Chapter 2
QUINN
If there was one thing I hated, it was an overconfident man with small-dick syndrome, and the jackass I was currently working for must’ve had the smallest dick of all.
Unfortunately, if I had any hope of taking over this practice from Dr. Dinsmore—or Dr. Dicknose, as I affectionately referred to him—I actually had to play nice, which made dealing with his daily bullshit all the more frustrating.
At best, it was a minor inconvenience I struggled with on the regular. At worst, it had drastic and sometimes catastrophic repercussions for the patients he’d sworn to serve.
Which was the entire reason I was back in my hometown in the first place.
As much as I hated that his female patients had suffered at his hand often enough to file formal complaints, I was just grateful I was finally here and able to clean up some of his messes. And in my short time back, I’d found a metric shit-ton of them.
I knocked on the door to exam room two and stepped inside, greeting his-turned-my patient with a warm smile. “Hi, Jada. How’re you doing today?”
“Hi, Dr. Cartwright.” Uncertainty and defeat hung heavy in her dark eyes as she sat on the exam table, wringing her hands in her lap.
Her long black locs were pulled up into a twisted bun on top of her head, and the gold dusted on her cheekbones set off her deep-brown skin.
“And I guess that depends on what you’re about to tell me. ”
I pulled out the rolling stool and took a seat, setting her chart down on the counter behind me. “Well, I actually have news, so we’re coming out ahead of where you’ve been stuck the past several years.”
Since the closest OB-GYN was a few towns over, Dr. Dicknose had been completing Jada’s yearly exams—same as many of the other women in town.
She’d been complaining of painful, irregular periods, weight gain, and unexplained acne for years.
And for years, the tiny-dicked weasel had told her that her issues were because she was overweight or just something she had to deal with for being a female.
Even after her complaining of worsening symptoms, which now included her and her husband’s inability to conceive even after more than two years of trying, he still blamed it on the fact that her BMI wasn’t below twenty-five and told her if she just lost some weight, all her problems would be solved.
He’d dismissed her very real pain, brushed it aside as if it were a minor inconvenience. She’d become just another fat girl in his eyes, and he’d treated her issues as if they were the cause rather than a symptom.
I wanted to strangle the jackass, especially when a simple blood test would’ve diagnosed this when she’d first complained of these problems, and she and her husband could’ve been well on their way to a family of three.
I knew her pain all too well—literally—which only made me more frustrated.
I’d been given the same runaround while dealing with the same symptoms and the same condition.
Had providers brush aside my complaints and not look deeper because I wasn’t a size eight.
I’d spent my teenage years and early twenties in misery because no one would take me seriously, and I didn’t have the kind of parents who would advocate for me.
It was what pushed me into medicine in the first place. I hated the idea that women weren’t being heard or treated appropriately because their concerns were ignored.
“Okay.” She nodded, the exam table paper crinkling under her as she shifted. “I’m ready to hear it.”
“The results from your bloodwork came back. Your cholesterol looks great, and you’re active, which is what we love to see.
But the details of your ultrasound combined with some of the numbers on your bloodwork prove your symptoms have not been caused by weight and aren’t something you just have to deal with because you’re a woman.
” I winked at her. “But you and I both already knew that…”
She breathed out a laugh, her bottom lip quivering as her eyes grew glassy.
She cleared her throat a couple times, accepting the tissue I offered her with quiet thanks.
Dabbing her eyes, she said, “Sorry about this.” She circled a hand around her face.
“I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.
After years of being told it was nothing—” her voice cracked, but she cleared her throat and continued on “—it’s such a relief to know everything that’s been going on isn’t all in my head. ”
With a reassuring smile, I patted her knee. “I’m grateful I’m able to finally get you some answers.”
Clutching the tissue in her hand, she inhaled deeply, then blew it out in a slow exhale. “So, you have a diagnosis?”
“I do.” I nodded and reached back, grabbing the pamphlet I’d brought in and handing it to her.
“You have what’s called Polycystic Ovary Syndrome.
You may have heard it called PCOS. It’s fairly common in women our age, but it is heavily underdiagnosed because…
” I huffed out a humorless laugh. “Well, I don’t have to tell you why.
In your case, I hope we’ve caught it early enough to avoid any permanent damage.
And the good news is it’s manageable. Now, we just need to find the right treatment plan for you… ”
By the time I’d walked Jada out of the clinic, it was late, well after closing time.
Alicia, our receptionist, was long gone, the front desk empty, and since Dr. Dicknose liked to do anything but work, I assumed he was gone, too.
Which was too bad, really, considering the high I felt right now, confidence cloaking me as I strode down the hallway, knowing I’d helped a patient he’d been failing for years.
It was just more proof that my move back here to my small hometown was the right one, despite the…
less than welcoming reception I’d received from him upon my arrival.
One would’ve thought I’d come to tarnish his reputation instead of trying to salvage it.
The man was in desperate need of retiring—something he’d be able to do, if only he would accept my offer to purchase the practice.
I turned the corner toward my office and stopped short, nearly running straight into Dr. Dicknose himself as he strolled out of his office.
He was an older white guy in his late sixties.
He wasn’t overly tall—just under six feet, if I had to guess, since I could look him in the eye if I was wearing heels.
Which, considering how much he hated it, I tried to do on a daily basis.
He kept himself fairly fit, his white hair the only real tell of his age.
As much as I loathed running into him, I wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip by.
Since arriving back in Starlight Cove and starting my employment here with the specific intent to eventually own this clinic, I’d tried the calm and pleasant tack.
I’d tried befriending him, much as it pained me.
I’d tried the we-have-history tack since he was my father’s closest friend.
Hell, I’d even tried bribery—not my finest moment, but at least we’d all benefited from catered meals made by the incomparable Beck McKenzie.
None of them had worked.
Apparently it was time for the zero-shits-given tack.
“Oh, good. You’re still here,” I said.
He jingled his keys, barely sparing me a glance. “Not for long. Have a mess you need me to clean up?”
I barely held in my snort of disbelief. The man was so delusional, it was baffling. “Actually, I cleaned up yours. I just finished an appointment with Jada Westing.”
“And?”
“ And you’ve been brushing off her symptoms for years.”
He rolled his eyes, swiping his hand through the air as if her problems were a gnat he could swat away.
“She’s overweight and constantly complained about menstruating.
Much as I would love to wave a magic wand and not have to deal with the female population’s monthly issues ever again, I’m afraid that’s just not possible.
It’s something she’ll have to learn to live with.
Surely she’s figured that out at some point in her thirty-five years. ”
I huffed out a disbelieving breath, my mouth dropping open as I stared at him.
“She’s suffered with undiagnosed PCOS for years because you dismissed her very real pain and couldn’t be bothered to do your job.
But don’t worry—I did it for you. I’ve finally got her on a treatment plan, and hopefully it’ll be enough to salvage her ability to have children. ”
“Oh, relax. You’re being a bit dramatic, don’t you think? I’m certain her inability to conceive has more to do with her weight than anything else.”
I clenched my hands into fists at my sides.
God, what I wouldn’t give to punch this asshole right in his smug face.
“I’m not sure if you are purposefully being this obtuse, or if it’s a special ability reserved for me, but let me spell this out for you—my findings just saved this clinic and your ass. ”
He snorted. “From what?”
“At worst? A malpractice suit. At best, a PR nightmare. That wouldn’t look great, considering the reason I’m here in the first place.”
That hit the bull’s-eye if the tightening of his thin lips was any indication. “What is it you need, Ms. Cartwright?”
I ground my teeth together at his overemphasis on Ms. instead of Dr., a designation he would have demanded from anyone.
“I’m done beating around the bush. We both know there’s only one reason I came back and agreed to work here in the first place.
I want to know what it’s going to take for you to finally retire and sell me this practice. ”
“To put it bluntly? For hell to freeze over. I have no intention of selling this practice to you, now or ever.”