Lover Unleashed - J. R. Ward [181]
“Thanks.”
As Manny mopped up and headed for the door, he had a moment’s pause as he realized no one was moving: Everybody in the place had stopped whatever he was doing and was staring at him. Quick check downward and he knew he wasn’t suffering from a wardrobe malfunction. What the hell?
In the elevator, he stretched his legs and his arms and thought, Hell, he could go another ten . . . fifteen miles easy. And in spite of the hooch, he’d had a cracking night’s sleep apparently, because he felt wide-awake and full of energy—but that was endorphins for you. Even when you were falling apart, a running buzz was better than caffeine . . . or sobriety.
Undoubtedly he was going to crash at some point, but he’d worry about that when the exhaustion hit.
Half an hour later, he walked into the Starbucks on Everett that he and Goldberg had first met in years ago—only, of course, back then the little café hadn’t been taken over by the chain yet. The guy had been an alum of Columbia and applying for an internship at St. Francis and Manny had been on the recruiting team that had been convened to snag the bastard—Goldberg had been a star, even back then, and Manny had wanted to build the strongest department in the country.
As he got in line to order a venti latte, he looked around. The place was packed, but Goldberg had already gotten them a table at the window. No surprise there. That surgeon was always early for meetings—he’d likely been here for a good fifteen, twenty minutes. He wasn’t scanning for Manny, though. He was staring into his paper mug as if he were trying to psychically stir his cappuccino.
Ah . . . he had a message.
“Manuel?” the guy behind the counter called out.
Manny accepted what he’d ordered and threaded in and around the caffeine addicts, the displays of mugs and CDs, and the triangled whiteboard that announced specials.
“Hey,” he said as he took the seat across from Goldberg.
The other surgeon glanced up. And did a double take. “Ah . . . hey.”
Manny took a sip of java and eased back in the chair, the curved back rail biting into his spine. “How you been?”
“I’m . . . good. God, you look fantastic.”
Manny rubbed his stubbled jaw. What a lie that was. He hadn’t bothered to shave, and he was in a fleece sweatshirt and blue jeans. Hardly pinup material.
“Let’s cut through the pleasantries.” Manny took another pull on his latte. “What do you have to tell me.”
Goldberg’s eyes shot off in all kinds of different directions. Until Manny took pity on him.
“They want me to go on a leave of absence, don’t they.”
Goldberg cleared his throat. “The hospital board feels that it would be best for . . . everyone.”
“They asked you to be acting chief, yes?”
Another throat clearing. “Ah . . .”
Manny put his mug down. “It’s okay. It’s cool. I’m glad—you’re going to be great.”
“I’m sorry . . .” Goldberg shook his head. “I . . . This just feels so wrong. But . . . you can always come back, you know, later. Besides, the rest has done you good. I mean, you look—”
“Fantastic,” Manny said drily. “Uh-huh.”
That was what people told folks they felt sorry for.
The pair of them drank their coffees for a while in silence, and Manny wondered if the guy was thinking the same thing he was: Christ, how shit had changed. When they’d first been in this place, Goldberg had been as nervous as he was now, just for such a very different reason. And who’d have predicted that Manny would be getting benched. Back then, he’d been gunning for the top and nothing was going to stop him—or did.
Which made his reaction to this request from the board a surprise. He actually wasn’t all that upset. He felt . . . unplugged somehow, as if it were happening to someone he’d once known, but had long since lost touch with: Yeah, it was a big deal, but . . . whatever.
“Well—” The sound of his phone ringing cut him off. And the clue as to what really mattered to him was in the way he scrambled like his fleece had caught fire to get the thing out.
It wasn’t Payne, however. It was the vet.
“I have to take