Page 26 of Clinically Awkward

“You’re wearing sunglasses indoors,” I pointed out, unable to help myself.

Fitz leaned back in his chair, waving a hand dismissively. “The fluorescent lighting is very aggressive.”

Gabriel grinned, “It’s the same lighting we have every week.”

Fitz shrugged, still refusing to remove the sunglasses. “Well, this week it’s particularly aggressive.”

Julien eyed him carefully. “Fitz, are you hungover?”

Fitz’s answer was swift and unconvincing. “No.”

Julien raised an eyebrow. “Are you lying?”

Fitz hesitated. “Possibly.”

Gabriel shot back, “Definitely.”

Hayden, who had been silent up until now, looked up from his tablet and deadpanned, “You smell like a distillery.”

Fitz grinned, unbothered. “That’s cologne.”

Gabriel chimed in, “No cologne smells like that unless it’s called ‘Regret’ and sold exclusively at gas stations.”

Fitz insisted, with mock seriousness, “I’m fine. Can we please continue with the meeting? I’m very interested in the fiscal quarter schedule.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “You’ve never been interested in the fiscal quarter schedule.”

Fitz straightened his posture, feigning sincerity. “Well, I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m a changed man. I’m invested in administrative efficiency.”

Julien smirked, “You don’t even know what fiscal quarter means.”

“It’s the quarter where we... fiscalize things,” Fitz replied, causing Nathan to laugh so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

Julien looked as if he were reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this moment. After a moment of laughter, Julien sighed and tapped his tablet, signaling a return to business. “Okay. Fine. Fitz is hungover, but we’re going to ignore him and move on because I have triplets at home who haven’t slept in three days, and if I don’t finish this schedule, my spouse is going to hex me with some kind of universe-based punishment that I don’t understand but am genuinely afraid of.”

“That’s fair,” Gabriel said, flashing a sly smile.

“Very reasonable,” I agreed, still amused by the chaos.

“Now,” Julien continued, “as I was saying, the third week of September is going to be challenging because we have two doctors on vacation, and I need to make sure we have adequate coverage for⁠—”

The door slammed open.

Winnie stormed in.

And when I say “stormed,” I mean she entered that conference room like a category-five hurricane with a personal vendetta against one specific British OBGYN. Her hair was disheveled. Her eyes were wild. And she was holding a Starbucks cup as if it were the only thing keeping her from committing homicide.

“Fitzpatrick Lovejoy, I am going to kill you.”

Fitz went very, very still, his face draining of color as the reality of his predicament set in.

Nathan grinned, eyes sparkling with anticipation, rubbing his hands together like a kid about to witness a fireworks show. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Julien straightened his posture, adopting his trademark air of professionalism. “That’s a very serious threat, Ms. Potter. I’m not sure it’s appropriate for the workplace,” he said, though a weary resignation crept into his voice.

Winnie’s grip on her Starbuck’s cup tightened. “Do you know what that British walking disaster had me doing at three o’clock this morning?” she demanded, shooting Fitz a glare that could shatter glass.

Nathan didn’t miss a beat. “Sleeping?” he offered, his tone teasing, clearly enjoying the drama.