Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
MICHAEL
“Could you wipe that smile off your face?” Azara scoffed as I held the door open with my back to let her into the scrub room after our final surgery of the day.
We’d just spent the last five hours repairing an aortic aneurysm, and she’d argued against every one of my directives, as she always did when we operated together. Which, admittedly, happened quite often over the last four months of being here—solely because I had a say in the matter.
If it had been any other surgeon, I’d have them out of my theater without a second thought, but with Azara, I enjoyed every second of it. She often had great alternatives to my old-school methods because even though we were only about a year apart, we’d been surgically trained from two different mentors.
Besides, I’d be lying if our bickering didn’t turn me on.
“But I was right,” I said, finishing washing my hands and leaning against the sink where she was doing the same.
She turned the water off and dried off her hands before facing me with the glare I’d grown accustomed to. The one she specifically reserved for me.
She was remarkably charming and polite to everyone we worked with, but the moment I entered her orbit, the scowl she currently pinned me with became a permanent fixture on her face.
At first, she’d tried to hide it, and maintain her nice facade, but it didn’t last long. Unless, of course, her father was around—then she put in extra work to be cordial toward me.
“You merely made a suggestion that didn’t turn out terrible,” she said, not conceding an inch.
I raised an eyebrow, amused. “So I was right,” I repeated, peeling off my surgical hat.
Her eyes narrowed before she crossed her arms. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You wouldn’t like me any other way,” I replied, intently watching her reaction.
Her expression faltered for a brief moment, but I caught it regardless. And she couldn’t hide the blush creeping up her tanned skin. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” she said, her tone half-annoyed, half-flustered, as she rested her hands behind her against the edge of the sink.
I took a step closer, closing the space between us, despite knowing that I shouldn’t risk it. That I should maintain the professional boundary that was supposed to exist between us.
But when had that ever stopped me before when it came to her.
“You like a challenge, Azara.” I paused, placing my hands on either side of her, my fingers barely grazing hers. I expected her to push me away, to even hit me for being this close to her but she didn’t move. In fact, I would bet that her body shifted closer toward mine. My gaze roamed over her features before meeting her gaze head-on. “You like me keeping you on your toes, gumiho ,” I said, barely recognizing my voice.
Just like she kept me on mine. Not that I’d ever complain about that.
The silence that followed stretched for a moment, thickening with weeks of unsaid words. A hint of molten fire flashed in her gaze, but it didn’t erase the stubborn tilt to her chin.
“You’re doing it again,” she said, ignoring my latest statement.
“You’ll need to be more precise,” I replied, leaning down.
Her head slightly tilted to maintain my gaze. “You keep looking at me like that,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.
I moved my face closer to hers, just enough our lips nearly touched. I brought a hand up, gently brushing my knuckles along the edge of her cheekbone before bringing it back down.
“What if I like looking at you like that?”
Her small gasp feathered against my lips, and I could practically taste her. Desire simmered in my blood at the thought. It had been four months of this constant back and forth. Four months of torturous days and nights where I’d imagined her lips tangling with mine.
More times than I’d like to admit and I could make those dreams a reality.
All I had to do was obliterate the last inch separating us.
“Someone could walk in, Dr. Young,” she whispered, still not moving away.
“What if they did?” I paused, my gaze flitting between her eyes and lips. “And I think we’re far past you calling me Dr. Young.”
Just the thought of hearing my name with that silky voice of hers, passing through those alluring lips of hers, was sending goosebumps skittering across my skin.
“Calling you anything else would be inappropriate.”
“Say my name, Azara.”
With every word we spoke, our lips brushed and the temptation to just fucking kiss her was so potent, I found myself leaning forward to bridge the gap when the double-acting doors bursted open.
Azara immediately pushed my body away, just as Marcella’s voice filled the room.
“Mr. Young, we need you in Theater D.” She finally looked up from her tablet, and pushed her red reading glasses up her nose, her scrutinizing gaze flitting back and forth between Azara and I. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” Azara blurted out, her demeanor bleeding guilt. “You were interrupting absolutely nothing.”
Marcella raised a brow, the look she gave both of us, knowing. We definitely would have escaped any suspicions if Azara hadn’t been so blatantly obvious. For someone who was unyielding during surgery, she folded like a house of cards under social pressure.
“If you say so,” she told Azara, brushing it off, before turning her attention to me. “You’re needed in Theater D. The two idiots scheduled to operate have been arguing for the last twenty minutes over whether or not to use the NyxMedica stapler. I would have gone to Mr. Ziani, but for some reason, I can’t find him, and you’re the most senior surgeon.”
My brows furrowed at the mention of NyxMedica. The corporation owned by billionaire Arthur Nyx had made waves when it was founded a few years ago. Although from the outside, his company looked like it was thriving, the engineer was well-known to be a fraud. His company should have been seized a long time ago but the amount of money he had was the best shield anyone in our society could ask for.
People always did stupid things for money.
“I’ll be right with you,” I told Marcella, attempting to gently dismiss her and hoping she got the message.
She looked between the both of us. “Oh, right. I’ll wait for you there. Don’t be long,” she said before turning on her heels.
As soon as she exited the room, I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to contain my laughter. And failing.
Azara smacked my chest. “This isn’t funny,” she reprimanded, but when I looked up I found a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
“You have to admit it is,” I noted.
She shook her head, but didn’t say anything. She’d inadvertently bridged the distance between us, leaving her within reach again. But even though all my senses pulled me toward her, I knew I couldn’t actually cross that line.
No matter how much I really wanted to.
“I should go,” I said, but my statement came out more like a question.
“Yeah, you should before the idiots kill someone.”
I chuckled. “I’ll go do that,” I agreed as I walked toward the exit.
I paused, a hand on the door as I glanced at her one last time. I brought my free hand up, my thumb gliding over my lower lip where I could still feel the tiniest brush of her lips against mine.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Ziani,” I finally said before pushing the door open and heading down the corridor.
Marcella was waiting for me outside the operating room just like she’d said. She gave me a knowing look after what she’d almost walked into, but I ignored it and pushed past the doors, her short frame following right behind.
I found the two idiots still at it, going back and forth with their arguments on whether or not to use the device. I listened to them for a few seconds before intervening and cutting their conversation short.
I didn’t like dictating how another surgeon should operate, but when the potential risks were too high and these two were wasting everyone’s time, I’d made the decision for them and ruled against it.
Marcella and I had tried paging the older Ziani again before going in since he was the one who had a say in determining which surgical devices were used by his staff, but both his personal cell and pager went unanswered.
Which I found rather peculiar.
I’d only known him for a little over four months now, but he’d always made himself available, even when he wasn’t at the hospital.
As I walked to the doctor’s lounge fifteen minutes later, I briefly stopped by Theater A to see if she was still there, only to find it empty. Something close to disappointment brushed against my breast bone but I waved it off and headed out of the surgical area.
I finally climbed into the lift, but once the doors closed, one thing kept bothering me. On top of his unresponsiveness, I couldn’t understand how a reputable and diligent doctor like Ziani would allow the use of any device from NyxMedica.
The company’s high-tech new surgical devices were promoted as avant-garde and aiming to improve efficiency during surgery, but all I’d ever heard from colleagues about the products was the opposite.
I knew the company had funded a part of AGH’s new surgical wing, and some of the devices had been previously used by some of the team, but I wasn’t aware the board was still allowing its general surgeons to do so after the leaked report that came out a few weeks ago showing how many complications had actually arisen from the use of the company’s products.
It contradicted every other report the company had issued in the past, especially from that fucking surgical stapler. The mortality rates attached to that device alone were too high.
Not that Nyx took any responsibility for it and instead blamed his manufacturer for not doing their due diligence and following his successfully proven prototype. And of course, the public and officials believed him.
The hospital had a reputation to uphold, so why would Ziani risk it?
As I made the short walk from the hospital to my flat, there was only one plausible answer that came to mind.
People always did stupid things for money.
I’d spent the next few weeks focusing my attention on collecting any information I could find on Ziani, no matter how minute it seemed.
Since I couldn’t ask for Sofiane’s help, I’d put to use all the tricks he’d taught me over the years and dug through Adnan’s bank account, and phone logs as far back as I could. I went over every bit of information with a fine-tooth comb, trying to spot anything that would indicate something unusual.
I’d already tapped each of the board members' phones during the few days following my birthday, but I had yet to find anything on his. He received solicitors' calls like everyone else did, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Ziani’s routine was simple.
Work. Home. And more work.
Azara had come over a few times for dinner, but she only stayed for an hour or two before leaving and heading back to her flat which was not too far from her childhood home.
I even followed him during my spare time (which wasn’t much), and unluckily for me, the only places he went to were the hospital and the townhouse he lived in with his teenage son, Zayd. Occasionally, he made trips to the pharmacy or the grocery store, but only if Azara hadn’t already gone for them.
Which I’d noticed she did a lot—taking care of them even though she worked just as much as I did.
May was nearly drawing to an end, and each lead I’d pursued had so far frustratingly hit a dead end. I had eight months left before it’d be too late, and yet I’d barely made much progress. Finding my entry point to the board was one thing, but actually claiming a seat was an entirely different order.
My computer suddenly pinged with the ringtone I’d set for when Ziani received a call. I paused, halting my task of cutting the cucumbers for my bibim-guksu ? 1 and switching off the heat on my boiling pot of water. I then walked into my living room, which currently looked like an inspector’s office in the middle of solving a crime.
It was a quarter past ten on a Friday night so I couldn’t help but wonder who’d be calling him at this hour. I brought up the app only to find out the incoming call was from another solicitor. I almost dismissed it and returned to my cooking, when the number caught my eye.
I’d seen it before.
Solicitors rarely called from the same number so I pressed the button to listen in on the conversation and quickly hit record before pulling Ziani’s previous call logs to confirm I hadn’t imagined it.
The line was quiet at first, until a voice I’d heard before—one that had been splashed across headlines countless times—filtered through the speaker.
“Why aren’t you answering my calls?” the voice snapped, sharp with frustration.
My brows furrowed as I searched my brain for explanations as to why Arthur Nyx would be calling Ziani’s personal cell, and at this hour of all times. My confusion deepened as I refocused on the conversation.
The sound of a door clicking shut came through before Ziani responded, his voice laced with irritation. “Need I remind you, I’m the medical director of an incredibly busy hospital. Besides, you’re only meant to call me at the times we agreed on.”
Ziani’s voice sounded completely different from the golden retriever man I’d gotten to know over the past few months.
Nyx’s reply came swiftly. “Need I remind you that I’m responsible for putting you there,” he gritted out as a door slammed in the background.
“ I put myself there,” Ziani growled, every word steeped in resentment.
“Do you forget that my money is a large contributor to where you and your family are?” His response was almost casual, but Nyx’s words were laced with an unmistakable threat.
The line was quiet for a moment, crackling slightly, until Adnan exhaled and spoke again. “What is it that you want?” he asked, clearly wanting the conversation to be over.
“Someone is leaking false information about my devices.”
Ziani let out a huff. “False isn’t the word I’d use,” he muttered, his tone thick with disdain. “But how is that my problem?”
“We both know what’s at stake here, Adnan. Find a way to fix it, or you won’t like the consequences.”
The line went dead before Ziani could respond.
Forty seconds. That was how long the call lasted.
I stopped the recording and sat there, their words hanging in the air. My mind reeled with the onslaught of information. I’d expected to eventually find something on Ziani and use it against him, but a connection to Arthur Nyx was the last thing I would have imagined.
When I looked through Ziani’s phone logs again, the number only appeared one other time, lasting just as long. So, instead of focusing on the incoming caller, I looked at the length of his calls over the last year.
Only to discover that someone had called Ziani and stayed on the phone with him for exactly forty seconds every three months for the last three years of records I could access.
I made a list of all the numbers and imputed them into another encrypted app that would trace who’d made them, or at least where they’d been made from. After a few minutes of processing, a message popped up on my screen with the lead I’d been after.
NyxMedica’s head office.
This piece of information wasn’t damning enough, but it was a solid lead. Now, I just needed to uncover the true nature of Arthur and Adnan’s connection. So, after quickly finishing dinner, I grabbed my bowl of cold spicy noodles and moved back to my sofa to get to work.
1 ? Cold Korean noodle dish (spicy noodles)