Chapter One
Garrett
Fake smile? Check.
Line of bullshit prepared for the donor and his wife approaching me? Check.
Big gulp of scotch? Check.
“It’s good to see you, Jack. And Evelyn, aren’t you as lovely as ever.”
One would think after two hours of fake pleasantries and half-ass handshakes I’d be out of bullshit and mindless banter to dish out, but unfortunately, there is plenty more left in the well. They don’t tell you in medical school that kissing asses of donors and letting their handsy wives not-so-subtly feel you up was a required part of the deal.
I lean down to plant a lackluster kiss on the cheek of a woman I’m pretty proud that I actually remembered her name. I wish I could chalk it up to my fantastic memory. It’s not that. Unfortunately, you never forget the face, or name, of a woman who is twice your age and tries to grab your junk every time she sees you. As I lean away from Evelyn’s cheek, and the stench of her powerful perfume, I notice Jack give me a wink. Does he realize that I’m doing all I can to keep my balls away from his wife’s hand?
“Garrett, the practice is performing wonderfully. Every time I talk to someone around the club they are singing your praises. I knew you were a wise investment.”
“Thanks, Jack. I appreciate your continued support. It’s grown in ways we never thought imaginable and that most definitely wouldn’t have been possible without you.”
Ass-Kissing? Double check.
When I moved to Virginia after my first marriage blew up in epic fashion, I had nothing. I didn’t have a job, a place to stay, or even a penny to my name, thanks to my ex-wife taking me for every dime that I had. She said it was her payback for me fucking every nurse who walked. I begged to differ and told her so. I honestly think it’s because she’s a gold-digging bitch.
She was right, though. I do have a thing for nurses.
Slowly but surely, and with the help of my brother Mark, I was able to get back on my feet. I had a roommate for a while, a very brief while—he ended up being a psychopath who tried to kill my sister-in-law before killing himself—but hey, while we were roomies, he was stellar and paid his rent on time and stayed out of my way. Sharing the household expenses also allowed me to not worry as much over my financial situation and gave me an opportunity to figure out the lay of the land in Virginia Beach. I was able to make contacts in the medical community and find a running buddy, which is how I met my business partner, Trevor.
He and I were, and still are, a lot alike. Though I practice osteopathic medicine and his focus is general med, we are cut from the same cloth. We both were at the top of our classes in medical school. We both love running on the beach and regularly meet up for early-morning runs. Oh, and we both have a weakness for fucking nurses in break rooms. See, our partnership was kismet.
It was like I had found my brother from another mother.
Both of us were slogging away in our careers, trying to grow our individual practices, when one day we had an idea during a run—what if we combined forces? So many times each of us were trying to get referrals from other doctors. What if we joined forces, found a few other specialists, and made one large medical practice? A one-stop-shop if you will.
That was the day Innovative Medical was born. And every day since then has been better than the last. We brought on an ENT, a psychiatrist, and a pediatrician to round out the group. Almost overnight we were sought after, successful, and never wanted for new patients. Take that, gold-digging ex-wife.
Last year, we got the brilliant idea to open a nonprofit clinic. On the outside, it looked like we were doing a good deed by offering free services and were able to help patients we normally wouldn’t be able to see. On the inside, we get rich bastards like Jack Robinson here to give us tax-deductible money to buy high-end equipment we otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford. Equipment that we are able to use in all aspects of our business models… win-fucking-win.
“I do need to make an appointment with you,” Evelyn chimes in, trying to give me a flirty look. “My hip isn’t what it once was. I bet you can fix me right up.”
“He absolutely can. He’s the best, after all.”
The proud words come from my wife, Annika, who has returned from her own night of schmoozing to tuck herself back into my side. I never thought I would remarry, but Annika is the perfect doctor’s wife. She comes to the functions that I need her to attend and I keep her feet firmly planted in Jimmy Choos and Louboutins.
“Don’t we know it,” Jack says, eyeing my wife just enough where it doesn’t fall under the category of indecent. “Annika. You look lovely, my dear, but Evelyn and I should be going. It was good seeing you both.”
I shake Jack’s hand while Annika and Evelyn air kiss before they go to greet another couple. I don’t miss the way Evelyn eyes me up and down as she walks away. And I have to hand it to the old broad—she might be in her seventies, but I bet the real reason she needs her hip checked out isn’t because of her weekly tennis lessons. Or maybe it is, and she and her twenty-something-year-old instructor are doing more than perfecting her serve.
Maybe in my younger days I would have fucked a rich patient to ensure a donation or secure the promise to get her to tell her other rich friends about my practice, but those days are long over. So are the days of break rooms and nurses.
Not by choice.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy women. And fucking. And if I could, I’d fuck a different one every day, whether I am married or not. But my wandering dick is the reason I ended up divorced and broke before I moved to Virginia. I learned my lesson the hard way. I also learned that prenups exist for a reason.
“Where were you?” I ask Annika as we walk to the bar.
“Oh, you know, here and there,” she says, taking a glass of champagne from the bar. “I was talking to a few ladies from my brunch group, and then I ran into Trevor.”
I look around after I secure my glass of scotch and see my partner talking with a group of women—all married, and none of them giving a second thought to their nuptials or the multi-carat diamonds flanking their ring finger. All they see is a single, successful doctor who has looser sexual morals than I do. Or rather, I did.
Damn, I miss having loose sexual morals. And sex. Fuck, do I miss sex.
“I thought we went over this,” I say in a low tone to my wife, who is fake waving at a woman I’m pretty sure she detests. “When we are attending functions, you need to be with me. Not gallivanting around like it’s your first rodeo. We are here for a reason. I need my wife next to me.”
Annika rolls her eyes, surely tired of hearing the same speech I gave her last week when we attended a charity event for homelessness or some other bullshit social emergency.
“Yes, my darling husband. I know. We are here to be seen because it’s important for the practice, and our social standing, to be at every high-society event in town. Your job is to be the dashing doctor, and I, the devoted wife.”
Her speech exudes sarcasm, and just for that, I bring her in a little closer, knowing she can barely stand being near me anymore, let alone being so close we are actually sharing the same air.
And if she wants sarcasm, I’ll shoot it right back.
“Why take that tone with me, my wife? Don’t you love attending these events with me? Once upon a time you did.”