Chapter 5
5
JARED
I didn’t bother hiding the way I was looking at Amelia.
Why would I? She was stunning, and I wasn’t the kind of man to pretend otherwise.
When I saw a work of art, I looked.
Soft curves, dark hair that fell in waves over her shoulders, and a sharpness in her eyes that told me she wasn’t the type to back down from a fight.
It was a dangerous combination—one that had my attention.
It was simple biology.
She was exactly my type.
Beautiful, intelligent, and with a mouth that could cut glass.
But I wasn’t about to act on the primal instincts rampaging through me, telling me to throw her over my shoulder and run off with her like King Kong.
I had self-control, discipline.
No woman would ever shake that, even one as alluring as Amelia.
I’d learned my lesson about getting involved with women at work.
A fling with a nurse during a conference?
Sure. But a PhD-level researcher employed by my own company?
That was a line I wasn’t willing to cross.
Still, I allowed myself to admire her curves.
She was wearing a sundress that hugged her figure in all the right places.
Her simple dress was sexier than any skimpy thing women that were trying too hard wore.
I let myself imagine pulling those little ties and opening the bodice.
Shawn must have noticed because he gave me a sharp kick under the table.
I shot him a look, but he just raised an eyebrow, silently telling me to cool it.
I smirked and leaned back in my chair, sipping my drink.
I supposed I had been ogling her.
That was rude. Maybe she was cracking my self-control after all.
Clair, as usual, was leading the conversation.
She was talking a mile a minute, her hands waving animatedly as she asked Amelia about her life in England.
Shawn was sitting next to Clair, his eyes glued to her like she was the only person in the world.
It was pathetic, really.
Shawn had been in love with Clair for years, but he was too shy to do anything about it.
And Clair? Oblivious as always.
But I got the impression Clair liked him.
That was the kind of game I didn’t want to play.
I was a straight shooter, and if I had something to say, I said it.
One of these days they were going to figure it out but all I could think about was all the wasted time.
They could be having sex and enjoying themselves right that second.
I wondered if I should take it upon myself to get that romantic ball rolling.
Could we run a research study that would force them to spend time together?
Maybe in a cozy log cabin by a lake?
The idea had promise.
I would have to keep thinking about it later.
“I’d love to visit London one day,” Clair said.
“I want to see Big Ben. And Buckingham Palace. I would love to catch a glimpse of Princess Catherine.”
Amelia laughed.
“Everyone wants to see the Royals. All I can say, is good luck.”
“I’ll settle for a look at the palace,” she said.
“I just want to say I’ve been there. Take a picture with one of those guys in the fuzzy hats.”
I saw an opportunity.
Not for me, but for my friend that seemed to be pretty dumb when it came to women.
I gave Shawn a little kick under the table, mimicking the one he’d given me earlier.
He scowled at me. I tilted my head toward Clair, raising my eyebrows.
I saw the second he understood what I was trying to say.
Shawn cleared his throat, his face turning red.
“I’ll take you one day,” he said, his voice awkward and stilted.
Clair didn’t even hear him.
She was too busy gushing to Amelia about how much she loved British meat pies.
I rolled my eyes. I would definitely have to lock them in a cabin with a roaring fireplace and some wine.
Poor Shawn was hopeless.
He was brilliant in the OR, but when it came to women, he was a disaster.
The waiter arrived, a clipboard in hand, and asked if we were ready to order.
Clair immediately launched into a detailed description of what she wanted, complete with substitutions and special requests.
Shawn watched her with a dopey grin on his face, like she was reciting poetry instead of asking for no onions on her fish tacos.
Amelia ordered next, her British accent making even the simplest dish sound elegant.
“I’ll have the grilled mahi-mahi, please. And a side of plantains.” She glanced at me briefly before adding, “And a mojito, if you don’t mind.”
The waiter nodded, scribbling it down, then turned to me.
“And for you, sir?”
I didn’t even need to look at the menu.
“Steak fajitas. Rare. And keep the beer coming.”
Shawn ordered last—some kind of salad that made me roll my eyes.
Salad? At a beachside cantina?
The man needed to live a little.
“Did you hear if you lost privileges at Mitchell’s hospital?” Shawn asked, leaning back in his chair with a grin, his beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers.
He was normal and relaxed now that he wasn’t trying to connect with Clair.
I smirked, shrugging one shoulder.
“They wouldn’t dare.”
“Their malpractice insurance might,” Clair said.
Amelia looked at the three of us with confusion.
It was rude to talk about something she wasn’t aware of.
Clair turned to Amelia, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Oh, you missed all the drama this morning! Jared here got into it with Dr. Mitchell over at Miami General. It was quite the showdown.”
“Drama? What happened?” Amelia raised an eyebrow, her gaze flickering between me and Clair.
Clair leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“So, there’s this kid with a brain tumor, right? Really tricky case. Mitchell wanted to take the conservative approach, but Jared?” She paused for dramatic effect.
“Jared wanted to go all in. Remove the whole thing.”
“It was the right call,” I interjected.
“That conservative approach would’ve killed the kid.”
Amelia’s eyes widened slightly.
“Dr. Mitchell didn’t agree?”
Shawn snorted.
“That’s putting it mildly. Mitchell practically turned purple. I thought he was going to have an aneurysm right there in his office.”
“Safest room to have one,” I said.
“With us there.”
“So what happened?” Amelia asked, her curiosity clearly piqued.
I shrugged, taking a swig of my beer.
“I’m flying the kid out here. Doing the surgery that needs to be done.”
Amelia blinked, surprise evident on her face.
“Just like that? You can do that?”
“When you’re Jared Welch, you can do pretty much anything,” Shawn said with a laugh.
Amelia’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“I see,” she said. There was a tone I couldn’t quite place.
“And the family agreed to this?”
I leaned forward, meeting her gaze.
“Of course they did. I’m giving their son a chance at life. Mitchell was ready to write him off.”
“It’s not that simple,” Amelia argued, her voice low but intense.
“There are protocols, ethics committees?—”
“Ethics?” I scoffed.
“You want to talk about ethics? What’s ethical about letting a kid die when you have the ability to save him?”
“And what if something goes wrong? What if he doesn’t make it through your ‘revolutionary’ surgery? Have you considered the emotional toll on the family, flying them out here, getting their hopes up?”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” I said firmly.
“I don’t fail.”
Amelia rolled her eyes.
“Everyone fails sometimes, Dr. Welch. Even you.”
“Not when it matters,” I shot back.
“Not when a life is on the line.”
Clair and Shawn exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“Okay, let’s change the subject,” Clair said brightly, clearly trying to diffuse the situation.
“Amelia, tell us more about your home. Did you grow up in London?”
Amelia smiled and nodded.
“Yes.”
“And where did you go to school?” Shawn asked.
“I did my undergraduate work at University College London before getting my PhD at Oxford.”
“Oxford?” Shawn’s eyes widened.
“That’s impressive.”
Amelia shrugged, trying to downplay it.
“It was a lot of hard work, but I loved every minute of it.”
“What made you decide to come to the States?” Shawn asked.
“I mean, Oxford to Key West is quite the change.”
“I was looking for a new challenge,” Amelia said.
“And the Welch Foundation’s work in neuroscience is unparalleled. When the opportunity came up, I couldn’t pass it up.”
“Even if it meant working with me?” I asked.
“The Foundation’s reputation speaks for itself, Dr. Welch. Your personal reputation is another matter entirely.”
Shawn nearly choked on his beer, and Clair’s eyes widened.
I knew she was going to be a challenge.
“To be great is to be misunderstood,” I said.
The food arrived quickly.
I technically owned the restaurant and everyone knew me.
Signing the paychecks entitled me to a few perks.
As we ate, the conversation shifted to work.
Clair was in her element, rambling about the latest breakthrough in oncology research.
Shawn chimed in occasionally, but mostly he just stared at Clair like she’d hung the moon.
Amelia listened intently, nodding along and asking thoughtful questions.
She was smart, which shouldn’t have surprised me.
We wouldn’t have hired her if she wasn’t.
But it was still nice.
“Oh, there’s Dee and Logan,” Clair said.
“I need to talk to them. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
She was up and gone before any of us could say anything.
“I’m calling it a night,” Shawn said, standing up and stretching.
“Early surgery tomorrow.”
I nodded, watching as he walked away.
That left me alone with Amelia.
She’d barely touched her food, and I couldn’t help but notice how she kept fidgeting with her napkin.
“Not hungry?” I asked, nodding toward her plate.
She glanced up, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before she looked away.
“Just jetlagged,” she said, her voice quiet.
“I think I’m going to head back to my place.”
She started to stand, but I stopped her with a question.
“Why age-related degeneration?”
She froze, her brow furrowing.
“What?”
“Your research,” I said, leaning forward slightly.
“Most of my scientists focus on genetics or rare conditions. But you’ve spent the last few years studying age-related degeneration. Why?”
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
“It’s an important field,” she said.
“There’s a lot of potential for breakthroughs. I don’t feel like it’s studied enough. It’s not as immediately life-threatening like a tumor, but it’s… well, it robs a person of their life really. It’s a different kind of death.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw, and something flickered in her eyes—a pain she was trying to hide.
I wasn’t great with emotions, but even I could tell there was more to her answer.
She wasn’t just talking about hypothetical patients.
This was personal.
“Fair enough,” I said.
“But you’re not here to save the world. You’re here to push boundaries. My foundation doesn’t fund safe research. If you’re looking for incremental progress, you’re in the wrong place.”
She tilted her head, studying me like I was a specimen under a microscope.
“That’s not the reputation that precedes you,” she said carefully.
“From what I’ve heard, Dr. Welch doesn’t fail. Isn’t that what you just said?”
“Oh, I fail,” I said with a shrug.
“I just don’t let it stop me.”
“If only everyone was as amazing as you. Is there a church on campus?”
“A church?”
“For people to worship at your altar,” she replied.
I smirked, enjoying the sarcasm in her tone.
“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. I’ll be giving you the grand tour tomorrow. Not Clair.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and I could see the wheels turning in her head.
“Why you?” she asked.
“Because I’m the boss,” I said simply.
“And I like to know who’s working for me. Besides, Clair’s too nice. She’ll sugarcoat everything. I’ll give it to you straight.”
She didn’t look thrilled by the idea, but she didn’t argue.
Instead, she stood up, smoothing her dress.
“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
I nodded, watching as she walked away.
She wasn’t like most people I met.
She didn’t fawn over me or try to impress me.
If anything, she seemed determined to keep me at arm’s length.
And that only made me more curious.
It was why I wanted to spend more time with her.
Where was the harm?
As I finished my drink, I reminded myself of all the reasons I couldn’t sleep with an employee.
That was the harm: lawsuits, hurt feelings, power imbalances, accusations of favoritism.
I had no choice but to keep things between Dr. Amelia Pritchard and me purely professional.