Page 132 of The Ampersand Effect

Her legs finally gave out. She fell to her knees, then slumped onto her side and back. She vaguely noticed Grier’s fingers on her clit, circling her as aftershocks spasmed through her body.

She came back to the orchard with Grier’s gentle kisses.

Her eyes fluttered open, brushing softly against Grier’s cheek as awareness returned. The euphoria still hummed faintly in her blood.

She chuckled, soft and light. But it grew into a deep, raucous, full-bellied laugh. Grier joined in, collapsing onto her chest and fisting her loose tank in her hands.

When their laughter settled, Tobin felt Grier’s fingertips graze her wrist, finding her pulse. She tapped a slow rhythm to its beat. As her pulse calmed, Tobin shifted her hand, lacing their fingers together.

Grier lifted her head from Tobin’s chest, locking eyes with Tobin’s—bright and shining with affection.

“That was unexpected,” Grier said, resting her chin between Tobin’s breasts. Her smile was broad, utterly content.

“That was… incredible,” Tobin murmured, unable to suppress the soft sounds of contentment in her voice.

“Do you think we were quiet enough” Grier asked cockily, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Tobin thought about it. Yeah, they’d absolutely beenthatloud— at least, if the volume of her memories was any indication. But she didn’t care. That had been unexpected and fantastic, and how could anyone blame her for screaming her pleasures through the orchard when Grier’s tongue was capable of that magic?

“Hmm… definitely not,” Tobin admitted with a laugh. Grier swatted at her chest, chastising her for her admission.

Grier rolled off and located Tobin’s discarded shorts and underwear, tossing them at her with a smug little flourish. She caught them midair, her wits and reflexes apparently having returned.

“Come on,” Grier said, grinning. “Let’s go see if they can keep a straight face when we get back.”

Tobin stood, helping Grier up in the process. “Oh, Ilikethis. Put the ball in their court—see how long they squirm without cracking. You’re a damn genius, Cinderella!”

Grier returned to her, now fully dressed, and tipped up onto her toes to press a parting kiss to Tobin’s lips. Against her mouth, she murmured, “Yourgenius,” and laced their fingers together as they started back toward the house.

Twenty-Four

Grier leaned back in her desk chair, spinning side to side while she ran the pendant at her throat along the length of its chain. Numbers were down—clinically speaking, that should have been a good thing. Fewer patients to treat typically meant fewer patient admissions.

But that wasn’t the case.

Occupancy across the hospital was steady, ebbing and flowing over the last four to six weeks in a predictable manner. But treatment numbers and care plans for the Integrative Health department had dwindled in the last month. Some weeks, they were only seeing two or three admissions, when they were used to receiving ten, sometimes fifteen.

What gives?

Grier had worked tirelessly to build the department’s credibility—dragging it from a glorified closet to a dedicated hallway. Now, they had admitted patients filling that hallway, something she had yet to see replicated at any other hospital in the country. They were legitimately breaking barriers at Aetheridge Children’s Hospital, and she was at the helm.

She had the ear of the Chief of Surgery. The respect and loyalty of the nurses and other hospital staff—regardless of their floor. She wasPhysician of the Year.

So why did her department suddenly feel deserted?

She couldn’t conjure patients from nowhere, or market like a typical chiropractor could. Internal outreach was her best bet— connect with other department heads, loop in nursing staff, see if there was a breakdown that could be patched. Most patients—arguably all—could benefit from at least some form of alternative intervention during an admission. She doubted there was a sudden and inexplicable change of opinion as far that went; she knew the other physicians had largely come around to the integrative aspect of healthcare—either forcibly via edict or through anecdotal experiences with their own patients’ success.

Reconnecting might help boost referrals, sure. But it wouldn’t explain thewhyof it in the first place.

As much as Grier preferred to write this off as a fluke, there was a sense of something more deliberate about the whole thing. She felt that sinister intentions were at play. She couldn’t prove it, but she wasn’t going to stop looking.

It wasn’t anything obvious. She doubted it was even enough for her superiors to notice. But something had shifted, even if she couldn’t explain it.

She heaved a deep breath and blew an exasperated raspberry through her lips, then dragged both hands up her neck, kneading the tension from her shoulders to her scalp. A headache was brewing. She needed an adjustment. If only she could self-adjust…

“I concur,” Maren announced, an edge of frustration in her voice, as she walked into Grier’s office and flopped sideways into the chair opposite the desk. “Are you as bored as I am?”

Grier slumped in her chair. It wasn’t even worth trying keep the pretense of busyness up—her staff were as bored as she was. And Maren would call her on her bullshit anyway.