3. Nicky

CHAPTER 3

Nicky

The day had already started in the gutter, and Dr. Markus Webber was doing his damnedest to make it worse. I leaned against the counter in the med room, gripping my tablet a little tighter than necessary, the plastic edges digging into my palm.

Suave. Too pretty. A walking cliché. His diplomas gleamed from the walls of his office, like trophies on display—shiny, pristine, and utterly smug. And I hadn't seen him with a single resident yet. Not one. He’d promised he would check in on Beverly, and that was hours ago. That alone told me everything I needed to know. A doctor who hid behind degrees and paperwork wasn’t someone who was actually here to help.

I exhaled sharply, trying to push back the disgust that had been bubbling up ever since he walked through that door this morning. Beverly needed attention. Needed it now. And this was my last chance to convince the guy that she wasn’t just another name on a chart.

I knocked on his office door without waiting for a response like I did the first time and stepped inside. The man was perched behind his desk, radiating a kind of calm that only pissed me off more. His sharp features were framed by neatly trimmed stubble, and he had this casual, effortless posture that screamed, I’m too good for this place.

“We need to talk about Beverly,” I began, ignoring the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “She’s got a sore I already told you about. I flagged it earlier, but it hasn’t been addressed.” I wasn’t playing the polite, deferential role anymore. Not with him. Not today.

His eyes flicked up at me, but he didn’t react right away. He just sat there. Silent. Like he was waiting for me to finish my rant. And the longer he stayed quiet, the more I wanted to scream.

“I was planning to check on her after finishing this paperwork,” he said, finally speaking, his tone a little too smooth, a little too... perfect.

I crossed my arms, my voice cutting. “Well, she’s not paperwork, and this isn’t something that can wait. She’s diabetic, and you know what that means. If you’re waiting for the sore fairy to show up and fix it, you’re going to be waiting a hell of a long time.”

His brow lifted slightly. Still calm. Expression unreadable. The fire inside me crackled. Why wasn’t he pissed? I was practically begging him to lose his shit.

“Look,” I pushed, “I get it. You’re new. Probably trying to get your bearings. But you’ve been here long enough to put up your framed degrees. Maybe you could meet the people who live here, too. You know, the ones you’re supposed to be helping?”

I braced myself for the backlash—an angry retort, maybe a lecture about professionalism. Maybe even him telling me to back off, to know my place. I was ready for it.

But instead, he stood. Slowly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the sound of his chair creaking beneath him only made my chest tighten. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t yell. He didn’t dismiss me. His eyes didn’t waver from mine, and for a moment, I felt pinned in place, like a bug under a microscope.

And then he said it.

“Thank you,” he said, and it was... sincere. “For being such a strong advocate for Beverly.”

I blinked, thrown off balance. I was expecting anger. Sarcasm. Maybe a sharp retort. Instead, I got gratitude. I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know how to respond. The words caught in my throat, and for a second, I wasn’t sure what game he was playing.

“And for what it’s worth,” he continued, his tone steady but softer now, “I wasn’t ignoring her. I’ve been bogged down trying to sort through a backlog of charts and care plans that were... let’s just say not up to standard when I got here. I needed to review everything thoroughly to understand what each resident needs before making adjustments to their care. But you’re right—this can’t wait. Let’s go take a look.”

I hesitated. Was this some sort of trap? Was I about to get yelled at, or worse, fired? But when I met his gaze, I saw something different—something real. No fake smile. No condescending nod. Just sincerity. And it threw me off even more.

“Fine,” I muttered, shoving my tablet into my bag and leading the way. He followed close behind, his stride long and purposeful, the kind of walk that says, I’m in control here, whether you like it or not.

When we reached Beverly’s room, I knocked before entering. She was sitting in her recliner, arms crossed tight over her chest.

“Beverly, this is Dr. Webber. He’s here to check on you,” I said, already anticipating the refusal.

Her eyes narrowed, though she didn’t hide her smile. “Don’t need a doctor. Told you that already.”

Dr. Webber crouched next to her chair, looking up at her with that same calm demeanor. “I know you don’t like a fuss, Beverly. But Nicholas tells me you’re one of his favorite people here, so I think it’s worth taking a moment to make sure you’re okay. Is that all right?”

Her posture softened, just a little. But her lips remained tight, her defenses still up. “Fine. Just don’t make me go through those damn needles again.”

“I’ll do my best to keep this simple,” he said, flashing her a smile that could have convinced anyone to do just about anything. And just like that, Beverly relaxed. She let him examine her foot without the usual fight. No resistance. No stony silence. Just... trust.

I stood back, watching in disbelief. I’d seen Beverly shut down dozens of times, seen her brush off every other doctor, every nurse, every caretaker. But here she was, talking to him like he was someone she actually trusted. It didn’t make sense. How was this guy—this perfect, smug, too-good-for-here guy—getting through to her?

When we stepped back into the hallway, I was still trying to wrap my head around it.

“She’ll need a new dressing, and I’ll want to see how it’s healing tomorrow,” he said, glancing at me as if nothing strange had just happened. “Good call bringing this to my attention.”

My chest tightened. I didn’t know if it was because of the compliment or because I was still stunned by how effortlessly he’d gotten through to Beverly. I couldn’t trust myself to respond immediately.

“I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot,” he continued. “I know I’ve been... a little distant since starting here. The truth is, this move has been more of an adjustment than I expected.”

I nodded, feeling the tightness in my throat. “Yeah, well, this place isn’t exactly easy to warm up to.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “No, it’s not. But I’m glad you’re here. The residents are lucky to have someone who cares as much as you do.”

The words hit harder than I expected. The flush that crept up my neck made my skin feel too tight. I glanced away, hoping the fluorescent lights didn’t give away the fact that I was actually feeling something—something I didn’t want to feel.

Before I could even think about responding—maybe say something smart, maybe flirt outright—his phone buzzed.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced at the screen. “But thank you, Nicholas. I look forward to working with you.”

He walked off without another word, answering the call with that same confident stride, leaving me standing in the hallway, wondering what the hell just happened.

What was he doing to me?