Page 13 of Quinton's Quest

On that note, I dug back into my paperwork.

Chapter Five

Quinton

“He what?” I gaped at Lucia.

“He yelled at Sheila.”

I blinked. “Whatever for?”

“She was on her phone. On a break, I might add.”

“Jackass.”

“Yeah. It gets worse.”

I braced myself. “Yeah?”

“Her daughter didn’t get off the school bus, and Sheila was frantically trying to find out what happened.”

Sheila’s daughter was all of five years old, and this was her first year in school.

“Tell me they found her.”

“Yeah. She got on the wrong bus. Both drivers have been reprimanded. But Sheila could barely finish her shift. If we hadn’t been down so many nurses, I think Marlena would’ve just sent her home.”

“I could’ve covered.”

Lucia arched an eyebrow.

“Okay, probably not.” I’d been up to my eyeballs in dialysis patients on the ward. As much as I wanted to, I simply couldn’t be in two places at once. “How’s she doing?”

“Heading home and incredibly grateful everything worked out.” Lucia pulled on her winter coat. “And you?”

“I’m thinking I have someone to give a piece of my mind to.”

She arched an eyebrow. “That wouldn’t be a new cardiothoracic surgeon, would it?”

I shrugged.

“Quinton.” No missing the warning tone. “You might be beloved in this hospital—but he’s a surgeon. One might be difficult to replace, but the other is damn near impossible. You know admin will side with him over you—even if he was in the wrong.”

Pursing my lips, I considered my options. “I can’t stay silent.”

“You also can’t afford to lose your job.”

“Marlena won’t let them fire me.”

“You want to bet your paycheck on that? You want to live on your mother’s pension check if she finally retires?” Lucia wound a scarf around her neck. “Because you know you won’t get a letter of recommendation. You’ll be blacklisted.”

I wanted to say she was exaggerating—but she wasn’t wrong. “I’ll take all that under advisement.”

“You do that.” She stared at the toque in her hand. “Nope. I’m too vain and I don’t want my hair fucked up. Goodnight.” With that, she headed out.

I hesitated—for a nanosecond—before heading off to Dr. Attitude-Adjustment-Needed. Surprisingly, I found his door open. I knocked, entered, and shut it behind me.

He rose from his desk. His hair was a little disheveled. He had his glasses pushed into that hair and he pulled them on, blinked, then met my gaze. “Oh.”