14. Progress

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"Ellie!" Harry's harsh voice sounded from down the hall

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"Ellie!" Harry's harsh voice sounded from down the hall. I looked up and he was walking swiftly towards me. He had another beef with me, just great.

"May I help you?" I asked with a combination of politeness and sarcasm.

"I put those orders in for a CT scan on Mrs. Costanzo three hours ago! What is taking so long?"

I looked at him, remaining calm, smiling peacefully and said, "Doctor, we've discussed this. I can't make the radiology department move any faster. They're always booked. Unless you want me to run out right now and get another degree in radiology, you'll have to wait like the rest of us."

I could see him holding back a smirk. "Very well, Elloise," he said, teasing me with my full name just this once. "Just don't let it happen again."

I just rolled my eyes and laughed as I walked away.

I had to admit that working with Dr. Styles was more comfortable now, in some ways. I understood him a bit more and didn't take everything he said so seriously. He, in turn, backed off a little with the criticism. Not completely, but I didn't think he'd be able to go cold turkey anyway.

But in some ways, it was hard. Not awkward, but challenging. Harry and I had eventually decided, together, to not make anything out of our make-out session at the pub. We were pretty much on the same page that, yes, it was enjoyable and we both were willing participants, but no, it would never work for us to be romantically involved when we worked together. It was taboo, and everyone knew it. Although that didn't always stop everyone either.

What was nice was that we were spending a little more time together outside of work, hanging out on the beach, having lunch together. One evening, we followed through with the neighborly gesture of grilling together on the rooftop patio of our building.

Once the steaks were done, we sat, basking in the last bit of sunlight that would soon disappear behind the cityscape to our west, enjoying the cool breeze off the lake from the east.

"You're a good cook, Dr. Styles," I commented. He glanced up at me and raised his eyebrows in expectation. "Harry," I said, correcting myself. It was hard for me to get used to calling him by his name when I still had to refer to him by his title at work.

"Thank you," he smiled. "Must be those years of culinary classes my mother forced me to take."

I tried to stifle a giggle. "Culinary classes?"

"My parents wanted to make sure I had all the best opportunities, and that even if I did end up in the food industry, it wouldn't be flipping burgers at McDonalds," he laughed.

"Have you ever even been inside of a McDonalds?" I asked, skeptical.

He cocked his head and gave me a disapproving look. "Of course, I have." Then he added, "But I can probably count the number of times on one hand."

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