Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I nodded. Fair was fair, after all. “Something is wrong with my voice. It started out with just a pitch change here or there, like puberty, you know?” She nodded but said nothing, content to let me finish as if she could sense how hard this was for me. “My voice is scratchy and I have a lump in my throat. I’m terrified it’s cancer so I haven’t sung a damn thing in three months, and since I can’t sing, my words seemed to have abandoned me, as well.” Truthfully, it was starting to scare the shit out of me. If I lost my voice, my writing, who would I be?
“Cancer is a bit of a leap, Gavin. I’m not belittling your concerns, but as a professional singer there are plenty of non-cancerous issues that could be related to your throat and vocal chords.”
“But it could be cancer, right?”
“Yes,” she conceded. “It’s also a possibility.”
“Right.” I groaned and shook my head, swallowing around the literal and physical lump in my throat. “Just what I figured.”
Suzie sat up and planted her elbows on the table, fingertips touching in a steeple. “When you were a thirteen-year-old kid, daydreaming about thrusting your hips on stage to thousands of screaming fans, did you stop when people told you that you didn’t have the right look? Did you give up after that first record deal fell through? Or when they tried to turn you into the lead singer of a boy band?”
Shit. Suzie Wright was a true blue fan. “No, obviously not.”
“That’s right. You got a fake ID, learned about fashion, and started working the nightclub circuit on your own. You made it happen in a notoriously difficult industry as a kid. Here at JRMC, we have a team of world-class doctors with a variety of specialties. Before I figure out which specialists to let in on our little party, I need to know what’s wrong with you. Or, if you prefer, we can let each of them run a battery of tests on you to figure out what’s wrong?”
“You missed your calling as a motivational speaker or life coach, Suzie.”
She laughed. “Same skills apply for big bad rock stars afraid of a little diagnosis.” She pushed away from the large oak table and stood. “Are you going to let your fear get in the way of a few more records? Another Album of the Year award? Are you going to let what’s probably a non-cancerous nodule define the rest of your days and retire young, or are you going to pull up those leather pants and get ready to sing your tush off again?”
Damn, she really was inspiring as hell. And beautiful. And curvy. “Tush?”
“Damn right,” she shot back. “Now, Gavin, what’s it going to be?”
I sighed, knowing when I was beat. “Run your tests, Suzie Wright. Next week?”
“Tomorrow at four. Delaying the tests won’t change the diagnosis, but it could potentially limit our treatment options.” Her serious green eyes held mine for a long time as if she could make me believe it wasn’t cancer.
“Fine.”
She gathered her leather document holder and rounded the table, setting one gentle hand on my shoulder. “Don’t look so glum, Gavin Ross. If it makes you feel better, I’m not really a good and caring person. My concern is strictly selfish.”
I looked up at her, a question in my eyes. She’d already gone above what was necessary to get me tested and she thought she wasn’t a good person? “That’s a lie.”
Suzie shrugged. “If you wait too long and your voice can’t be fixed, whose music will be the soundtrack to my life?”
I blinked at the beautiful blond with hot-pink glasses that were giving off seriously sexy nerdy-girl vibes and smiled. “Be careful, Suzie, or you just might become my muse.”
Her cheeks turned an endearing shade of pink and suddenly, I wasn’t all that worried about spending a few months in Jackson’s Ridge. In fact, a few months might be just what I needed to get my voice fixed and my next album written. Without the chaos of Los Angeles and contractual obligations, I might even be able to get it done before the studio’s deadline.
Suzie
After yesterday’s mustard debacle, I opted for a simple garden salad for lunch today. My ability to plan and organize, unfortunately, did not extend to my ability to meal plan or figure out the next day’s lunch ahead of time. As the senior executive in the facility, one of the most useful perks was a discount on cafeteria food, which was good since I ate nearly all of my lunches inside the four peach walls of the cafeteria.
Not today, though. The plan was to grab a salad and head back to my office to double check the schedules of each grouping of staff, make sure no department was close to exceeding their budget and to act as go between for department heads. It was my job to keep JRMC running like the well-oiled machine I’d honed it to be over the years. If everyone had what they needed to do their respective jobs, we could continue to be the premier medical center outside of major universities in the state. My next goal was to get us certified as a level one trauma center.