Chapter 1

“Never settle for less.”

—Jim Newsome

“Anybody ever tell you how much you look like James McAvoy?”

Not this again.

It was the perfect pickup line—if I were that shallow. In fact, the only thing the Scottish actor and I shared was his first name—and an uncanny likeness. However, I was “Jim” not “James,” and my last name was Newsome. My eyes were brown, and he probably wouldn’t be caught dead working as a cashier in a hospital cafeteria, unless it was to research a role. Unlike yours truly.

I ignored the question and rang up the food. “Drink with that?”

“Not today. You didn’t answer me.”

I looked up at the customer. He was handsome, with his black hair and gray eyes and one raised eyebrow, the genetic quirk I’d always wanted. I didn’t remember seeing him in line before. Or maybe I just hadn’t noticed. His looks didn’t sway me, however. Or his smooth voice. He was one of the “white coats,” after all. Therefore, an automatic asshole. At least, that had been my experience since I started here a few months ago.

“I don’t have to. Your total is nine dollars even.”

White coat gave me ten dollars cash and I handed over the change. “Wow. You really are as—”

“Yes, I am. Glad to hear the rumor mill is alive and well. Next in line?” I indicated that the person behind him move forward, forcing white coat to go about his business.

Once the rush was over, I bought myself two slices of pizza, a very spotty banana, and a ginger ale and made by way to one of the many small parks around the hospital. Since it was two o’clock in the afternoon, most of the hospital personnel were back at their jobs, so I could eat in peace. Or so I thought.

“You wear a modified shoe. What company did you use for that? The workmanship is excellent.”

I turned to see Mr. Impetuous from before take a seat beside me. “I’m on lunch and I only have half an hour. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I work in the Orthopedic Department and—”

“Good for you.” I went back to my pizza.

“Some of my patients could benefit from the knowledge of your source. All I’m asking for is a name.” I stared at him. He stared back at me.

“There’s a phone number on the website. Orthopedicshoelift.com. And yes, they do excellent work. Satisfied?” I drank some of my ginger ale and went back to eating. The sound of the nearby fountain was soothing.

“Thanks.”

I expected him to leave after this, but he stayed. I sighed and glanced at him. He studied me in return.

“What?”

“Are you always this…approachable?”

“You areinterrupting my meal and quiet time. Wouldn’t yoube irritated?” I didn’t see why he should be different from anyone else here. He acted like an entitled know-it-all.

“It would depend on the company.”

“Well then, you have your answer.”

He shook his head and stood. “Message received. Thanks for the information, Mr. McAvoy.”

I growled softly, but it was still loud enough for him to hear. He chuckled as he walked awayAss, just like all the others.

* * * *

My job as a cashier was a means to an end. In reality, I owned a small food services consulting firm in the healthcare culinary field. I had found, over the years, that the best way to get to know how an organization functioned—or didn’t—was in the trenches. That usually meant going undercover—with the blessing of upper management.

I would work in a few different positions over a specified period—up to six months, if necessary, depending on the job—as anything from a server or food prep worker to a cashier or patient menu ambassador. All of these positions gave me enough intel to evaluate all aspects of the system, its glaring flaws and safety issues, and make suggestions for improvement.

Hospitals hired me for my keen eye and innovative, cost-saving—and lawsuit avoiding, hopefully—strategies. By the time my stint was done, I typically amassed enough information to give the institution a thorough review and informed suggestions for change. I liked doing things from the inside out, you might say, and it was something I enjoyed. Usually.

But this gig had been difficult. I was normally a friendly person, laid-back and easy to get along with. However, the stentorian mindset I’d encountered here, and the robust gossip mill, made me reticent. I’d come across so many inflated personalities, it made me want to puke. The medical personnel here were the worst I’d ever had the displeasure to be involved with. Although the guy from earlier…well. Best to ignore that spike in my heart rate—for now.