Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (49 page)

“I’m not the fucking station owner,” he
says. “I can’t just make this deal without the approval of my-”

“You say the words,” I tell him, “and I’m
willing to bet your betters are willing to overlook a zero or two to avoid a
public boycott.”

“This isn’t going to work,” he says.
“People are going to see through it if you smear me.”

“You know what the one good thing about
looking like me right now does for you?” I ask. “It makes people really
sympathetic. Now, I’m not usually the type of person that’s looking to exploit
my illness to get what I want, but you’re not leaving me much of a choice, now,
are you, Andrew?”

“This isn’t going to work,” he says.

He says that right up until we come out of
the elevator and he sees the cameras waiting out front.

“It’s up to you,” I tell him. “Today, you
can either be the hero to your company’s bank account or you can make KJBP the
station that cares. Do me a favor and give your boss a call. I’m willing to bet
he says that a positive image is better for the growth of a company than a
fatter bankroll.”

Actually, I’m betting his boss is going to
say the exact opposite. I’m not delusional.

Luckily for me, though, Andrew doesn’t
know any better.

This is almost too easy.

“I don’t know what I would say even if I
did go along with it,” he says.

“Mags?” I ask and my lovely assistant
pulls a folder from her oversized purse and hands it to me.

“I took the liberty of preparing a
statement for you,” I tell him. “I think you’ll find it rather flattering to
you and your bosses. By the way, Mags, did you tell them to turn on their
televisions? They’re probably going to want to see this.”

This shouldn’t work, and if I were talking
to anyone with more experience handling the press, it wouldn’t. Andrew, though,
seems to think that the media cares a lot more about this sort of thing than
they actually do.

I may have forgotten to mention that to
him...

“This is going to get me fired,” he says.
“I can’t turn down better deals from bigger companies just to try to avoid some
personal embarrassment. I don’t know who you think I am, but my job is to do
what’s best for the company.”

“They sent you out here with real
bargaining rights, didn’t they?” I ask. “What were the terms of your
acceptance?”

“Take your offer and multiply it by about
fifty,” he says. “Do you really think a shot of me walking out of this building
without giving you a deal is going to outweigh half a billion dollars?”

Actually, no, I don’t. This is a fool’s
errand and the most likely scenario is that I participate in humiliating a
somewhat-decent guy doing what anyone in his position would do.

“I think you’re more concerned with your
public image than you think,” I tell him. “I think you know that even if you do
go for your half a billion, you’re not going to have a job waiting for you when
you get back there. They’ll tell you that it’s just politics and they’ll blame
me for it just like you will, but they’re not going to be able to keep you on
when that video’s playing over and over again on the internet.”

“You think I’m going to make a deal with
you just to preserve my job at KJBP?” he asks. “Do you really think they’re not
going to fire me if I throw away four hundred and ninety million dollars?”

“Oh, they’re probably going to fire you
either way,” I tell him. “If you go out there and read this, it’ll probably be
your last act as an employee of KJBP, but the damage will be done and they’ll
fold. They’ll have to because you made the deal. They might try to weasel out
of it, but that doesn’t matter. We may not be big yet, but we’ve still got
about a dozen lawyers more than you do. No matter what you do, you’re going to
get fired, but read this and I think we might be able to find something for you
at M.E.”

“This is blackmail. This isn’t remotely
legal.”

“What are they going to do, throw me in
jail?” I ask and give out a nice, wet cough just for effect.

If Andrew opens his mouth, they’re
absolutely going to throw me in jail. I’m not a month or two from the scythe;
I’ve still got about another decade at least — assuming the treatment doesn’t
kill me faster than the disease.

“Come on,” I tell him. “This is the deal
that’s going to give you and KJBP a good name in the biggest market that you’ve
ever known. There’s not another deal in the world that’s going to give you
that.”

If you pay attention to the world of
business, you’ll find that having a good name is one of the least important
things there is. A bad name can be offset by good PR, and people have always
respected power more than they’ve respected honor or decency — not to say that
what I’m trying to do to Andrew is either honorable or decent.

There’s an easy out for him if he knew
enough to use it: he could go out there and say a few words that would be
respectful, but noncommittal. If he were to go out there and tell the press
that he’s been working with me for years and that he’s going to see what he can
do to sell a deal with his board and from there, all he’d have to do is wait
for the big money announcement.

Nobody’s going to remember him in a week,
no matter what he chooses to do.

Luckily for me, he’s too flustered at the
sight of the cameras outside to think about any of that.

“And if I just go out the back?” he asks.

“They’ll track you down. I’ll make sure of
that.” I turn to Mags, saying, “When do you think the reporters from upstairs
are going to get down here?”

“Seriously, why are you doing this to me?”
he asks.

“Just trying to help convince you to do
the right thing,” I tell him.

There is no reason for him to go for what
I’m offering, but after laying it on this thick, there’s just the slightest
chance that he might do the dumb thing and give me exactly what I want.

“I thought you were better than this,
Grace,” he says.

“I’m just a dying woman who’s been working
on this too long to see it fall by the wayside. So, are we going to do a joint
press conference or are you going to try and
Mission Impossible
it out the back?”

He takes a minute to think.

“They’re never going to abide by this,” he
says. “Even if I go out there and do everything you want me to do, they’re
never going to abide by it. You don’t have the clout.”

“Bet your career on that?” I ask him.

I wouldn’t. In fact, I seriously doubt
KJBP would even fire him for the string of bad publicity I’ve got planned —
call it spite — should he do what any responsible representative would do.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll read it, but if
KJBP doesn’t go for it, I won’t have you dragging me through the shit for it.”

“You go out there and read that,” I tell
him, “and you’ve got a job at Memento no matter which way it goes from there.”

That was the only perk I’ve been able to
squeeze out in addition to the ten mil offer.

Even though Andrew is right, KJBP is never
going to stand by this deal, it’s still a personal victory to follow him
outside and sit there, however wiped I am from the chemo, and hear him read the
prepared statement saying that KJBP will soon be a subsidiary of M.E.

What I’ve neglected to tell Andrew is that
when this deal falls through, I’m going to lose my own job. That’s just the
position I’m in. My job was over the moment a member of our board mentioned the
names of some of the biggest stations in the world.

People love an underdog story, but only if
the underdog wins in the end. I have no chance of that. Human interest pieces
are great, but people have a short attention span for this kind of thing and
nobody’s going to care.

This isn’t going to change anything and
when KJBP announces that they’re going with whoever they end up going with, I’m
going to lose my job.

What I do have is this moment, seeing the
high water mark of my career. What’s ruining the whole thing is that Jace isn’t
here to see it.

Chapter
Twenty

Compacted Life

Jace

I’m sitting outside the room where my fate
is to be decided, taking one more minute to go over my prepared remarks.

There are going to be plenty of questions,
plenty of ways for me to explain exactly why and how I did what I did, though I
doubt Dr. Marcum’s name will ever come up at all.

I would have loved nothing more than to
have Grace’s support for what I’m about to do, but the simple fact is that
she’s not here and she’s not going to be.

“Dr. Churchill?” Dr. Preston calls from
the now open doorway. “We’re ready for you.”

I stand and straighten my tie. There’s
probably nothing of consequence they don’t already know, but that doesn’t make
this hearing redundant. It matters what I say in there and it’s going to matter
just as much
how
I say it.

If I play it off like it wasn’t a big deal
or that I didn’t really do anything wrong, they’re going to skewer me. This
isn’t the kind of thing they tell you might
become
a problem when they’re doing what they can to pound the ethical code of conduct
down your throat in med school; this is the kind of thing you know before
you’re sitting in the class.

I sit down across the table from Dr.
Preston.

To his left and right are board members
and department heads, all members of the disciplinary committee. I know them
all personally. That doesn’t mean this is going to be any easier.

From left to right, there’s Dr. Quinten,
who I’m going to push into hating me for the fact that I violated the terms of
a clinical study, something that’s big money for the hospital.

Next to him is Dr. Star, who’s going to
soften a bit at the fact that I did this for a woman I care about, but she’s
going to overcorrect her judgment so the others don’t catch on to her
sympathies, something she considers a weakness.

In the middle is Dr. Preston, Dean of
Medicine and a man who hasn’t stopped staring at me like he’s trying to figure
out how much money his hospital can save by revoking my license and kicking me
the hell out of it.

To the right of him is Dr. Jepsen, who’s
one of those people you always think is on your side, right up until the moment
he opens his mouth to let you know just how little he thinks of you — I’m
pretty sure for no other reason than that he can.

Finally, we have Dr. Belkin, Grace’s
doctor when she was brought in here after her first seizure. He’s difficult to
read, but from what I know of him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes it
personally that the doctor who assumed treatment of his patient could have made
such a stupid mistake.

All in all, I think it’s pretty safe to
say that I’m fucked.

“We’re meeting this morning in order to determine
what, if any, disciplinary action would be appropriate for Dr. Jace Churchill,”
Dr. Preston starts. “The committee has looked over the allegations surrounding
your case, Dr. Churchill, and we are prepared to hear your testimony if you’d
like to begin.”

“Grace Miller, the patient in question,
was initially referred to me by Dr. Belkin. She came into the hospital after an
idiopathic seizure. When it was discovered that she had an
oligodendroglioma
,
she was referred into my care,” I start.

“Dr. Churchill, at that time, were you
aware that there was a clinical trial that would be starting within the months
following your initial contact with your patient?” Dr. Belkin asks.

And I thought I was going to be able to
get through my initial statement before they set about crucifying me. “No,” I
answer, “it was some time thereafter that I was sent an email discussing the
trial.”

“Go on,” Dr. Preston prompts.

“When I
did
find out about the clinical trial, I began to consider the
possibility that some of my patients may benefit from their inclusion,” I
continue.

Dr. Belkin interrupts again, “How many
patients of yours have
oligodendroglioma
?”

“I’m sure that’s in the file,” I tell him.

“Do you not know how many patients of
yours have
oligodendroglioma
?” Dr. Belkin asks again.

“I have three patients with the
condition,” I answer. “The first has phase three of the condition and thus
wouldn’t be permitted entry into the clinical trial. The second patient was
admitted in good faith and meets all criteria. The third, Grace, has phase two
oligodendroglioma
and, although she doesn’t meet the
duration criteria, I thought her inclusion in the trial might have a positive
impact on her prognosis.”

“You were aware at the time that you were
putting forth an invalid candidate?” Dr. Quinten asks.

“I was,” I answer.

“Didn’t it strike you as a grave risk to
yourself, to the patient, and to this hospital, not to mention to the results
of the study to put forward a patient that didn’t meet the requirements of that
study?” Dr. Quinten pursues.

“I was aware of the risks.”

“I’m not just speaking of the professional
risks, Dr. Churchill,” Dr. Quinten continues. “The girl could have had an
unforeseen reaction, or she could have skewed the results of the study,
potentially preventing a helpful drug from being approved or even enabling a
dangerous drug to slip through the cracks. Do you understand this?”

“I don’t think that a single patient in a
clinical trial-” I start.

“Did you or did you not understand the
risks apart from those to your professional status?” Dr. Quinten asks.

This isn’t going so well.

“I understood all of the risks regarding
what I was planning to do,” I answer.

“Then why did you do it?” Dr. Star asks.

I’m about to gain her sympathy, but I’m
going to just as quickly lose any chance of her voting for leniency.

“I had become quite fond of this patient,
and I wanted to go the extra mile to ensure she had every chance she could to
live a longer, happier life,” I answer. “I was advocating for my patient.”

There’s only one way this next part can go
and it’s going there quickly.

“You were having a sexual relationship
with this patient prior to her admission to the trial, is that not true?” Dr.
Jepsen asks.

“Not at the time she was accepted into the
trial,” I answer.

“But you
were
having a sexual relationship with her before the commencement
of the clinical trial?” Dr. Star asks.

I hesitate, but it’s a useless flourish.
“Yes,” I answer.

I can see the look in Dr. Star’s eyes when
it becomes clear I did this because I really care for Grace, but as predicted,
just as quickly as I see the look, she sees me looking at her and the
expression changes completely.

“So, you’re admitting to having an
inappropriate relationship with your patient before the clinical trial began?”
Dr. Star asks.

“Whether or not it’s appropriate isn’t my
call to make, but I was having a relationship with Grace Miller before the
trial began, yes,” I answer.

“Would the American Medical Association
call your relationship with the patient inappropriate?” Dr. Star asks.

“I believe so, yes.”

“That’s all I need to know,” Dr. Star says
and tries to play down the fact that she’s looking for signs of approval from
her fellow committee members.

I was hoping that she wouldn’t be so
predictable.

“I think that the matter is clear enough
as it is, but I would like to ask if you have any regret for what you’ve done,”
Dr. Belkin asks.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat the
question?”

“Do you feel any kind of remorse for the
way you’ve so brazenly defied AMA codes of conduct, the policies of this
hospital, and the requirements of the clinical trial?” Dr. Belkin asks.

This might be the only way in which I’m
able to persuade anyone on the committee to show leniency. The first thing that
anyone in the world wants is power, and people love nothing more than having
someone approach them on hands and knees to beg forgiveness.

Maybe I’m just cynical.

“No,” I answer. “If given the opportunity,
I would absolutely do it again.”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Quinten asks.

“I would do it again,” I repeat. “We have
so much stacked against us so often in our profession, and if I were to have
the chance to possibly turn the tide for one of my patients in the future — any
of my patients — I doubt that I would hesitate to try to find a way to afford
them that chance.”

“So, you persist in thinking that your
personal feelings for your patient didn’t affect your judgment in this matter?”
Dr. Star asks.

“They affected my judgment a great deal
and in many ways. However, they were not the sole reason that I put her forward
as a candidate for the trial. We’re all doctors here,” I tell the committee. “I
know that doesn’t mean we get to do whatever we want whenever we want, but when
there’s an opportunity to help someone…isn’t that the reason we all got into
this business in the first place?”

“I got into-” Dr. Star begins, but I’m
sick of the hypocrisy.

“I know it’s the big joke of the medical
world, that everyone says the same thing when asked why they became a doctor,
but if we didn’t want to help people, we would have found something else to do
with our lives,” I interrupt. “Did I breach ethics in getting Grace into the
trial? Absolutely. But this was something that could have helped a young woman
live a little longer or a little better and isn’t that the point?”

“You didn’t take the same course of action
for your patient with stage three
oligodendroglioma
,”
Dr. Jepsen says.

“No, I didn’t,” I respond, “but that’s not
because I didn’t want to try to do everything for him. If I put forward a
patient with the wrong stage of the condition, it would not only require
forging medical records,” yeah, I’m not going to mention Dr. Marcum, “but after
the first scan, the doctors in the trial would have immediately disqualified
him.”

“So, it was more important for you to get
your girlfriend into the trial under false pretenses than it was to advocate
for your other patients?” Dr. Jepsen asks.

“I always advocate for my patients,” I
answer. “What I’m saying is that my advocacy wouldn’t have amounted to anything
in that situation. He would have been removed from the trial before the first
dose of the drug was given.”

“Were you aware that your patient, Grace
Miller, was on the placebo?” Dr. Preston asks.

It never occurred to me that Grace might
be on anything but the real drug.

“No,” I answer. “I was not.”

“With that knowledge, does your position
change?” Dr. Preston asks. “Knowing that all of the rules you’ve broken, all of
the ethical standards we have in place to prevent favoritism and promote
objectivity, do you now regret that you lied to get your patient into the
trial?”

“Objectivity?” I laugh. “Which one of us
has any kind of objectivity with any of our patients? We all know that there
are patients we like more than others and that some of our patients are so
distasteful to us, for one reason or another, that we’ll often try to pass them
off to someone else. Nothing about medicine is objective. If we were truly
objective, we wouldn’t care whether our patients lived or died, we would do our
work in a vacuum, and I have not met a doctor yet that hasn’t, at least once,
bent the rules in favor of one of their patients. None of you can tell me that
doing so wasn’t in a way personal.”

The room is so quiet I can hear the
members of the committee breathing.

“We’re not objective, but we’re not
heartless. If our worst enemy comes in, it’s our job to do whatever we can to
cure them,” I continue. “If I wasn’t in a relationship with Grace, or if I
didn’t have feelings for her before the relationship began, I still would have
tried to get her into the trial. The fact that I
do
have feelings for her is merely something you’re going to tie
around my ankles before you throw me off the bridge, but it has nothing to do
with the way I acted in this instance.”

“Am I to understand your implication that
you’ve done this sort of thing before?” Dr. Star asks.

“Not exactly,” I answer. “But I know for a
fact that each one of us have gone out of our way and crossed one line or
another in order to help a patient. Dr. Jepsen,” I start, “you give out free
samples of medication to patients who can’t afford the prescription, and I’m
not just talking about one or two doses.”

This isn’t going to end well for me, but
I’m already in it so I may as well continue.

“Dr. Star, you’ve made house calls to your
patients and taken hospital property with you when they can’t make it out of
their houses,” I continue. “Dr. Quinten, you’ve been in a longstanding battle
with the administration of this hospital over not allowing low-income patients
of yours to stay in hospital as long as you think they should be allowed, and
it’s even your position that the hospital should write off the majority of
medical bills for those patients you know can’t afford treatment any other way.