don't want pretty Taylor to know you're fucking her equally pretty boyfriend, you'll give me what I want. It's a fair trade, don't you think? I cross my legs, feeling more relaxed and in control.
“Who are you?” he whispers.
“No-one.”
Rubbing a hand across his face, he looks at the door, the clock, anywhere but at me.
"I don't have time, doc. I gotta get out of here, before the cops arrive, and if they do, then we both know I'm taking you down with me."
“Who's the patient?”
Ah, finally, some progress.
"Sinclair Finley. She has a fourteen-year-old and a six-year-old. You'd have seen her for either of those pregnancies."
He scratches his ear. “I don’t recall having a patient by that name. I can look it up, though." The bastard is lying. The name rings a bell. I saw a twitch in his eye.
"Quit the bullshit, or I leave here, and you will never see me again. You do, however, have a reputation to uphold."
He stands and rubs his hands through his hair. He paces the area behind his desk, stops, and looks out the window.
“You remind me of her. The same auburn hair and green eyes. She’s pretty hard to forget. For a second, I thought you might be her, but she didn’t come across as a vindictive sort of person.”
“Enough,” I hiss.
"She was in an accident, pretty banged up. It was fourteen years ago. I was on call for another patient of mine when she was brought in. She was highly pregnant, eight months along, at least, and the staff begged me to see her. The doctor assigned to the emergency unit was already occupied. One look at the woman, and I knew I didn't have a choice."
