Desperate Desires (Mergers & Acquisitions #3)

Chapter 1-y

I sighed and dropped Aunt Agnes’ gift on the side table by the front door.

I would have to try to remember to bring it in with me during my next rotation at the hospital.

Grabbing a tissue, I hugged the robe I was wearing to my body and ambled over to the small sofa in the living room of my small but tidy basement apartment.

I’d left the Aziz family’s favorite compound in upstate New York late Christmas Day, and it took me about three and a half hours to make it back to the Mile Square City .

I’d parked my Land Rover, the one the Volkovs had given me as a present when I finished med school, in the lot located three streets down from the place I rented.

There was never any street parking available on Hudson Street, even though the brownstone technically had a driveway. But that went to the folks who rented the upstairs apartment.

Lucky fuckers.

I’d first discovered this little gem of a town on a bar crawl when I was still in college with Micky, Lucy, and Clementine.

I fell in love with it then and knew it was where I wanted to live.

Hoboken was the perfect blend of city energy and suburban calm—a place where I could hear the hum of life without feeling swallowed by it. I had enough of that at the hospital.

The streets were lined with charming brownstones and apartment buildings, old churches, and storefronts. Their facades worn just enough to feel authentic but well-loved enough to show pride of ownership.

It had the kind of character you’d expect from an older neighborhood in the city, but it was smaller, closer somehow.

What made it even better was the convenience. A short train ride and I was right in the heart of Manhattan and straight to the hospital where I worked—a commute so easy it felt more like a breather than a burden.

Reading on the train was my favorite, but after missing my stop more than once, I switched to audiobooks.

And when the workday ended and all the rush and stress of my job was finished, I stepped back onto Hoboken’s quieter streets and made my way home.

Sometimes, it felt like exhaling after holding my breath all day.

The town itself was a treasure trove of amazing restaurants, cozy cafes, and quirky little shops where you could lose track of time. Whether I was in the mood for a low-key brunch, a gourmet dinner, or just a perfect cup of coffee, there was always a place that felt like a hidden gem.

And then, there were the views—the kind of views that could stop you in your tracks. Standing at the edge of the Hudson River, I’d sometimes find myself staring across the water at the Manhattan skyline, its lights shimmering like stars scattered across the night.

No matter how many times I saw it, that sweeping cityscape felt like a reminder of why I chose this place—a front-row seat to the best of both worlds.

See, I’d never liked living in New York. The city was too much—too loud, too big, too chaotic.

Everywhere you went, there were crowds of people pressed shoulder to shoulder, all in a hurry to get somewhere, all fighting for space that never felt like it was really yours.

I wasn’t exactly a country girl either—I didn’t crave endless fields or the kind of quiet that felt empty.

New York? It made me feel small, like a speck in a sea of noise and movement.

It was as if I could disappear in the middle of Times Square, and no one would notice. And I’d had enough of that feeling to last me a lifetime.

But living in Jersey? Now that was different. That I could do.

Hoboken was the perfect place for me, though my apartment was admittedly on the small side—just a cozy one-bedroom with a small kitchen that doubled as a dining room and laundry room.

Still, it had its charm.

The crown molding whispered of a bygone era, the bay window that let the afternoon sun pour in like a golden flood from the courtyard in the back, and the creaky hardwood floors that felt alive with stories and secrets.

But what really made me love it, what made me grin every time I walked down the weathered stone steps to my own private entrance, was the dream it represented.

My little slice of this incredible brownstone felt like a promise.

Like it was the first step to something greater.

Maybe someday, if luck and hard work stayed on my side, I could call the whole place mine.

I’d seen the upstairs units once when the old renters had left, and they were equally enchanting. The bottom level even had a fireplace, and both offered tall ceilings and enough space to swing more than just a proverbial cat.

And, oh, the holy grail—a private parking spot.

In a city where street parking was like a game of musical chairs with far too few seats, that single patch of asphalt was worth its weight in gold.

It belonged to the upstairs renters right now, but someday— sigh —a girl could dream, right?

For now, I made do with my tiny oasis, dreaming big while enjoying the small.

One day , I promised myself. One day, this place would be mine from roof to basement floor.

It was a nice dream. And who knew? Maybe it would come true.

I sighed, letting my weary mind wander. The virus I’d picked up wasn’t too bad, and since I had a few days off saved up from the year, I’d decided to take the long weekend to myself.

Recuperate my health and regain my focus after the bright lights and holiday celebrations. The room was quiet, and it unsettled me, which was odd. I usually appreciated silence, but not tonight.

It never failed to amaze me how quickly the loneliness seemed to set in after leaving that rambunctious group of surprisingly down-to-earth movers and shakers. I shook my head and snorted a laugh.

It was the most apt description I could come up with to describe the Volkov, Aziz, Ramirez, Batiste, and Fury families. It was easier to simply call them the Clan, because that was who they were.

This group of larger-than-life men and women who welcomed me and took me in as one of their own the very first time Micky brought me home and announced I was her BFF.

She was still my bestie, even if I couldn’t believe everything she’d gone through this past year.

Leaving her father’s company, getting married to her high school crush, and having a baby—I mean, talk about setting the bar high.

I’d be lucky to finish paying off my med school loans before I hit forty.

I shivered and grabbed my cell phone, saving me a trip across the cool wood floors.

I opened the smart app and raised the temp on the thermostat. Being sick sucked, but at least I could stay home and get better. All year I saved my PTO just in case, and I was going to spend it resting.

I’d turned the sound of my cell phone off, not daring to check just in case someone from work called out and they tried dragging me back in.

There was always a shortage of doctors at the hospital, and residents were frequently tagged to do more than their share. Especially those who worked under Dr. Mitchell Cross.

He had zero respect for personal time and did not care about inconveniencing his residents. I hadn’t even picked surgery as my specialty yet, but he was my attending, and the man seemed convinced it was my calling.

I hated to admit it, but I might have allowed the pushy doctor to make some decisions for me, and now I felt stuck.

All I ever wanted to do with my life was to help people, so being a doctor seemed like the natural choice. I loved helping people, don’t get me wrong. But there was more than one way to do that.

Surgery felt impersonal to me. I enjoyed talking to patients, meeting with people, but I rarely got to do that now.

I mean, I was always busy at the hospital. Surgery was intense. Not to mention challenging.

But lately, especially with being around Liam and Micky’s new baby and working on his therapy helmet, I found my curiosity piqued.

Like something just clicked inside me when I’d helped his pediatrician get an early diagnosis on the baby’s mild craniosynostosis. Micky and Liam’s company, ODI, had just what we needed to develop a helmet suited to the infant’s needs since he was so young and small.

Having that kind of cutting-edge technology at my fingertips had been a rush. Just imagine having state-of-the-art, breakthrough tech and the best equipment in my hands!

I mean, it was like a dream come true. It was just so interesting, and beyond fulfilling for me.

Especially when I used it to help the sister of my heart. She’d been so stressed when the doctor had told her Baby Michael had a skull abnormality. It was common, but when he explained he was too little for the available helmets, she’d freaked.

I didn’t blame her. And when Liam asked me to help, of course, I did.

There was nothing I wouldn’t do for Michaela, or any of them, really.

I was damn proud of her. Micky was the first of our generation to start a family, and now Clementine was on her way, too.

I couldn’t help but be happy for them. But with that happiness came a sort of sadness.

A realization that I might never be so lucky.

The fact was, I’d likely never have kids of my own. But I wasn’t jealous. That wasn’t the right word. It was more like determined. See, their kids were like mine.

So, it only made sense to consider pediatrics as my area of expertise. Maybe even pediatric medical engineering someday, too.

Lately, I found myself pouring over every article I could find about new methods and tools, like the advancements in helmet therapy, that might be useful.

Yes, their kids were likely as close as I’d get to having children of my own. And I wanted to be able to help any way I could.

The aunt who raised me hated kids. Deep down, I supposed I was scared to wind up like that.

Of course, my rational brain knew that wasn’t logical. But it was a fear I’d kept, a secret buried deep down inside of me.

“Ugh. Go to bed, Shelly,” I scolded myself.

Must have been the meds I took, making me think about such craziness.

I grabbed a tissue and blew my nose, which was probably why I missed the sound of someone breaking in through the back door.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I turned my head and swallowed.

There was simply no missing the massive stranger slumped against the wall, or the fact he was leaking blood all over my floor.

He looked scary, dangerous, and not because of the blood. He wore a long, dark coat over an expensive suit. His hair was tousled, but I could tell it had been combed back.

No jewelry that I could see. But he was tattooed. And big. Like really big. Well over six feet.

“What—Who are you?” I gasped, getting a good look at what was a handsome, though pale face.

He seemed familiar. But I couldn’t place him. Maybe it was because he so resembled the men of the Volkov Clan in that he was large, handsome as sin, and dressed expensively.

I shuffled off the couch and faced him, uncaring of the fact my robe had opened, and that I was wearing a pair of granny panties and a tank top beneath the thing.

My breath caught in my throat, threatening to choke me. He had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Like cobalt.

Simply stunning.

“Ono,” he gasped.

“Oh, no?”

He smirked, then winced. That tiny expression had hurt him, and I felt my instincts go into overdrive.

“No. My name is Ono. Can you keep a secret, Doc?” he asked, his gaze traveling down my body before flicking back to my face.

I nodded, mesmerized by his brilliant blue eyes and the unmistakable heat I saw simmering behind the obvious pain.

“Good,” he groaned softly, then he slid to the floor and passed out.

“Shit.”

The dark stain on his clothes increased, and I needed to move to stop it before he bled out. I grabbed my bag and opened his coat, pulling it off as best I could to see the damage.

I was determined to help him, stranger or not. Burglar or not.

Cars and sirens drove by, but I paid no mind as I went into doctor mode.

I counted three entry wounds and only two exits, frowning when he’d stopped breathing.

Shit.

His lung had collapsed. This wasn’t going to be easy, and he was going to hurt afterwards.

I had no choice, I needed to operate right here and now.

“Alright, Ono. Here we go.”