Clinically Bewitched (New Haven #2)

Chapter One

Julien

New Haven, Connecticut, the Monday before Friday...

What I did not believe in was the circus that typically unfolded when my five colleagues decided that “meeting” was synonymous with “open mic night at the comedy club.”

“Gentlemen,” I said crisply, setting my coffee down with the kind of controlled precision that suggested I’d measured the exact distance from the table’s edge. “If we could begin—”

“Hold on, hold on.” Fitzpatrick Lovejoy, our OB-GYN and the clinic’s resident smooth-talker, sauntered in with the kind of leisurely gait that made my left eye twitch. “I need caffeine before I can handle your particular brand of Monday morning cheerfulness, Darcy.”

“It’s 7:01,” I said flatly.

“Is it?” Fitz checked his watch with exaggerated surprise. “Huh. So it is. Funny how time works like that. Just keeps... moving forward. Second by second. Tick, tock, tick—”

“Fitzpatrick.”

“—tock, tick—”

“Sit. Down.”

Gabriel Lyon, our pediatrician and the closest thing I had to a reasonable colleague, slid into his seat with an apologetic smile. “Morning, Julien. Lovely weather we’re having.”

“It’s raining.”

“Yes, but optimistically.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was going to be one of those Mondays.

The door swung open again, and Nathan Carter—Internal Medicine, chronic coffee addict, and the man who’d once diagnosed himself with twelve different terminal illnesses in a single week—stumbled in looking like he’d been dragged backward through a hedge.

“I’m here. I’m present. I’m... moderately conscious. ”

“Rough night?” Hayden Walker, our geriatric specialist and the oldest of the group at a distinguished fifty-two, asked mildly.

“My neighbor got a drum set.”

“Ah.”

“A drum set, Hayden. At 11 PM. Do you know what it’s like to try to sleep while someone discovers they have absolutely no rhythm whatsoever?”

Hayden chuckled but said nothing.

Quinton Wesley, our ER doctor and the man who treated every conversation like a potential trauma case—high energy, quick decisions, occasional inappropriate humor—burst through the door with his usual controlled chaos.

“Sorry, sorry! Multi-vehicle pileup on I-95. Everyone’s fine, but there was this guy with a—you know what, never mind; you’re all eating breakfast.”

“I’m not,” Fitz said helpfully.

“Well, now you won’t want to.”

I cleared my throat with the kind of authority that had made medical students weep. “If everyone is quite finished with their morning theater, we have seventeen items on today’s agenda, and I’d like to get through at least half of them before the death of the universe.”

“So ambitious,” Fitz murmured.

“Item one: Patient load distribution. Gabriel, you’re overbooked on Wednesdays—”

The door opened one more time, and Winnifred Potter—Winnie to everyone except me, because I believed using nicknames in the workplace was a slippery slope to anarchy—breezed in with a stack of folders and the kind of knowing smile that immediately put me on edge.

“Good morning, doctors,” she said cheerfully. “Julien, before you get too deep into your agenda, you have mail.”

“I always have mail, Miss Potter. That’s why we have a mail system. And designated mail times. This is not a designated mail time.”

“Yes, but this is special mail.” She set a cream-colored envelope in front of me with a flourish. “From TED.”

The room went silent.

Then exploded.

“TED?” Gabriel leaned forward. “As in TED Talks?”

“Oh, this is good,” Quinton said, grinning. “This is very good.”

I picked up the envelope as if it might contain anthrax. “I didn’t apply for anything.”

“You were nominated,” Winnie said, looking far too pleased with herself. “Dr. Richardson from Yale put your name forward. They want you to speak at their medical innovation conference in Las Vegas this coming weekend. It’s quite an honor.”

“Las Vegas,” I repeated.

“Sin City!” Fitz crowed. “Oh, this is perfect.”

“I’m not going.”

Five heads swiveled toward me in synchronized disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” Nathan said slowly. “Did you just turn down a TED Talk?”

“I did.”

“A TED Talk.”

“Yes, Nathan. I’m aware of what I said. I said it approximately four seconds ago. My short-term memory is intact.”

“But it’s a TED Talk,” Gabriel said reasonably. “It’s... Julien, it’s a TED Talk. People spend years trying to get invited to speak at TED.”

“Then they can have my slot.” I set the envelope aside and picked up my agenda. “Now, as I was saying, Gabriel, your Wednesday schedule—”

“Hold on.” Hayden held up a hand. “Why aren’t you going?”

“Because I have patients. I have surgeries scheduled. I have a clinic to run.”

“We all have a clinic to run,” Fitz interrupted. “That’s why there are six of us. It’s called ‘delegation,’ Darcy. You should try it sometime.”

“I delegate constantly.”

“No, you micromanage constantly. There’s a difference.”

My jaw tightened. “I ensure things are done correctly.”

“You ensure things are done your way,” Quinton corrected. “Which, granted, is usually the correct way, but still. The man has a point.”

“I’m not leaving you people unsupervised for an entire weekend.”

“You people?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Julien, we’re all board-certified physicians.”

“You’re also the same group of individuals who, last month, turned the break room into a putting green.”

“That was a team-building exercise,” Fitz said defensively.

“You put a hole through the drywall.”

“Hayden put a hole through the drywall.”

“I have an excellent swing,” Hayden said mildly.

I looked at each of them in turn. “This. This is exactly why I can’t leave.”

“Or,” Nathan suggested, “this is exactly why you should leave. Get away from us for a few days. Relax. Enjoy the desert. Maybe even—and I know this is a radical concept—have fun?”

“I have fun.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“You have fun?!” Fitz repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

“You. Julien Darcy. Have fun?!”

“I enjoy many things.”

“Name one.”

“Successful surgeries.”

“That’s not fun; that’s your job.”

“I find my job enjoyable.”

“Name something that’s not work-related.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Frowned. “I... enjoy a well-organized closet.”

Quinton dropped his head into his hands. “Oh my God.”

“And reading medical journals.”

“Julien,” Gabriel said gently, “those are also work-related.”

“They’re educational.”

“Buddy,” Fitz leaned back in his chair, “I say this with love and deep respect for your surgical skills: you need this trip. Desperately.”

“I don’t need—”

“When was the last time you took a vacation?” Hayden asked.

“I don’t take vacations. Vacations are for people who dislike their jobs.”

“Or for people who want to avoid burnout,” Nathan pointed out. “Which, as an Internal Medicine specialist, I feel obligated to mention is a real medical concern.”

“I’m not burned out.”

“You color-code your socks,” Quinton said.

“That’s called organization.”

“By shade.”

“So I can find matching pairs efficiently.”

“You alphabetize your spice rack,” Gabriel added.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, Julien. No, they don’t.”

Winnie, who’d been watching this exchange with barely concealed amusement, cleared her throat.

“If I may? The TED conference is offering full accommodation at the Venetian, first-class airfare, and a rather generous attendance fee. It’s three days—Friday through Sunday. You’d be back Monday morning.”

“See?” Fitz spread his hands. “Long weekend. We’ll barely have time to burn the place down.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

I looked down at the envelope, then back at my colleagues. They were all watching me with varying expressions of expectation, amusement, and—in Nathan’s case—what looked like genuine concern.

“I appreciate the nomination,” I said carefully, “but my responsibility is here. To my patients. To this clinic.”

“Your responsibility,” Hayden added quietly, “is also to yourself. You’re an excellent neurosurgeon, Julien. One of the best I’ve ever worked with. But you’re also wound tighter than a Swiss watch, and eventually, something’s going to give.”

“Nothing is going to give. I’m perfectly fine.”

“You had a panic attack last week because someone moved your stapler.”

“It wasn’t a panic attack. It was a moment of... intense frustration.”

“You hyperventilated into a paper bag.”

“I was demonstrating proper breathing techniques.”

Fitz snorted. “To whom? The stapler?”

“This is ridiculous.” I stood, gathering my agenda. “I’m not going to Las Vegas, and that’s final. Now, if we could please return to actual clinic business—”

“Okay, new approach.” Quinton stood as well, and there was something in his expression that made me wary. “You’re going to Vegas.”

“I just said—”

“And if you don’t go willingly, we’re going to make your life here a living hell.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” Quinton crossed his arms. “We’ll move your stapler every day. We’ll reorganize your files. We’ll put your pens back in the wrong order.”

“We’ll schedule meetings at random times,” Gabriel added, catching on.

“I’ll leave my coffee cups everywhere,” Nathan piped up.

“I’ll whistle,” Fitz contributed. “Constantly. Off-key.”

“I’ll tell my patients you’re available for consultations,” Hayden said with a gentle smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “All of them. Every single one.”

I looked around the table at my colleagues, my partners, my friends, the people I’d built this clinic with, and realized with dawning horror that they were absolutely serious.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try us,” Quinton said.

“This is extortion.”

“This is an intervention,” Gabriel corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“A very fine difference,” Fitz agreed.

I sat back down slowly. I looked at the envelope. At my colleagues. At Winnie, who was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Three days,” I said finally.

“Three days,” Quinton confirmed.

“And you’ll all behave while I’m gone.”

“Define ‘behave,’” Fitz said.

“No putting greens. No drum circles. No experimental procedures that haven’t been approved by at least three medical boards.”

“That was one time,” Nathan protested.

“No burning down the clinic.”

“We would never burn down our own clinic,” Gabriel said, offended. “We have insurance, but still.”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then to twenty. Then I gave up and opened them again. “Fine. I’ll go to Las Vegas. I’ll give the talk. And then I’ll come back, and everything will return to normal.”

“That’s the spirit!” Fitz clapped me on the shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll even have some fun.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” Nathan suggested with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I’m not going to Las Vegas to ‘meet someone.’ I’m going to give a professional presentation on neurological advancements and then return home.”

“Sure you are,” Quinton said, grinning.

“I am.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

I picked up my agenda with as much dignity as I could muster. “Now. Can we please discuss Wednesday’s patient load?”

“Of course,” Gabriel said graciously. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“It’s 7:23,” I said.

“Is it?” Fitz checked his watch again. “Huh? Time really does fly when you’re having fun.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response. I simply began reading from my agenda, pointedly ignoring the knowing looks my colleagues were exchanging.

Las Vegas. Three days. A simple presentation, and then back to my perfectly ordered life.

What could possibly go wrong?