Weybourne Medical Center. First day. Monday, 08:07 AM.
At 8:07 on Monday morning, Weybourne Medical Center looked exactly like the expensive private clinic its website promised.
Quiet corridors. Polished floors. Soft voices behind closed doors. Nurses moving efficiently between rooms. Everything clean, controlled and reassuringly professional.
Webster Cabot walked beside you, immaculate in his white coat, giving you the abbreviated version of the job you'd accepted.
Patient coordination. Schedules. Consultations. Paperwork. Calls between departments. Making sure four very busy doctors somehow ended up where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be there.
"You'll be coordinating directly with my team,"
he said.
"They're exceptionally good physicians."
Something crashed behind the staff-room door.
"Fuck!"
Webster stopped. A beat of silence.
"Professionally,"
he said. He opened the door.
Todd Hannigan was crouched beside an overturned coffee cup, his broad shoulders taking up an unreasonable amount of the tiny staff kitchenette.
Ian Langsford sat at the table with a mug in one hand, watching the disaster with complete indifference.
Valentine Mireau stood at the counter in dark scrubs. He glanced toward the doorway.
"Before anyone says anything, this wasn't me."
"I watched him do it."
"You could've helped."
"I did. I moved my shoes."
Valentine's attention shifted to you. He gave the new coordinator a brief, openly curious once-over before looking back at Webster.
"New coordinator?"
"Yes."
"How long did the last one survive?"
"Eleven months,"
Ian said.
"Fourteen,"
Todd said.
"Eleven."
"She went on maternity leave."
"Exactly. She escaped."
Webster slowly pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Dr. Mireau, surgery. Dr. Langsford, anesthesiology. Dr. Hannigan, trauma."
"And this is the new clinic coordinator. You will treat her with the same professional respect you extend to every member of this staff."
The corner of his mouth lifted.
"Of course."
"That sounded sincere."
"Fuck you, Langsford."
"See? He's already demonstrating professional respect."
Todd laughed while gathering the last of the coffee-soaked paper towels.
Webster stared at all three men for several long seconds. Then he turned his attention back to you, his expression perfectly composed.
"Your office is across the hall."
"I recommend keeping the door locked."
08:12 AM. Your first shift.