Chapter 16 16
Harmony's POV
Dr Sherman's office door was open when I got there, and he was already sitting behind his desk with his hands folded on top of it. He looked up when I walked in and gestured at the chair across from him without saying anything.
I sat down. "Dr Sherman, before you say anything, I want to bring up Mr Foster's recovery plan. Please, reconsider. Pulling him out of this clinic right now is a mistake. He still has at minimum, two weeks of supervised physiotherapy ahead of him. A private nurse, even if she is qualified, is not the same as a structured clinical environment with the right equipment..."
"Miss Sinclair."
"Look, yes, I know what you're going to say, and I understand it, but the medical issue should come first here. Roman's knee—"
"Harmony!" His voice was angrier than I had ever heard it. "Sit down properly and listen to me."
I closed my mouth. I hadn't even realized I had half risen from the chair. I sank back into it.
Dr Sherman looked at me for a long moment. "Mr Foster's recovery plan is not why you are in my office right now, and you know that."
I said nothing, feeling my heart hammer against the base of my throat.
"You kissed a patient," he pointed out. "Or a patient kissed you, whatever it was. But what I saw, you were not exactly fighting him off. In this clinic, during what was supposed to be a supervised physiotherapy session. Do you understand how serious that is?"
"It won't happen again," I promised.
"You're right, it won't," he replied. "Because I am giving you seven days off, effective immediately, to go home and think very carefully about where your priorities lie. When those seven days are up, you come back to me and you tell me clearly, whether you are here to work, or whether you are here for Mr Foster. Because it cannot be both. And it is not a paid leave either."
I stared at him in shock. "Dr Sherman, you can't be serious. You're suspending me over a kiss that I didn't even initiate? Foster himself told you that!"
"Just go and get your head straight, Sinclair." He told me. "Your record here remains clean for now. But, I need you to understand that this is a warning. The next time something like this happens, I will not have a choice. I will have to let you go, and you know I do not want to do that. You are too good at this job."
Hearing that last part turned my mouth bitter. Dr Sherman was not a man who threw compliments around carelessly, and hearing it now, wrapped around a reprimand, made it so much harder to swallow.
"I have never seen you this strict with me before," I muttered quietly.
Dr Sherman remained stern. "And I hope you understand that it comes from the same place as every bit of encouragement I have ever given you." He sat back. "I give you deven days, Miss Sinclair. Go."
I walked out of his office, feeling like the floor was caving in under my feet.
It wasn't a termination or a formal complaint, but it still terrified me. It was reasonable, as far as consequences went, I knew that. Dr Sherman was being as fair as he could be, given what he had walked in on. But that didn't make it sting any less.
I walked back toward the nurses station slowly, turning it over in my head. I had once paid for being too close to a male sports star, already with my entire academic record and two years of my life. I was not doing it again.
And yet here I was, less than a month into a brand new start at a brand new school. I had already let another sports star get into my head
I laughed so suddenly that a nurse passing by gave me a startled look.
One week was all it had taken for me to break my rules for Roman Foster. But I was not going to let it go further than this.
I reached the nurses station and started clearing my things from the small drawer I had been assigned. I pulled out my notepad, my spare pens and finally the printed copy of Foster's recovery schedule that I had put together in my first week. I stacked everything into my bag quickly.
"Harmony, dear." I looked up. Nurse Patricia, one of the older nurses on the floor, was watching me from behind the station desk. "Where are you off to with all of that?"
"I'm taking a week off," I said simply, zipping my bag. "Just a short break."
Patricia's eyebrows went up, but she didn't ask any more questions. I reached back into the drawer and pulled out a folded form, then leaned over the desk and held it out to her.
"Can you do me a favor?" I asked. "Can you take that to Mr Foster in Room 94? Have him sign it when you get a moment. It's his discharge papers."
Patricia took the form and looked down at it, then back up at me. She was clearly working very hard to keep all of her questions to herself.
"Of course," she said. "I'll take it in shortly."
"Thank you, Patricia." I picked up my bag, pushed the drawer shut and walked away from the nurses station.
I didn't look back toward room 94. I kept my eyes forward. I was going to use every single one of these seven days to remember exactly who I was and what I was here for.
I took the steps to my apartment door two at a time. My bag was heavy on my shoulder and my head was heavier, and all I wanted was to get through my front door and sit down somewhere quiet.
In my state of exhaustion, I would have missed the package right in front of me. There was a paper bag sitting against my door, brown and neatly folded at the top, with no label on the outside. I stopped in surprise and looked at it for a second, then looked down the hallway in both directions. It was empty.
Who had left this here?
I suspiciously nudged it with my foot first—the day had already given me enough surprises and I was not ready for more. But nothing happened. I picked it up and it was heavier than it looked.
I let myself into the apartment, dropped my bag on the couch and set the paper bag on the coffee table. My first thought was Quinn. She had probably ordered something before leaving the apartment and it had arrived late, delivered to the old address out of habit. I'd have to call her and let her know.
Out of curiosity, I unfolded the top of the bag and looked inside. It was a rectangular box with clean white packaging. With a growing sense of curiosity, I pulled it out and turned it over.
It was an iPhone 14 Pro Max.
"What...?" I set it down on the table and stared at it in half surprise, half wariness.
There was something else in the bag: a small folded piece of paper. I pulled it out and opened it.
It was a receipt showing that the phone had been ourchased that afternoon, from an Apple store on Michigan Avenue. And there at the bottom, in the field marked delivered to, was my name. Harmony Sinclair, plus my address.
I sat down on the couch very slowly. Seriously, what the fuck? I had told him I didn't want his new phone, and he had gone ahead and bought it anyway.
What the actual hell, Roman?