Chapter 7 #2
“It’s gotta be something sweet, like Cinnamon or Candy.” His words are covered with an oily slickness. “I can see you on a pole, baby—tight ass, big tits, even under those scrubs. You know you’d make more money doing that, right?”
I already do, asshole. Minus the pole.
I pause, straightening up to look him dead in the eye. “Mr. Abbott, I’ll only say this once. Stop being disrespectful. My appearance has nothing to do with the level of care I provide.”
He laughs. “Come on, it’s a compliment. No need to get your panties in a twist.”
My jaw clenches. I force myself to look at his leg, holding my tongue that desperately wants to let loose. I know I shouldn’t say anything. He’s trying to get a rise out of me. But I’ve got at least an hour of this bullshit ahead.
“Why are all the hot ones so uptight?” he mutters, then louder: “I bet all you need is a good dicking to help you relax.” He palms himself, cock still half-hard.
I drop the tweezers into the tray with a clatter.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” My voice drops low.
“If you don’t knock it off, I’m calling security.
What’s it gonna be?” Maybe it’s the day, or maybe it’s that I’m already sick and wrung out, but my patience is on its last leg—and his words are scraping at me.
The smug smile slides off his face, replaced by the real him, cold and calculating.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Mr. Liam Abbott.” I know that’s not what he meant, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction.
“I own Accorder Finance, the biggest firm in the southern hemisphere. I could have a dozen bitches lined up to swallow me dry if I wanted.”
A finance bro. How fitting.
“Good for you,” I deadpan. “Your parents must be very proud.”
His eyes go black, malicious. A shiver runs down my spine.
Mocking him wasn’t my intent, but I couldn’t help myself.
I’ve never seen eyes like that before; it’s deeply unsettling.
Alarm bells are ringing in my head, and red flags are waving everywhere.
I look away first and focus on the tweezers.
He stares holes into the top of my head while I work.
My fingers start to shake—not because of him; because of the dehydration and the salt leeching out of my skin.
But I refuse to show him any weakness. I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
I try to block him out and concentrate on my work.
What began as relaxing is now charged, and I can’t wait to get the fuck away from him.
A scream slices through the air from Central.
“I need some help out here!” Olivia’s voice, urgent.
I slide out of the bay and glance around to see who’s available—no one else comes out of their bays.
Another scream: “Get it out! Get it out—I can feel it!”
Fuck it. I’m not supposed to be seeing patients; I gave Zac my word. But what choice do I have? The woman screams in agony again. No one is coming.
I snap off my gloves and headgear, stepping away. “I’ll be back,” I tell dickhead.
A hand clamps around my wrist, hard enough to make me flinch.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he snarls, fingers locking in.
“Let go of me,” I grit out. His hold tightens, crushing the fine bones until my eyes sting with the threat of tears.
“This isn’t over.”
I twist free, leaving him behind as I jog toward Olivia.
The asshole’s grip was brutal; my wrist throbs. But I don’t have time to think about it now.
“What’s going on?” I ask, arriving breathless.
“Everyone else is tied up and this patient’s losing it,” Olivia says.
The woman’s clawing at her ear, shrieking.
“Please—make it stop! It’s in my brain!”
I ease her into a chair in the hallway. “Ma’am, I need you to stop scratching, okay? Tell me what’s going on.”
I grab an otoscope and look. Holy shit—a huge black cockroach is lodged in her ear canal.
“Okay, deep breaths. I’m going to flush it out with saline.”
Olivia nods and runs to get the syringe. I hold the woman’s hands away from her head, murmuring calming nonsense. She’s half-delirious, moaning in panic.
Olivia returns with saline and a kidney dish. I angle her head, carefully inject the saline, and watch in relief as the cockroach floats out.
“It’s out. It’s out.” I tell her in a rush, relieved. “You’re okay now.”
That was kind of cool.
“I can still feel it!” she cries.
I stare at her. “No. It came out.” I show her the kidney dish with the saline and the cockroach trying to crawl its way out of the puddle.
“The other ear!”
You’ve got to be kidding.
“Let me check,” I say, shooting Olivia a look. She widens her eyes and subtly shakes her head as if to say, “fucked if I know.”
I tilt her head the other way, peer inside. This time, her ear is blocked by something small and black, but it doesn’t look like a roach. My blood runs cold.
“I can’t take it anymore. Make it stop!” the woman yells.
“HELP ME!” A screech comes from another bay.
What the hell is going on?
Ignoring the other call for help, I say as calmly as I can, “Okay, let’s flush it out.”
I draw up another syringe of saline and flush her ear. This time, something with too many legs scuttles out. I drop the dish with a startled yelp, stumbling back.
I don’t fucking do spiders.
The cockroach and spider take off in a slow crawl, and I’m too stunned into silence to move. Olivia is quick to react, crushes the spider with her boot, then stamps the roach for good measure. The last thing we need is for those things to be crawling around the ER.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
The woman sags, rubbing her temples. “Thank you. That’s… so much better.”
I nod, still shaking. “Ma’am, you had a cockroach and a spider in your ears.” I don’t know why I need to say it out loud, but some horrors need to be heard to be believed.
“Thank you,” she repeats, half in shock.
“Dr. Monroe, can I see you for a moment?”
I turn to find Zac watching me, arms crossed over his chest—a stance I’m learning he defaults to in work mode.
Shit.
“Go,” Olivia whispers. “I’ve got this.”
We walk a few paces away, until everyone is out of earshot.
“What did I say about seeing patients?”
“I know, I’m sorry. But this woman was screaming, and no one else was around to help. It was just saline in the ears, nothing major. I swear.”
A moment of silence passes between us.
“Fuck, okay.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Your labs are back. Go to my office—I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
“All right,” I say.
“Level five, suite 506.”
Right.
I nod and turn to leave—then stop. Where the fuck are the elevators again?
I pivot back, and he calls out, low and dry, “Other way.”
Trying not to laugh, I do an abrupt one-eighty. Passing him, I throw him a quick salute. “Got it, boss.”
He just shakes his head, that wry half-smile softening his features. Then he schools his face back to neutral.
I head off in the right direction this time, the pulse in my neck thumping like a drum. My resolve is rock-solid. He could’ve sent me home—should’ve—but he didn’t. No matter what happens behind that office door, I’m not backing down. I’m going to prove he didn’t make a mistake in letting me stay.