“Your goddam patient flipped out in the computer room and kicked me in the face. Motherfucker broke my nose and loosened two teeth.”

“Mick did this? Why?”

“Who the fuck knows? Guy’s a fucking psycho. Look at me, Dominique. How am I supposed to compete in the Mr.Florida contest looking like this? I swear to God, I’m gonna get that son of a bitch if it’s the last thing I do—”

“No you won’t. You’re not going to do a thing to him. And if anything should happen, I won’t hesitate to bring criminal charges against you.”

Raymond leans forward menacingly. “Is that the way it’s gonna be between us? First you blow me off, then you’re gonna have me arrested?”

“Hey, I didn’t blow you off, I got tied up in a meeting with Foletta. You’re the one who got himself switched to the night shift. As for Michael Gabriel, he’s my patient, and I’ll be damned if—”

“Not anymore. Foletta received a call this afternoon from your advisor. Looks like your patient load around here is about to change.”

Damn you, Owen, do you always have to be so goddam efficient? “Is Foletta still here?”

“At this hour? You gotta be kidding.”

“Ray, listen to me, I know you’re mad at Mick, but I’ll … I’ll make you a deal. Stay away from him and—and I’ll help you prepare for your bodybuilding contest. I’ll even apply makeup to those raccoon eyes of yours so you won’t scare the judges.”

Raymond folds his arms across his inflated chest. “Not good enough. You still owe me a night out.” He flashes a yellowed smile. “Not just a quick Italian dinner, either. I want to have some fun, you know, do a little dancin’, a little romancin’—”

“One date, that’s it, and I’m not interested in any romance.”

“Give me a chance, Sunshine. I tend to grow on people.”

So does fungus. “One date, and you stay away from Gabriel.”

“Agreed.”

She passes through the security checkpoint and enters the elevator.

Raymond watches her leave, lust in his eyes as he focuses on the contours of her glutei maximi.

There is only one guard on duty on the seventh floor, and his attention is focused on the National League Championship Series.

“Hi, Marvis. Who’s winning?”

Marvis Jones looks up from the television. “Cubs are up by two going into the bottom of the eighth. What are you doing here so late?”

“I came by to see my patient.”

Marvis looks worried. “I don’t know, Dom. It’s kind of late—” A roar from the crowd forces him back to the screen. “Shit, the Phillies just tied it.”

“Come on, Marvis.”