The Money Man. Carolyn McSparren

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      “Is that all?”

      “Oh, that is very much all. Or is likely to be if we’re not careful.”

      “Meaning?”

      “Meaning that everyone connected with the clinic is going to have to start generating income big-time or make do with a great deal less in the way of resources for the foreseeable future.”

      “No problem.” She hesitated. “How much income? And how much less are we talking about?”

      He sighed. “That’s the thing. We’re only now going fully operational 24–7, and you are the low man on the totem pole, since you are the newest vet.”

      “And?”

      “That means we need you not only to cover the large animals, but to work small animals most evenings and some weekends.”

      She sat up. “And I sleep and eat when?”

      “You’ll have time off during the day and at least two—possibly three—weekends a month, but most of that time you’ll still be on-call for large-animal emergencies.”

      “For how long?”

      He opened his hands. “A few weeks, maybe a few months.”

      “Uh-huh.” She leaned back and peered at him. He avoided her eyes. “I don’t mind the hours, since I obviously don’t have any other life yet. What else?”

      “There have been a few construction problems, delays, cost overruns. Nothing unusual in the start-up phase of an operation this size.”

      “Rick said that.”

      “The thing is, Rick tends to make promises—all in good faith—that he may not be able to deliver on.”

      “What precisely can he not deliver on?” Her drink splashed onto her jeans.

      “Calm down. We’re talking a little glitch here.”

      “How little?”

      “At the moment, there aren’t sufficient funds to equip more than one operating theater for large animals, and even that is not quite finished. We need additional lights, for one thing.”

      “Is that all? I can’t operate on more than one animal at a time, anyway, and we can always bring in portable lights for a few days. You had me worried. As long as I’ve got the diagnostic equipment and the other stuff…”

      “Yes, well. Unfortunately, that is the other problem. We don’t quite have all the equipment yet.”

      She set her drink down on the plastic table beside her. “The equipment is nonnegotiable, Mr. Scott. Why do you think I uprooted my life and dragged myself down here to work with Rick? He promised me lasers, ultrasound, magnetic imagery, fluoroscopes, an anesthesia machine—a state-of-the-art operating theater.”

      “And you’ll get all of it, Dr. Marsdon. Just not in the next few months.”

      “But it’s ordered, right? You’re simply having a problem with delivery dates?”

      “Unfortunately, no. The orders have been held up.”

      “By whom? You? Scrooge Scott?”

      “That’s my job.”

      “Who says?”

      “The bank says, the stockholders say, the mortgage company says, and most of all, the medical equipment supply houses that require payment before they ship so much as a scalpel say.”

      “Then, send them the money.”

      “At the moment that is not possible. I’m just the messenger, doctor.”

      “At the moment, if I had a gun, I’d shoot the messenger, just like in the old days, Mr. Scott. I can guess what a building like that clinic costs, and the equipment I want is small potatoes next to that. Don’t tell me you can’t find that money, because I do not believe you.”

      “That’s your choice. The point is, I can’t until I’m certain that this place is going to fly and not turn into another dog and cat hospital where pampered pigs get their damn nails clipped!”

      “I’m surprised you’re paying for this place. Can you afford it?” She heard the contempt in her voice and wished she’d suppressed it, but the sort of obstruction she was running into from a man who didn’t understand the problem pushed all her buttons at once.

      “We’re getting the corporate rate, and Rick promised you moving expenses.”

      “And this place is a sop to keep me pacified so that I don’t pitch a fit about the equipment he promised me? A couple of thousand bucks to stave off paying a couple of hundred thousand?”

      “There’s no point in continuing this discussion at the moment, Doctor. We can go into the circumstances tomorrow when you’re more…rested.” He put his glass down and walked back into the bedroom.

      “You think you’ll be able to handle me tomorrow? Forget it. Rested, I just get tougher.”

      “Good night, Doctor. You’ll find some food in the refrigerator, in case you don’t want to go out.”

      She heard the door open and close a little harder than necessary. She picked up the crystal glass, ready to hurl it after him, then stopped. She’d only have to clean up the mess afterward.

      She sat and took a swig of her drink, then coughed as it hit the bottom of her throat. She could feel the bourbon all the way down to her toes. She set the glass down, suddenly feeling guilty about yelling at Mark. She was tired, more tired than she’d realized. But she had counted on that equipment. She’d been promised that equipment, and Mr. Mark Scott was going to have to come up with a stronger argument than lack of funds if he expected her to accept the delay.

      If only she had enough money to buy the things herself. But she didn’t, even though she’d finally almost paid off her student loans. Truth was, even if Steve Stapleton in St. Paul had broken down and allowed her to buy a partnership in his clinic, she’d have had to hock her eyeballs to get the money together.

      No, the thing to do was to persuade Mark that the equipment was crucial to the success of the clinic.

      She took her drink into the kitchen and poured the rest down the sink. Pity to waste good bourbon, but she didn’t want to pass out in the Jacuzzi. She opened the small refrigerator and found eggs, bacon, bread, butter, sweet rolls, and an assortment of sandwich makings with condiments. Good. She could take her sandwich and a soda, and dine while the water washed away all her aches and pains.

      Tomorrow was soon enough to tackle Mark. Tomorrow she’d meet the staff, assess the facilities, and do some real work. Tomorrow she’d start lining up allies in her battle against the bureaucracy. This was one battle she expected to win, and win quickly. Mark Scott didn’t have a clue how hard—and how dirty—she could fight. When it came to her СКАЧАТЬ