Page 52 of Infamous

Kellerman sits behind his desk, perfectly composed. By the window, Senator Graves lounges with his hands in his pockets, wearing a politician’s smile that’s perfectly shaped but utterly empty.

“Ah, Nadia,” Kellerman says, voice smooth as varnish. “Come in. Have a seat.”

I stay standing. “You wanted to see me?”

The senator looks my way. “Always a pleasure, Doctor. I was just telling Chief Kellerman you’re the best this hospital has to offer. Truly exceptional.”

The compliment slides off me. “That’s kind of you,” I say, “but unnecessary.”

“On the contrary,” Kellerman cuts in, fingers steepled. “The senator has been impressed with your professionalism and compassion. He tells me he invited you to dinner as a gesture of thanks.”

I keep my voice steady. “And I explained that it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Kellerman’s smile doesn’t falter, but something colder flickers behind it. “I think we can make an exception. The senator is one of our most generous benefactors. His continued support keeps this hospital running.”

Graves chuckles, pretending modesty. “Just doing my part to give back.”

“I appreciate that,” I say, “but my answer remains the same. I don’t like to socialize.”

Kellerman leans back, tapping his pen. “Nadia, this isn’t a request. Optics matter. The press has been circling since last year’s malpractice suit. A public dinner shows goodwill. It reflects well onallof us.”

My chest tightens. “So this is PR more than it is gratitude.”

“Don’t be cynical,” he says lightly. “It’s dinner.”

The senator steps closer, the scent of his cologne crowding my lungs. “The hospital could use a little positive press,” he adds, too smooth to sound casual.

I take a step back before I can stop myself. “It’s not necessary.”

Kellerman clears his throat, slicing through the tension. “The arrangements are made. Seven o’clock Friday night. The senator’s driver will collect you.”

I stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

He tilts his head, that condescending smile settling in. “Cooperation goes a long way here, Dr. Reed. The senator’ssupport ensures we can all keep doing our jobs to the best of our ability.”

And there it is. Polite phrasing to mask his threat.

“I’d prefer not to,” I say, voice thin but even.

Kellerman exhales, feigning disappointment. “Sometimes we all do things we’d rather not. Consider it part of your professional duties.”

Heat rises up my throat; anger, humiliation, disbelief. “My duties don’t include entertaining politicians.”

Silence stretches, taut as wire.

Then Kellerman smiles. Small. Sharp. Final.

“They do now.”

The senator presses a hand to his chest, mock-sincere. “I promise I won’t keep you long, Doctor.”

Something in me fractures.

I nod because there’s nothing else to do. Because anything else will cost me more than my license.

“Good,” Kellerman says, already turning back to his paperwork. “That’ll be all.”

I walk out before they see my hands shake.