Doctor's Orders

13. Intoxication

"Have a drink with me."

I turned to him slowly, wondering what kind of game he was playing. The look on his face was both bashful and hopeful at the same time, so I agreed with a nod and "Okay."

He directed the cabbie to a pub that seemed quite far from downtown. I didn't mind the drive, but Dr. Styles didn't make any attempt at conversation. However, as soon as we were seated in a quiet corner booth, I spoke up. "You confuse me, Dr. Styles."

He waved a waitress over and we both placed our orders. "Oh really?" He asked, looking back at me. The intensity of his eyes boring into mine threw me off guard.

"Yeah," I smiled, trying to appear cool about it, even though it drove me insane. "You've got this Jekyll and Hyde thing going on." It sounded a lot funnier saying it out loud than it did in my head.

He laughed out loud. "Jekyll and Hyde, huh? How's that?"

I shook my head, feeling only slightly embarrassed by my admission. We'd both had a few drinks already, so my tongue was looser than normal. "You're exceptionally harsh with me at work, barking at every little thing I do, making me feel like I'm not living up to your insanely high standards, but then you're warm and friendly outside of work, making me feel like we might even be friends. I mean, I get that you don't want to blur the lines between professional and personal, but why does it feel like you're always picking on me? And then..." I stopped and took a long drink from the glass the waitress just set down in front of me, before continuing. "...You've been talking about me? To your parents?" I stopped to gauge his reaction - he was listening intently, and as far as I could tell, he wasn't getting defensive.

I finished simply by saying, "That's just...unsettling."

His reply was less than satisfactory. "I'm sorry." He stared into his drink, stirring a bit and then taking a swig.

"You don't have to be sorry," I said, feeling that I'd made things even more awkward. "I just want to know what's really going on with you."

"Well, I told you before that I push you because you have what it takes to be the best." He glanced at me and then back into his drink.

I waited for him to say more, but he didn't. "I don't need you to push me," I said gently. "And I certainly don't need you to snap at me at every turn." He actually looked somewhat hurt when I said that, as if he didn't know his words came across as brutal. "I'm ambitious enough on my own. I welcome correction as a way to improve my work, but you're just downright mean about it most of the time."

"I know," he said quietly.

I was beyond frustrated. What had this night been about? A just business cocktail party, where I found out he'd been telling his parents about me? And then he asked me to have a drink, which by the venue he chose, was clearly more than just business. And truly, neither one of us had any business getting involved on a personal level when we worked together anyway.