The Money Man. Carolyn McSparren
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says?”
“The bank says, the stockholders say, the mortgage company says, and most of all, the medical equipment supply houses that require payment before they ship so much as a scalpel say.”
“Then, send them the money.”
“At the moment that is not possible. I’m just the messenger, doctor.”
“At the moment, if I had a gun, I’d shoot the messenger, just like in the old days, Mr. Scott. I can guess what a building like that clinic costs, and the equipment I want is small potatoes next to that. Don’t tell me you can’t find that money, because I do not believe you.”
“That’s your choice. The point is, I can’t until I’m certain that this place is going to fly and not turn into another dog and cat hospital where pampered pigs get their damn nails clipped!”
“I’m surprised you’re paying for this place. Can you afford it?” She heard the contempt in her voice and wished she’d suppressed it, but the sort of obstruction she was running into from a man who didn’t understand the problem pushed all her buttons at once.
“We’re getting the corporate rate, and Rick promised you moving expenses.”
“And this place is a sop to keep me pacified so that I don’t pitch a fit about the equipment he promised me? A couple of thousand bucks to stave off paying a couple of hundred thousand?”
“There’s no point in continuing this discussion at the moment, Doctor. We can go into the circumstances tomorrow when you’re more…rested.” He put his glass down and walked back into the bedroom.
“You think you’ll be able to handle me tomorrow? Forget it. Rested, I just get tougher.”
“Good night, Doctor. You’ll find some food in the refrigerator, in case you don’t want to go out.”
She heard the door open and close a little harder than necessary. She picked up the crystal glass, ready to hurl it after him, then stopped. She’d only have to clean up the mess afterward.
She sat and took a swig of her drink, then coughed as it hit the bottom of her throat. She could feel the bourbon all the way down to her toes. She set the glass down, suddenly feeling guilty about yelling at Mark. She was tired, more tired than she’d realized. But she had counted on that equipment. She’d been promised that equipment, and Mr. Mark Scott was going to have to come up with a stronger argument than lack of funds if he expected her to accept the delay.
If only she had enough money to buy the things herself. But she didn’t, even though she’d finally almost paid off her student loans. Truth was, even if Steve Stapleton in St. Paul had broken down and allowed her to buy a partnership in his clinic, she’d have had to hock her eyeballs to get the money together.
No, the thing to do was to persuade Mark that the equipment was crucial to the success of the clinic.
She took her drink into the kitchen and poured the rest down the sink. Pity to waste good bourbon, but she didn’t want to pass out in the Jacuzzi. She opened the small refrigerator and found eggs, bacon, bread, butter, sweet rolls, and an assortment of sandwich makings with condiments. Good. She could take her sandwich and a soda, and dine while the water washed away all her aches and pains.
Tomorrow was soon enough to tackle Mark. Tomorrow she’d meet the staff, assess the facilities, and do some real work. Tomorrow she’d start lining up allies in her battle against the bureaucracy. This was one battle she expected to win, and win quickly. Mark Scott didn’t have a clue how hard—and how dirty—she could fight. When it came to her patients, she was like a mamma grizzly defending her cubs.
CHAPTER TWO
SARAH CALLED HER FATHER in St. Paul before she went to bed, only to get his answering machine. She gave it her telephone number and hung up. She supposed he’d gone over to one of his sons’ houses for a family conference on the best way to get Sarah to come back home.
It was nearly midnight when the phone rang. Sarah picked it up.
“At home at least you had an apartment. Now you live in a motel,” Lars Marsdon said in his clipped voice.
“Actually, this is nicer than my apartment, and the clinic is paying for it.”
“You quit your job and ran off to Tennessee because you had a fight with your fiancé. You’ve made your point, so come back home.”
“Dad, I just got here this afternoon.”
“So, you won’t have had time to settle. They will not miss you. Your old job is still available. Steve told me he would hold it for a couple of days, although he is annoyed because you walked out on him.”
“Dad—” She tried to sound patient, but could feel her heart rate increasing with every sentence. “Steve was never going to allow me to be a partner. Then, when I gave him notice, he got so mad he told me to get out right that minute. I would have stayed two weeks. The choice was his, not mine.”
“This is your home. This is where your family, your fiancé, your job are. Come home where you belong.”
“Sorry, but no.”
“Call back when you’re ready to speak sensibly.” He hung up.
Sarah lay back and tried to slow down her breathing.
How soon would Lars Marsdon mobilize the troops? Would he ask all three of her brothers and their wives to call and put additional pressure on her? That’s what he generally did when he didn’t agree with her choices. Occasionally Peter would refuse, but the other two always went along with their father. They were all so content with their lives that they couldn’t understand why she wanted more.
Sarah always wondered whether they made up their own scripts or said what Lars told them to say. Didn’t matter. This time she was free, and intended to remain free.
Now, all she had to do was make Mark see things her way.
“HEY, DR. SARAH,” Alva Jean Huxtable chirped, when Sarah walked in the front door of the clinic the next morning. “Mr. Scott said to tell you he’s bringing you a cell phone, and there’s a parking place for you around back. The staff park there.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“That’s okay. It’s not like we’re running out of parking space in front.” Alva Jean looked at the nearly empty waiting room.
“Dr. Rick said he was going to try to get everybody together at eleven so you could meet them.”
“Where?”
“He calls it his conference room, but it’s really our break room. He’s got a drink machine and a snack machine in there and a little refrigerator. If you bring your lunch, you better mark the sack with your name—otherwise somebody’s bound to steal it.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Thanks, I’ll remember that. Do I have a desk?”
Alva Jean shook her head. “Not yet, but there are some extra file cabinets in the storeroom. You can have one of those, if Rick says it’s okay.”
Sarah smiled. “Thanks. I’ll ask him when I see him.”
She pushed through the door to the central hall and glanced in at Mark’s partially open door, but he wasn’t in. For some reason, she felt a stab of disappointment. Was she so anxious to go into battle with him again? Or was there another more personal reason? Nonsense. The fact that he was tall with brown eyes that crinkled at the corners had nothing to do with anything. She simply relished a good fight with a worthy adversary. Period.
At this point she didn’t even know the full extent of the battle she needed to wage.
At the far end of the hall there was a door with a smoked-glass panel in the upper half. Beside it someone had taped a small handwritten sign that read, Large