She looked at me, her gaze raking over me in disdain. “And why aren’tyouat work then?”
“I’m a surgeon, and I just worked a forty-eight-hour shift. It’s my weekend.”
“Hmmpf.” She strolled out of the lobby with her nose in the air. Literally.
“I’m supposed to cook dinner for my girlfriend tonight,” the young corporate guy said. “It’s kind of a big deal. Will the water be back on by then?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Jerry said. “But I’m doing everything I can.”
Young corporate guy raked a hand through his hair. “I’m proposing tonight. I’ve had this planned for weeks.”
The young woman next to him piped up. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but I manage the Bar & Restaurant at The Rex Hotel. Let me see what I can do for you.”
“That would be incredible,” the young suit said.
“Do you have a few minutes before you have to be at work?” she asked with a smile. “Let’s talk about what your plans are, and I’ll see if I can help.”
The two of them wandered toward the exit, chattering to one another.
“Sorry about this, Linden,” Jerry said.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “I can shower at the hospital.”
I didn’t want to go there on my day off, but I didn’t really have a choice. The idea of sitting in workout clothes for hours hoping the water came back on was not an option.
I went back upstairs to my condo and gathered a change of clothes. I had toiletries in my locker at work, so I didn’t bother packing any of that. As I was locking up, my phone hummed.
I frowned as I saw my father’s name across the screen. I silenced his call. He didn’t leave a voicemail, but a few minutes later, he called again.
He’d been trying to get ahold of me for weeks, but I refused to talk to him.
When he called the third time, I answered it. Before he could utter a greeting, I stated, “I’m blocking your number. Stop calling me.”
I hung up, the bitter taste of anger sharp on my tongue.
* * *
“What are you doing here?” Amanda asked, looking me up and down as I walked across the floor past the nurses’ station.
“Water is shut off in my building,” I replied. “I’m showering here and then heading home.”
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know. You look…pinched.”
“Pinched?”
She scrunched up her face. “Annoyed. Like your bowels are blocked.”
I let out a laugh. “My bowels are fine. It’s the water thing. It’s just inconvenient.”
“Ah, yeah.” She held up a plastic container toward me. “Cookie?”
“Thanks.” I filched one and took a bite.
“Mia Weston sent them,” she said. “She paid for overnight shipping and wrote this beautiful handwritten note thanking the nurses for taking care of Boxer.”