Page 17 of Wild

"Go ahead."

"I don't know if you've spoken with your colleague, but Mia Wilder has been diagnosed with recurrent vasovagal syncope, aggravated by the conditions of the tour."

Erin nods. She hasn't spoken to Hassan because their shifts haven't overlapped, but she did check in with her resident—who's pulling a double—as soon as she got in.

"The doctor has recommended continuous medical supervision for the next several months. The Wild tour can't be canceled, and the insurance won't cover its continuation without an approved medical plan in place. We need a physician to travel with her, monitor her around the clock, manage her nutrition, hydration, and rest"—she reads the last part from her phone—"and have enough authority to make medical decisions that override the schedule. We want that to be you," she says, without preamble.

Erin sets her fork down in the bowl and blinks once before raising her eyebrows.

"You want it to be me? Why?" she asks.

"Two reasons," Violette answers. "First, the way you handled the incident at the Garden. The patient was comfortable with you, and according to her personal assistant, you were the only one who picked up on the symptoms before she collapsed. Second"—Violette is in full stride, not wasting a second—"your profile. ER attending, critical care specialist, no press history, discreet... And the most important one: Noah says you didn't let Mia get to you, and that's a very useful quality given how good that girl is at getting everyone to do exactly what she wants."

"You looked into me?" Erin asks, a little overwhelmed.

"A little. I didn't have much time to dig deeper," the attorney says, as if it were nothing. "I've also brought a preliminary agreement." Violette pulls a folder from her briefcase, sets it on the table, opens it, and slides out a six-page document, turning it toward Erin. "You can read it at your leisure, but I'll give you the summary now. The initial term is four months, covering sixteen concerts plus rehearsals and travel."

Erin hasn't touched her salad.

"We'd start Tuesday in Toronto, which means departing Monday. Monthly gross salary here"—the attorney taps the figure with her right index finger—"plus a per diem, travel covered, and a private room in each city. We require complete confidentiality, so you'll need to sign a separate NDA before you start. Your leave of absence will be handled with your hospital—I'll take care of that if you accept—and I'll also make sure your position at MediSupport is waiting for you when the contract ends. Is there anything specific you'd like to clarify?"

Erin stares at her, mouth slightly open, wondering if this woman ever stops—or if anyone has ever told her no. She stays quiet and picks up the document to skim it, but her eyes land on the monthly gross salary and stay there. It's almost four times what she's making now between the hospital and her hours at MediSupport.

"I know this is a lot to take in very quickly, Doctor, but it's also an opportunity to significantly grow your bank account in a matter of months. I can also arrange for someone to check in on your apartment while you're away—air it out, water your plants if you have any. Do you have any pets?"

Erin shakes her head and sets the document back on the table. She doesn't know whether to accept. She needs to think it through, and the fact that she's even considering it already unsettles her—a few years ago she would have said no without hesitating, but now...

"What authority would I have to halt a rehearsal—or a show, if it came to that?" she asks.

"Full authority. If your medical judgment is that the artist can't perform, she won't. It's in one of the clauses—the seventh, I believe. It's a condition of the insurer, so no one can override it, not even Jude, though I assure you she'll try."

"And if the patient objects to something I decide? Whatever authority I have, she still makes her own choices."

"Yes, that's understood," Violette concedes, "and it's one more reason it has to be you. Noah knows Mia better than any of us, and he's confident you'll know how to handle her."

Erin raises an eyebrow. She finds it a little bold to assume she can manage Mia Wilder—who apparently is every bit as headstrong as she seemed—and even bolder that all of it rests on the word of a lanky kid with the eyes of a lost puppy.

"Access to her routine?" she asks.

"Complete. That's the core idea: that you make whatever changes are necessary to prevent or minimize these episodes."

"And if I decide to walk away before the contract is up?"

"Fifteen days' notice. Barring a justified emergency, there won't be an issue—that's also in the contract."

Erin picks up the folder again.

"I need to think about it."

"Of course, but if you'll allow me—I need your answer by tomorrow morning. The team leaves Monday, and if it's not you, I have to start pursuing other options. I'd appreciate hearing from you before nine." Violette slides one of her business cards across the table.

"Okay. I'll call you then."

"Thank you for your time. I won't keep you any longer." The attorney stands. "And eat," she adds, nodding toward Erin's bowl. "You'll need the energy to keep up with the Wild tour."

Violette leaves and Erin stays at the table with her dinner and the document in front of her. Her hands are in her lap, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular—except for those blue eyes that keep slipping into her mind without permission.

It's past eleven at night when she gets back to her apartment after her shift. She drops her things, kicks off her boots, and goes straight to the bathroom to shower. She pulls on a short-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of boxers she only wears to sleep because she finds them more comfortable than underwear, then pads over tothe couch, completely drained. It's been a weird week—day shifts mixed with nights, and an event where she ended up treating a singer whose label now wants her to come along for the tour.