Amara Chapman, an extraordinarily beautiful yet shy, unassuming girl, is torn from her home and all she'd ever known when her grandmother suddenly passes away.
Reluctantly sent to live with her estranged father in Chicago, he wants nothing to do wi...
Tuesday passes much like Monday – consultations, office procedures, rounds, and idiotic interns.
The only bright spots are when I see Amara.
I've been dreading today. These board meetings bore me to tears, not to mention having to put up with all of the sycophants, which is why I rarely attend them.
But the worst, by far, is Lloyd.
I sigh as I finish my tie, securing it up around my collar.
The thought of having to tolerate him, for even an hour, is nearly unbearable.
I know I can be arrogant at times, but Lloyd's arrogance is so blatant that it borderlines on vulgarity.
You can definitely tell the difference between old money and new money, which Lloyd falls into the latter...just barely.
I wish my father had never hired him.
Oh well...if he gets on my nerves too badly today, I'll just inject him with potassium chloride when no one's looking and watch him have a massive heart attack with joy.
I arrive at Price-Sinclair headquarters just before 9:00 am and take the elevator, that smells of lingering cologne and mint, up to the conference room.
I certainly didn't want to get here early and have to put up with these phony assholes any longer than necessary.
The shiny, sleek, stainless steel doors slide open and I step out into the hall where people stop and stare.
I don't know why they always do this. It's not like they haven't seen me before.
Maybe someday, if I ever tire of medicine, I'll put my father's old corner office upstairs to use, since it does now bear my name on the door.
I make my way down a long hallway that displays large paintings on both sides of my mother and father, as well as their families, in succession, including me at the end...the next generation, complete with the little gold name plates and years served below each one.
I roll my eyes at the rendering and continue to the end of the hall where a large, dark, foreboding set of wooden double doors leads into the conference room and enter.
"There he is...the boy of the hour!" Lloyd says boisterously, making sure to emphasize the word boy while drawing everyone's attention as he makes a big show of checking his Rolex watch.
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He stands from his seat – my seat at the head of the table, and walks over to me. "Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?" he chides in a condescending tone.
I pass him by as if he never said anything and take my coat off before sitting down in the fine leather captain's seat...where my father used to sit.
