Chapter Text
Beatrice has made a mistake.
She couldn’t tell this was a western themed bar from the outside. It looked like a very normal, corner bar on the street.
The only reason she’s here at all is because it’s so damn hard to fall asleep in a new city. She feels like she should be used to it by now, given how often she moves between them - but still, each new job brings with it a new set of anxieties.
So she likes to find a place near her hotel to grab a few drinks and settle her nerves the night before. Once she meets everyone and figures out the logistics of the assignment, then it’s easier. It’s all numbers and strategies and the things she’s actually good at.
Those first impressions though, when she sets foot in front of her clients, those are the hard part.
Still, Beatrice had no clue this bar across the street was full of cowboys until she walked in and found herself face to face with the enormous head of an elk stuck on the wall.
Far be it from Beatrice to not make the most out of any situation though, she’s tired from the flight and everyone inside seems to be having a good time so she should have no trouble slipping to the bar for a couple of drinks before heading back to her room.
At least the music isn’t terrible, she doesn’t recognize it, but the vibe is good - not at all the country music she associates with the genre. There’s no heavy ballad about a truck or a dog or a lost love - it’s just smooth guitar and a raspy female voice soothing over the bar.
There’s a clear path to the bar with tables on either side. To the right beyond the seating area is a pool table and gaming room with assorted bar games currently full up with people laughing and having fun.
Beatrice hasn’t played pool since college, she wonders briefly if she’s still as good as she used to be. When her and Lilith would shark people for money to pay for everything from dinner to exuberant textbook fees.
She’s now very glad she didn’t bother to wake Lilith up to come with her because that’s exactly where Lilith would have dragged her to first.
By the time Beatrice makes it to the bar she sees an open seat to the right and sets herself up there, thankful she put on a pair of brown slacks. Because while the bar doesn’t look to be dirty, there’s a rustic, worn in vibe that probably wouldn't play well with any of her dress pants.
She takes in the bar itself, with its glass counter with everything from license plates to flyers for rodeos laminated beneath it. A far cry from the rooftop bar she was in two months ago in Miami - all palm trees and gorgeous sunsets.
Behind the bar is the classic wall of liquors and spirits - all brightly colored with neon signs for every kind of cheap beer and commercial quality hard liquor imaginable.
“What can I get’cha?” The bartender slides up to her, he’s not wearing a cowboy hat, but his shirt is button down and striped and his belt buckle clicks against the glass as he leans forward.
He fits the room perfectly, the mustache helps.
Beatrice takes a half second to decide. “You wouldn't happen to have any Lagavulin would you?”
This makes him laugh. “Oh, a woman after my own heart! Sadly we don’t have anything quite that nice here, but I think I can sense your taste and set you up with something to satisfy.”
It’s late and she’s basically hotwired from her flight, so why not? “Alright, I’ll trust you just this once.”
“S’all I need.” He turns then and plucks a bottle off the wall before looking back at her. “Rocks?” He asks and Beatrice shakes her head. This answer seems to satisfy him. “I need more customers like you,” he says as she watches him pour her drink into a short glass about halfway up.
He sets it on a coaster with the bar’s logo on it and slides it her way.
Thankfully, the bar is busy enough that he doesn't linger. He seems nice, but Beatrice isn’t really up for small talk and while she can understand he’s attractive by the standard, he is decidedly not her type in any way.
At this point Beatrice is convinced she doesn’t have a type. Her life is too hectic for a type - too much travel and stress and an endless stream of ever changing finish lines that keep her too busy for a type.
So instead she settles for simplicity. She likes to enjoy her lovelife in small, compact moments. A cute girl she meets at the airport who she shares a cab with ends up coming to her hotel room for a night or someone she enjoyed working with gets a night out to dinner and a complimentary breakfast in the morning when the job is done.
Beatrice treats each encounter with care. She’s tender and giving, of course a lot of the personality she presents to them is a front, but she is very clear from the start that it is merely that.
An encounter.
Nothing more or less, her job is too important. Especially now that she’s opened her own firm, putting not only her career, but those around her as well, in her own hands.
Twirling her glass, Beatrice sips the scotch given to her and has to admit that it’s not bad. Not the best she’s ever had, but for a random bar in the middle of Colorado, it’s good enough.
“Howdy partner!” The voice that calls out is close, and the accent is incredibly overdone, but it’s enough to get Beatrice’s attention.
She turns to her right as a girl slides into the seat next to her.
Stunning. It’s the first word that comes to Beatrice’s mind when she sees her. A beautiful face with dark eyes and a big, beaming smile. The girl is wearing a black button down with little gray spurs on it. It’s smaller though, tied at the front overtop of a matching black tank top that shows off some remarkable cleavage.
To match, she has on a very tight pair of dark denim jeans and cowboy boots as well. “Hello,” Beatrice offers back, unable to resist the charming grin staring back at her.
“You look like how I feel,” she says, propping an elbow on the table as she sits on the stool sideways to look directly at Beatrice.
“How is that?”
“Out of place,” she says with a laugh.
Beatrice can't help but return it. “You certainly don’t seem out of place.”
“Oh you mean the outfit?” Beatrice nods. “Yeah no this was…we’ve been planning on coming here for a while for a friend of mine’s birthday. Was supposed to be tonight but it turns out she’s sick and had to stay home - but I was all primed up to go and it felt a shame to waste the outfit.” She takes off her cowboy hat and sets it down on the bar. “But I must be doing something right if you think I look the part.”
Sipping her scotch, Beatrice feels the pull of attraction strike her. This girl is beautiful, fit and charming - she has a nice energy and it’s very hard to not stare at the places her outfit is drawing attention to.
In a few blinks, Beatrice decides to test the waters. “Someone as beautiful as you, I’d imagine you can pull off just about anything.”
When one of the girl’s eyebrows shoots up, matching her smirk, Beatrice knows she has an inroad. “That’s not a line is it?”
“Everything is a line,” Beatrice sends back. “What matters is finding someone worth using it on.”
“So you think I’m worthy of a good pickup line?”
She lets the liquor sit on her tongue, giving this girl a once over. “I believe a good pickup line is made for someone like you.”
That seems to do the trick because she sees the girl scoot her stool closer, dragging her cowboy hat along with her. The closer she gets, the more Beatrice can smell the delightful green apple scent of her shampoo. “So what are you drinking?”
“Scotch,” she says, tipping the glass to her lips. “Can I get you something?”
“Wouldn’t say no to a cuba libre.”
Beatrice laughs. “I think we might have to go with the layman's term here.”
“What, you don’t think Cowboy Bill behind the bar over there knows what a cuba libre is?”
She turns just in time to see the bartender let out a very loud shout as a certain song starts to pick up steam on the radio. “Something tells me no,” she looks back at her new drinking partner, who is now only a foot or so away from her, so close Beatrice can see the gloss of her lips, the beautiful color of her eyes.
At this point, Beatrice has no doubt she wants to see what this girl looks like when she comes.
“So, what’s your name?” The girl asks, and Beatrice is about to say it when she feels fingertips dancing along her forearm. She looks down, watching the movement trace across the muscle in her arm and then smiles.
“Beatrice.”
“Hmm, I like that,” the touch on her forearm lifts, the same hand extended towards her. “Hi Beatrice, my name is Ava.” Their hands meet and Beatrice is taken with the strong grip that she finds. Ava’s hold lingers, just as her gaze does.
She’s not as skilled in silent communication as she was in grad school, but she’s fairly certain Ava is feeling the same thing she is. “How about I get you that drink?”
Ava grins. “First round is yours, the second is on me. Deal?”
“Sounds fair.”
-------------------
“So how the hell did you end up in this bar?” Ava asks, tipping the last of her fourth (fifth?) drink down and placing the glass down beside her. “No offense, you just seem…you stick out.”
Beatrice sighs, completely aware of how easily the scotch is going down now. Also even more aware of the fact that there is basically no distance between the two of them now. Beatrice has turned as Ava did, to face each other, and now Ava’s knee is basically sitting in between Beatrice’s legs.
“By mistake, my hotel is nearby and I needed something to take the usual edge off before I start a new job.”
Ava hums again, a deep vibration from her throat that rumbles through Beatrice’s bones. “So your hotel is nearby?”
“It is,” Beatrice says, but if she’s being entirely honest, she doesn't want to waste the time it would take to walk back - or risk losing the nice buzz she has. “As you pointed out, I don’t exactly fit in.”
“Good for me, I think - you standing out meant I was able to find you.”
Beatrice grins, feeling a touch of heat in her cheeks - Ava’s incredibly blunt and disarming, but warm. She makes Beatrice want to do something stupid. “I consider myself the lucky one,” Beatrice reaches out, draping her hand on Ava’s knee. “You could have anyone you desired in this place, the fact that you approached me is a delightful confidence boost.”
“As if you need it,” Ava says, blinking a bit slower when Beatrice’s hand slides up her leg - she’s beyond being subtle - she wants Ava, as soon as possible. “Bea?” Ava whispers now, just enough that it carries between them. “How much longer are we gonna blow smoke up each other’s asses before we just admit we wanna fuck?”
Oh? So much for subtlety.
Beatrice can work with this. “I don’t have time for strings.”
“I can work with that.” Ava takes her hand then, pulling it in and putting it on her waist. Beatrice presses her thumb into Ava’s stomach, feeling her muscle tense. “In fact, why do we need to wait? Just sit here, count to twenty, and follow me into the bathroom.”
That…that catches Beatrice off guard. “You want to do it here?”
Ava shrugs. “Why not? I can be quiet and you look like you know how to hold a moan.” Ava leans forward then, pressing her hands down high on Beatrice’s thighs. “Unless you really want to go all the way back to your hotel with the knowledge that I’m already wet for you.”
She’s learning very quickly that Ava is seductive and potentially dangerous. Because in any other situation, the prospect of having sex in a random bathroom, in a random bar, in a random city in the midwest with a stranger would send her running for the door.
But with Ava, she catches herself actively considering it. Beatrice lives her life in consequences and right now she’s trying to sort out in her mind why this is a terrible idea.
The only reason she can truly come up with is that they might be caught - and if she’s being honest with herself, she couldn’t care less.
She doesn't know anyone here, she’s never setting foot in this bar again after tonight - even if she might be stuck here for the next three months, this bar is not for her and once the first night jitters are gone she won’t need the late night drink to help her sleep.
If they do it here, she won’t have to deal with that awkward moment where she needs Ava to leave so she can sleep before her first meeting in the morning. They can take care of it here, shake hands (after properly washing them, of course) and both have a good memory to call back on if they happen to wake up in the middle of the night restless.
So in the course of about ten seconds, which feels like it stretches on far longer, Beatrice makes up her mind. “I’ll go first, give me sixty seconds.”
Ava grins. “One Mississippi,” she starts and Beatrice rolls her eyes before pounding the rest of her drink and shuffling off towards the bathroom. “Two Mississippi.”
She moves a little faster as she hears Ava continuing her countdown and realizes she’s on a real time limit.
The bathroom itself is, well, it’s a lot like the bar itself.
Dark, which is kind of a bonus for this situation. Fake wood walls and gunmetal stalls. There’s one woman at the sink, applying some kind of makeup to her eyes with her bag open by the sink.
She doesn’t so much as give Beatrice a second look as she slips into the second stall and closes the door behind her, not latching it.
Beatrice takes a deep breath, letting the cloudiness of her buzz take control - the trembling heat in her lower abdomen is boiling over. She’s there, she’s ready and when she hears the bathroom door open again, country music coming through in a short burst before it closes, she waits.
“Bea?” Ava calls out, very clearly in the stall next to her.
“One over,” she says back, worried that the lady doing her makeup is still there and hearing everything.
A few moments later, her stall door opens and Beatrice sees that the lady is, in fact, still there, only now there’s two more girls at the sinks as well - these two are chatting with one another but none of them seem to notice Beatrice in the stall Ava goes into.
“Hey,” Ava whispers, not hesitating to move into Beatrice’s personal space.
When Ava’s breasts press into Beatrice’s body, she suddenly doesn’t mind either. “Hello,” Beatrice says back. “How do you mmmf,”
Ava kisses her, not waiting another second and Beatrice’s body responds instantly. Her hands slip behind Ava’s bag, balling up the material of her spur patterned button down and tilting her head to the side.
Ava tastes faintly of vanilla from her choice in rum. Her lips are so soft and warm, and when she opens her mouth and runs her tongue along Beatrice’s bottom lip, the invitation is accepted instantly.
Their hands start to travel then, Beatrice feels Ava’s slide down her back, reaching for her butt and running softly over it before her fingers dig in and squeeze.
Beatrice surprises herself when she gasps, moving both hands to Ava’s face and cupping her cheeks. She lets her fingers rise up into Ava’s hair and turns so she’s pressing Ava into the stall and seizing control of the situation.
“Bea,” Ava gasps, probably too loudly but she couldn’t care less. Her body is too warm, her desire too strong. She wants to taste Ava, to feel how warm and wet she is.
To make her come.
“You have to be quiet, remember? You said you could be.”
Ava nods, “I can, but I don’t give a fuck if I’m not.”
Beatrice grins, using her fingers to snap the button of Ava’s jeans open. It comes undone easily enough, but they're too tight to slip inside, so she has to let Ava go just long enough to shuck them down her thighs.
When she does, she sees Ava’s panties, a barely there pair of black lace that ignites Beatrice’s desire even more. “You’re a problem,” she says, meaning it. Ava is the kind of girl that could ruin someone without even trying. So sexy and cute and forward.
“I’ve heard that my whole life,” she says, so proud of it too.
Beatrice leans forward and kisses her, gathering Ava’s bottom lip between her teeth and dragging it out as her hand dips into Ava’s panties.
She’s soaked, completely willing and ready to take whatever Beatrice has to offer.
The first thing Beatrice does is find Ava’s clit and run two fingers over it in testing circles, wanting to figure out exactly what Ava likes.
Meanwhile, their kisses have turned sloppy, uncoordinated as Ava is clearly focusing on the way Beatrice is working her over in slow, sensual circles.
She moans, a breathy, sweet little thing that Beatrice swallows down before she takes her two middle fingers and dips them into Ava’s cunt.
That does the most damage because Ava falls forward then, teeth sinking into the apex of Beatrice’s neck and shoulder. It’s a sharp bite, but Beatrice enjoys it. She’s always had the slightest taste for pain in her pleasure - nothing too wild, but biting is on the table.
Ava’s hands are tugging at the bottom of Beatrice’s shirt as she’s being fingered, then she feels those hands slide up her back, nails raking against her skin. It’s not enough to do any real damage, but she’s certain there are red marks being left behind.
Beatrice latches her tongue onto Ava’s pulse, feeling the teeth on her neck release just as Ava cries out. It’s too loud, if there’s anyone still in this bathroom they’ve heard it - but Beatrice doesn’t care.
Her lips move down Ava’s neck, across her collarbone and then to the top of her breasts. It seems such a shame to have Ava here this one time and not appreciate what she is certain are a fantastic pair of breasts.
So Beatrice uses her free hand and unties the knot on Ava’s button down shirt and then lifts her tank top up.
Ava’s bra matches her panties, black lace and frilly. Her breasts are, in fact, magnificent and Beatrice watches Ava’s face, twisted in pleasure as Beatrice pumps in and out of her again and again.
Waiting, she watches Ava’s eyes find her and then glances down at her breasts before looking back up, quietly asking permission.
She’s given a quick nod and that’s all she needs. Beatrice pulls Ava’s bra up, exposing her to the chilly air of the bathroom. Her nipples are hard already, too tempting, Beatrice dips her head down and captures one in her mouth.
This time, she’s the one who moans, loving the feel of Ava’s nipple between her lips.
Beatrice has never done anything like this before. Once she was finally able to come to grips not only with her sexuality, but her healthy desire for sexual contact, Beatrice let herself enjoy it.
Still, it’s never been like this. Never been so needy and desperate - certainly never in the bathroom of a bar.
But the feel of Ava is too much, it’s consuming her and she’s happy to devour every bit of it.
“Faster,” Ava whispers and Beatrice refocuses, happy to comply.
She lets Ava’s breast go and takes in the sight of her. Shirt and bra rucked up her chest, head thrown back, pants and around her thighs and hanging onto Beatrice for dear life.
She’s beautiful.
“There, right there,” Ava’s voice is too loud, Beatrice shushes her but it doesn't seem to work. “I’m close, I’m gonna, I’m…I can't-”
Beatrice knows what’s happening and leans in, kissing her hard as she captures the moan Ava lets rip through her chest when she comes.
Ava’s cunt clenches around Beatrice’s fingers, her thighs squeeze together as she quivers and shakes - her poor head smashing into the wall of the bathroom stall but she hardly seems to notice.
It takes Ava a few seconds to come back to reality, her eyes glossed over and her mouth hanging open. When she meets Beatrice’s eyes, she smiles. “Holy shit, Bea.”
The nickname, on that tongue, strikes something in Beatrice’s chest. “Good?”
“Fuck,” Ava laughs breathlessly. “Give me a second and -”
“Uhm,” a voice outside the stall says, very timidly. “Is everything okay in there?”
Beatrice tenses, very gently taking her fingers out of Ava. “Yes, of course. My friend has just had a bit too much to drink. She’s feeling better though.”
Ava snorts. “That’s an understatement,” she whispers and Beatrice shoots a glare at her, which only makes her grin wider.
“Alright, well if you need any help.”
“We’re fine,” Beatrice says in her most professional voice. “Thank you.”
The next thing she knows, Ava is leaning forward and kissing her, it’s a bit chaste, softer - like a thank you. When they pull apart, Ava sighs. “Your turn?”
As much as Beatrice wants it - they’ve already drawn enough attention and it’s incredibly late - she does have to work in the morning. “Next time,” she says, knowing full well there won’t be a next time
Ava frowns, it’s far too adorable. “Are you sure?”
It takes every bit of resolve Beatrice has not to drag Ava back to her hotel room. “I am, this…you…were lovely, though.” She reaches out and helps Ava put herself back together. Tugging her top down and rearranging her bra as she does, then tying her spur patterned button down back together as Ava pulls her jeans up.
“I was lovely? You gave me the best orgasm I’ve had all year.”
“Glad to hear it.” Once she’s arranged, Beatrice gives herself one last, good look at Ava - letting her fingers brush a stray bit of hair behind her ear. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ava.”
“You too,” Ava sighs, then gives Beatrice one last kiss. “Get to your hotel safe, okay? I’ll go close out our tabs.”
“Oh no, I have -”
“Bea,” Ava silences her, the nickname falling so easily from her lips. “I’ve got it, get some rest, you seem like a busy woman, so I imagine you have an early morning ahead of you.”
That she does. “Alright, take care, Ava.” Beatrice meets her eyes one last time before she opens the bathroom door, not even bothering to see if anyone else in there is looking at her.
When she does make it back to her room that night, Beatrice climbs into bed with Ava’s smile in her head. The sound of her moans in her ears, and the taste of vanilla on her tongue.
It’s all the fuel she needs to get herself off before drifting to sleep.
-------------------
Beatrice always wakes up before an alarm, it’s one of her less satisfying skills.
She can tell immediately that she’s not at her best. A late night mixed with drinking and sex in a public bathroom have left her a bit exhausted at 5:45 in the morning.
Still, she finds herself smiling as she rolls over and clicks off the alarm on the clock at the side of her bed. Ava’s pretty face popping into her head again as she closes her eyes.
Last night felt a bit surreal. Beatrice has moved past her isolation phase, her repression phase (at last sexually, emotional baggage is another story), but to do it in a bathroom at some random bar with a stranger? No, even if she tells her friends about it point blank she’s certain they won’t believe her.
Not that she has any intention of telling them anything. Lilith is the only one here with her right now as they scout out this job and she’s already expecting a full run of hard stares and long suffering sighs at the fact that Beatrice went out last night at all.
There is a certain sadness in knowing that she’ll probably never see Ava again. Out of all the random encounters Beatrice has had with her job in the various places it has taken her, Ava is definitely the most interesting person she’s come across.
The energy she had was electric and contagious. Notwithstanding how beautiful she was, how attractive and sexy and charming.
Yeah, Beatrice thinks in another life, she could become fairly addicted to someone like Ava.
Unfortunately, life goes on and she’s certain Ava will be just fine. Beatrice has a job to do and a hospital to evaluate and it’s almost six now which means she has thirty minutes to get in her morning stretches before Lilith is texting her. Then another thirty after that before Lilith is pounding on her door.
So the morning goes on and Beatrice does her thing. This hotel is going to be her home for at least a month, probably more, so she spent most of her time yesterday sorting it out to fit her needs. She’s filled the closet with her belongings, set up her exercise mat in the corner with her cell phone dock to play music.
She stretches and goes through a few aikido moves to warm up her body - then showers and picks out her outfit for the day.
Dark dress pants and a white button down underneath a black blazer. She ties up her hair, thinking a bit of Ava and her free spirit before letting a few stray hairs slip free of the bun and frame her face.
She misses her blonde tips, perhaps one day when she isn’t working so hard to come across as a professional firm manager she can go back.
By the time she’s ready to go, like clockwork, there’s a knock on her door at seven.
Beatrice tucks away the files and notes she has on the hospital they're working with into her messenger briefcase before going to the door and opening it.
Lilith stands as rigid and proper as she always does - that narrow eyed glare Beatrice has been expecting all morning. “You had a long night.”
“Were you spying on me?”
“Hardly,” Lilith scoffs. “We’ve worked together for years now, Beatrice - I know your patterns.”
“My patterns?” Beatrice doesn't know why she’s being petulant. She absolutely has patterns.
“Yes, you find a bar your first night in the city, you drink because you’ve stressed yourself out so much thinking of every possible scenario that could go wrong, which is only doubled now that you’ve started your own firm and have dragged myself and some of our closest colleagues and friends into it and you worry constantly that you’re ruining all our lives.”
Beatrice really needs to start traveling with Mary more instead of Lilith. “Regardless, I’m more than prepared for today.”
“Of that I have no doubt. What was her name?”
Beatrice rolls her eyes and slides past Lilith, closing her hotel door behind her. “Did you get coffee?”
“We’ll stop on the way, answer the question.”
They both step into the elevator, Beatrice wondering how much longer she can maintain a silence before Lilith starts moving into her personal space with her prodding questions. “I didn’t bring anyone back with me.” She says, an honest answer.
Lilith’s eyes narrow. “You also weren’t home until well past one in the morning. “
“You were spying on me.”
“We share a wall, I heard your door open when you came home.”
Somehow, they’ve found a hotel with the slowest elevator in existence. “Well it was only me, I came home alone.”
That should be the end of it. She’s telling no lies. When the door to the elevator opens and they make their way through the lobby, Beatrice can still feel Lilith watching her. “So you went back to her place?”
“Oh my God, Lilith, fine! Yes, I met someone, no we did not go back to her place or to my hotel room, we went to the bathroom of the bar and dealt with it, then I came home and went to sleep, are you happy?”
She says it too loud, so much so that she’s almost certain the poor man working the front desk has heard, as did the family that is at checkout - but she doesn't care. So what if she’ll have to refuse eye contact with the people here for the next month (or however long they stay). She’s dealt with worse when it comes to her sex life.
As she pushes through the door into the chilly morning air, Lilith is cackling behind her.
“Wow, she must have been something to drag the patron saint of sanity and clear thinking into a bathroom stall for a quickie.”
Unfortunately, Beatrice doesn’t have a good response to that.
-------------------------
“Lilith, I know.”
“Do you?”
Beatrice pulls into a parking spot on the bottom level of the structure, their rental car is tiny so their bags are basically stuck in the center console between them and halfway on the backseat.
Lilith has already started digging things out, running the numbers and stating her opinions before they’ve even had their first meeting.
“I do,” she rattles a handful of paper around. “The offer made to them is tremendous and given their lower rates and the absurd amount of procedures that they have practically gifted to some of their patients I just don’t see how they can stay this deep in the red and maintain.”
“It’s not a lost cause, Lilith,” they both climb out of the car, gathering their things as more chilly air hits them. The parking structure is covered, but still exposed to the elements with open sides that look out into the city. “It’s one of the most well reviewed hospitals in the city, in the entire region and they have marketability.”
“One prodigy doctor is not enough to keep a hospital afloat.”
She knows it’s true, but based on the brief summary she was given on Dr. Silva, Beatrice thinks there must be something to it. Smart, marketable, compassionate, charming, one of the brightest and most uniquely gifted minds in medicine of the last fifty years.
All of it looks great on paper, but the declining revenue and fading Medicare reimbursement rates do not.
“They hired us to try and fix this, Lilith. To see what we can do to streamline patient care, help with funding and prevent them from having to sell and disband - so that’s what we’re going to try and do.”
She stops, just before they enter the hospital, giving Lilith a hard look to let her know she’s still the boss.
Thankfully, Lilith understands and at the end of the day, she brings Lilith with her because she’s very good at what she does. “Then let’s go get started.” They make their way inside, “you just know this Dr. Silva is going to be a kook though. She probably wears wicker shoes or treats broken bones with laughter or some shit.”
Beatrice is hoping not, she’s really and truly hoping this Dr. Silva is as good as the initial reports on her suggest because they're going to need all the help they can get, and a face to put behind new marketing or strategic financial increase would surely help.
The hospital itself is very warm and inviting. Where most hospitals are giant pillars and fluorescent lights, this one feels more personal.
The walls have murals and paintings scattered all across them - soft yellows and blues as far as the eye can see.
Lilith moves to the front desk to sort out where to go to their meeting as Beatrice continues to take in the hospital entryway. She can see and hear the movement of the emergency room just beyond the main wall. There are rows of chairs, only a few filled with people and there’s a woman going around with a chart, taking in information from people waiting.
The line seems pretty steady and the staff she can see behind the desk are all working hard.
Smaller hospitals such as this one are usually great for the treatment of their patients. Without the fancy equipment and endless streams of donor money, the only way a care center like this stays open is based on reputation.
Places like this go the extra mile, do the extra work, treat people like people. They are wonderful in theory, but Beatrice works in numbers and more often than not, the numbers do not add up to maintain it.
Extra effort doesn't work if it’s put towards people anymore - only money.
“Third floor,” Lilith says, back with her finger pointing towards the elevator.
Beatrice nods and follows, continuing to take in the emergency trauma room.
She sees a few doctors, a few nurses, all of them moving quickly and changing their tone, their smile, their cadence based on who they come across.
“Apparently the legend herself Dr. Silva is the rep of the emergency department. Front desk lady told me three times.” Lilith rolls her eyes. “Did you know Northwestern and St. Luke’s tried to send recruiters to lure her away? They didn’t even make it to a meeting with her before she turned them down.”
Beatrice hums as she steps into the elevator. “So she’s loyal.”
“Or this place is the only one that puts up with her crazy.”
“Suppose it’s not the worst way to keep a rising star on staff.”
When a man starts taking longer steps towards the elevator door to catch it, Lilith smashes the door close button.
Beatrice makes a face of apology as the door shuts. “There was room.”
“It’s a hospital, Beatrice - we should have worn masks.”
She’s probably right.
Lilith sets her briefcase down and loosens her tie and re-ties it again. She’s a stickler for her appearance and Beatrice knows first hand she spends a small fortune on her outfits - but they work. She’s the best intimidator in the game when it comes to pushing across a final offer or a deadline.
Beatrice would never tell her directly, but convincing Lilith to join her start up consulting firm when she broke free from Mckinsey was a massive coup.
When the elevator dings on the third floor, the vibe changes. Gone are the warm colors and endless noise of a trauma center - instead there are bright lights, wood trimmed walls and quiet.
There’s music playing, but it’s distant and soft - barely audible but just enough to fill the silence.
“Good morning,” someone says, and Beatrice notices a younger woman stepping towards them. She has on a gray pencil skirt and matching jacket overtop of a white shirt. Her eyes are soft, face warm as she smiles at them. “My name is Yasmine, you are here for the consultation?”
“Yes,” Beatrice answers, shaking Yasmine’s hand. “I’m Beatrice, this is Lilith - your building is lovely.”
“Thank you, we like it and we’re hoping to keep it.”
Beatrice nods. “Of course, we’re more than ready to get started towards making that happen.”
Lilith shakes Yasmine’s hand as well before they follow her through the much more traditional hallways of the surgery department towards a conference room tucked away at the far end of a hall.
“Our staff have selected representatives to tell you about their departments, and the Director herself is here as well, we’re all ready and willing to do what we can - we’ve even managed to wrestle Dr. Silva into sitting in and representing her department.”
“Oh lovely, I’m excited to meet her.” Lilith says, too chipper, very clearly fake - but Beatrice is the only one here who will notice.
“She’s a delight,” Yasmine says, her voice extremely genuine.
When the door opens, Beatrice sees a very typical conference room. A big round table, a window as the backdrop that overlooks the city below.
“Dr. Superion, the consultation team has arrived.”
“Excellent,” Beatrice watches Dr. Superion stand, a bit shaky with the help of a cane, but with an expression and presence that tells Beatrice the cane would not stop her from dropping anyone who assumed it was a weakness. “Let me start by introducing you to the staff. Our Chief of Surgery, Dr. Chanel Simone,”
“Glad to see they sent us a couple of women who know how to wear a suit.” Chanel says, reaching over the table to shake their hands. Beatrice takes her hand first, good handshake, genuine look of appreciation (and very little modesty as she looks them up and down).
Then she shakes Llith’s hand and…they continue shaking well past the customary two pumps. “The tie is a nice touch,” Chanel says and Lilith smirks.
“Had a bit of a personal debate with myself, red or black,”
Chanel laughs. “You could have pulled off both.”
Odd.
Dr. Superion speaks up. “We then have our swing. Dr. Camila.”
“Hi! Yeah it’s just Camila, Dr. Camila if you’re super set on being formal, but it’s my first name, I hate my last name and refuse to use it in a public space.”
Chanel rolls her eyes with some adoration in her eyes. “She’s a nutcase.”
“She’s also one of the best pediatric doctors in the state and works for us without an actual pediatrics department.” A man says, a man who is seated next to Dr. Superion with rounded glasses and a much less hospital adjacent outfit. Black suit, black tie. “Vincent Patēr, I manage the hospital's finances and billing department. It was my suggestion to reach out for assistance when the situation moved…beyond my skill set.”
“We’re only waiting now on,” the door opens and Dr. Superion sighs. “Dr. Silva, you’re late, I told everyone on the first floor to remind you of this meeting.”
Beatrice turns to see the prodigy and her stomach drops to the floor.
There, in the doorway, is Ava. She’s replaced her spur patterned button down for a white coat and her cowboy hat for a stethoscope.
The smile is still the same though, so is the shine in her eyes. Her hair that was loose and free last night, it half tied behind her head in a cute bun as the rest drapes down her neck. “Sorry! Sorry, I wasn't actually on the first floor, well, I was, but I was playing basketball with an outpatient who swore he’d broken his ankle. I told him it wasn't but he was convinced because he, quote, knows a break when he feels it. Xray came back negative, just a sprain and he thought he’d keep playing on it and I made him promise he wouldn't if I could make four straight free throws on the hoop out back.”
“You made the shots?!” Camila asks, shocked in her voice.
Beatrice thinks she may be having a stroke, Ava still hasn’t seen her yet.
Ava snorts. “Absolutely not, but his mom told me before we even went out that she would keep him off his feet as much as she could for a few weeks. I did make two though!” Ava bounces a bit, jacket flapping around her as she does “Oh! The firm, right, I’m here, I’m ready to sell my…Bea?”
That’s when their eyes meet and suddenly Beatrice’s mind is filled with the memory of Ava writhing against her - moaning as she came in the bathroom with country music as the soundtrack behind them.
“Oh my god.” Lilith whispers sharply next to her.
Beatrice wonders if leaping out of the window behind her would kill her or not.
She isn’t sure which answer would make her feel better.