“What I think Dr. Park is suggesting, Miss Blake, is that there’s a certain behavior becoming of doctors and other behavior that doesn’t fit the image very well.” Ottis Piper removed his eyes from her and peered through his glasses to the paper before him. “At least the image Denver Memorial considers acceptable. Boots and T-shirts are not part of that image.”

Sherry raised an eyebrow, teetering precariously on the fence between total submission to these in white coats and bull-frank honesty.

She knew submission would bode well for her career. Suck it up, baby. Swallow all their nasty foolishness with a yawning gullet. Tell them what they want to hear and get on with your life.

Whatever’s left of it.

Bull-frank honesty, on the other hand, might give momentary satisfaction but would most probably leave her wishing she had swallowed their nonsense after all. Unfortunately, the chill now washing over her head seemed to have frozen her mouth, and no matter how desperately part of her wanted to apologize, she could not.

“Oh? Are you dissatisfied with my work, Dr. Piper? Or is it just this image thing that has you in stitches?”

That set the gray-haired British import back a few inches. His eyes expanded. “I’m not sure you understand the nature of this review, Miss Blake. We’re here to discuss your behavior, not ours.” His accent bit off each word precisely and Sherry found herself wanting to reach out and shove something into that mouth. A sock, maybe.

Her mind was urgently suggesting she retract herself from this insane course. After all, interns sucked up. It was a skill learned in med school. Suck-up 101.

“I apologize, Mr. Piper. I spoke too soon.” She attempted a polite smile, wondering if it looked more like a snarl. “I will pay more attention to the way I dress, although in my defense, I’ve worn boots and T-shirts only once, last week, on my day off. I came to visit a patient who needed a hand to hold.”

Director Moreland watched like an eagle from his side perch, not unfriendly necessarily, but not friendly either. Park, the last of the trio, spoke. “Just watch your dress, Miss Blake. We run a professional institution here, not a recreational park.”

“Professional? Or militant? Dress isn’t an issue in most hospitals anymore. Maybe you should get out a bit more.”

Piper peered over the bifocals he’d mounted on his nose and cleared his throat. “It seems we have a matter of slightly greater importance to discuss. In the past two weeks you’ve fallen asleep three times while on duty. One of those times you missed a patient call.” He paused.

“Yes,” Sherry said, “I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s as simple as sleep, Miss Blake. I think it has more to do with the lack of sleep.” Sherry’s fingers felt suddenly cool, drained of blood. Where was the Brit headed with this?

“You see, lack of sleep is a problem with our profession. Tired doctors make mistakes. Sometimes big ones—the kind of mistakes that kill people. And we don’t want to kill people, do we now?”