A loud crash and the sound of glass shattering cut her off, and my head snapped toward the bar. Our bartender, the guy with the eyes, was leaning over, gripping his leg. Blood trickled toward his ankle, and shards of the broken bottle surrounded his feet in a puddle of fizzy pink wine. I leaned over the bar. “Are you okay?” I shouted. He looked over at me. “I’m bleeding.” “I see that.” I glanced at Kelly, looking for permission. “Go,” she said, waving her hand. “Be the superhero. We’ll talk later.” “No.” I grabbed my purse and headed toward the injured patient. “Come with me. We’ll talk while I clean him up.” The bartender’s eyes widened in shock and concern. “What?” “I’m a doctor.” I motioned to one of the waiters working the tables. “Can someone clean this up, please?” The bartender tilted his head in disbelief as his eyes scanned my ensemble. “She is a doctor,” Kelly said, glancing at her phone, “and a damn expensive one, too. Consider yourself lucky.” “Where’s the manager’s office?” I asked, glancing around. “That way.” The bartender nodded toward a closed door in the hallway off to the right of the bar….