Chapter 44 – Mary's Contract
Max and Caroline's apartment always smelled of buttercream—sweet as a dream, broke as reality.
Ethan woke up groggy, instinctively reached to the side, and found nothing.
Max was gone again.
He squinted at his phone: 3:15 a.m.
At this hour Max normally slept like the dead; she couldn't already be up baking, could she?
'What the hell—again?!'
Noise from the living room piqued his curiosity. He threw on clothes and stepped out.
In the kitchen, Caroline and Max—who might never have gone to bed—were bustling about.
The moment she saw him, Caroline flung out a hand.
'Ethan, talk some sense into her. It's after three. My brain's already drafting my obituary.'
Max spun around, eyes narrowed. 'Shut it, Caroline. I'm this close to hating you.'
'What did I even do?' Caroline clutched her pajamas. 'I only said your cupcakes could use… a little touch-up.'
'Exactly that line!' Max's eyes flashed. 'I used to love baking. It was the only thing that let my brain relax.'
'Now I look at these and wonder if I should switch careers to the New York City Department of Buildings.'
Ethan reached the counter, peered at a lopsided mini-cake. '…Looks like a building half-demolished before the wrecking crew called it quits.'
Caroline hissed, 'Shh—you're a doctor; you don't say that to a woman mid-breakdown.'
'Thanks, ex-boyfriend!' Max bit off the word ex. 'Here I am at 3 a.m., insulted by the guy I just slept with!'
'No—no, that's not what I meant!' Ethan raised both hands. 'I meant they've got… personality.'
'Right, my cupcakes have personality, soul, attitude!' Max's voice climbed. 'But clearly they're not pretty enough for certain beauty-queen critics.'
'Max, ignore them. They wouldn't know good design if it smacked them in the face.'
Caroline tried to soothe. 'We're skipping the cupcake class tomorrow.'
Ethan murmured, 'Or rebrand? Call them "Authentic Cakes"—imperfect outside, proof they're handmade…'
Max snapped, 'You—zip it.'
'Zipped.'
She inhaled. 'I'm no Martha Stewart, but I'm no quitter either. I won't rest until these shut every mouth.'
Caroline sighed, 'You won't rest even if you drop dead.'
'Correct.' Max nodded. 'Tonight I battle to the death with frosting.'
She pointed at Ethan. 'You—since you're up, you're drafted.'
'I only came for water,' Ethan protested.
'Water later. You don't want patients saying you serve ugly cupcakes. You're now our midnight dessert-tester and on-call therapist.'
Ethan: '…I'm a surgeon.'
'Close enough.' Max waved. 'You save lives; save my cupcakes and my pride.'
She thrust a cake at him. 'Eat. Give me the truth.'
Ethan took a bite; his eyes lit up.
'…This is incredible.'
A flicker of confidence crossed Max's face.
'Exactly! They taste amazing. If I can nail the flavor, I'll nail the look. I'll make cupcakes so gorgeous and delicious they'll choke that instructor with envy.'
Suddenly Caroline caught fire. 'Yes! I'm in. Tomorrow we go to class and make her foundation crack!'
Max whirled. 'You—shut your mouth. Don't talk to me.'
Caroline: '???'
Watching the two women pipe frosting while bickering, Ethan realized—
Brooklyn's 3 a.m. madness is born of sugar and broke-but-stubborn determination.
Monday morning at the clinic was quiet.
Thanks to Max and Caroline's all-night cupcake overhaul, Ethan overslept—
Once Max produced a perfect batch she finally released him and Caroline to bed, then kept baking the thirty cupcakes for Rene's clinic.
The breakfast Max had left sat on the kitchen counter, along with thirty boxed mini-cakes and a note: Since Ethan crashed here last night, cupcake delivery is his job—saves him thirty bucks in delivery fees.
Sometimes I really admire Max's hustle; if I put in half her effort, I'd probably have cured cancer by now.
Ethan didn't reach the clinic until after eleven, setting down the cupcakes.
Lazy sunlight pooled across the floor; he savored the rare quiet while debating whether to order halal cart chicken or pizza for lunch.
A knock at the door cut his thoughts short.
Mary stood in the doorway, a few folders in hand.
She still moved with a slight hitch. "Dr. Rayne, we need to talk."
Ethan dragged himself back from lunch deliberations, noticing her gait. "How's the wound? No infection after the stitches came out?"
"The incision looks fine," Mary answered. "It just pulls when I move too fast—doesn't affect normal activity."
She reached the desk, sat carefully, and slid forward a blue-covered document. "I'm here to resign—and to bring you a contract."
"Resign?" Ethan blinked, then caught up. "Contract? What contract?"
He took the folder, opened to the first page, and the heading leapt out: Deferred-Effect Employment Agreement (Including PGY1 Transition Clause).
Ethan's eyes widened. "You're not taking my 'work-till-you-drop' joke seriously, are you?"
"Of course not. I'm not letting you run a sweatshop," Mary said. "This is a formal offer and letter of intent."
"Looks like we're really doing this." Ethan flipped pages, tone odd. "Shouldn't you think it through? What if Mount Sinai or NYU Langone snaps you up?"
"I'm choosing to come here—personal decision, not repaying a debt. Don't overthink it. And after signing I've got a few conditions, none of which change my staying." Mary's voice was crisp, no hesitation:
"But there's a condition: I must finish a year of residency at a major hospital first. That's why I'm quitting my current position—to start early."
Ethan nodded. "Right, PGY-1 has to be at an ACGME-accredited teaching hospital. I can teach, but they won't recognize it."
Mary went on. "So the path is: graduate med school—one year residency—pass USMLE Step 3—apply for New York State license—then report here for work."
Ethan closed the folder and studied her. "Sounds like you've thought it through."
"I want it locked in." Mary tapped a clause. "I agreed, but we still need a proper contract.
This is a legal, legitimate, mutual employment relationship—not the half-assed offer you tossed out that day."
"Ouch… way to twist the knife." Ethan rubbed his forehead. "So what terms did you write?"
Mary turned the pages and listed the highlights:
"…Official start date: after New York State medical licensure…"
"…Salary per New York physician standards…"
"…Work hours per Department of Labor regulations."
"During hospital training the clinic is not the employer, but the position is held open."
"Minimum three-year term, renewable by mutual consent."
"Penalties for breach by either side."
Ethan exhaled. "This contract is airtight."
"Handshake deals don't hold up in court." Mary pulled out the signature sheet. "If you agree, sign now. Done deal—you hold the spot, I finish my year, get licensed, then report."
Ethan lifted the pen and, without pause, signed both copies. "I'll wait for you to finish training."
It felt surreal: his tiny clinic was about to have Employee No. 2—Mary, star med student. A year to wait, but still hitting the jackpot.
Mary signed as well, handed one copy to Ethan, and tucked the other into her folder. "Perfect. From this moment, I'm the future surgeon of Rayne Clinic—after I get my legal license, of course."
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