Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
MICHAEL
I’d felt fear before, but nothing quite like this.
When I set my mind to look for her after our meeting with David Thompson, finding Azara on the edge of passing out had been the last thing I’d imagined.
She was in my arms, her head still slumped against my chest, as my doorman pulled the door to my building open. I could have taken her inside Amanar General, but my place was just across from the hospital and seemed like the best choice.
At least that was what I’d told myself when I carried her here.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Young?” Mamadou asked, his eyes wide in concern as he swiped his card to call the lift to my penthouse.
“It will be.” I really hoped it would be. I didn’t know why she’d fainted, yet, but I just had to get to my flat and I’d be able to figure it out. Maybe this was a stupid idea, maybe I should have just taken her to the hospital.
I was suddenly starting to regret my decision, but immediately shook the thought away as the doors to the elevator opened up.
“Would you please call the hospital and let them know that I had an emergency? Tell them to either push my surgeries to tomorrow or ask Dr. Ahmad to cover for me,” I asked Mamadou, right before I stepped inside the cabin.
“Of course, sir,” he replied as he pressed the button to my floor, bypassing the need for my fingerprint. The second the doors opened, I rushed into my living room—which thankfully no longer had any of my research on her father plastered over the walls—and gently laid her down on my couch.
I got to my knees at her side and pushed the panic I’d felt when her body slumped into my arms as far away as I could. My eyes roamed over her in a quick assessment. Her face was paler than usual and her skin was clammy to the touch. Instantly, a fact I’d found while I’d gathered intel on her popped into my mind.
She’s diabetic.
I swiftly grabbed her phone that was already unlocked. I found the app I was looking for and found that her sugar was scarily low.
A thousand curse words assailed my brain, but instead of berating myself for not taking her to the hospital, I grabbed her tote, praying that she had an emergency bag on her, and pulled out a few items—wallet, keys, empty Skittle wrappers, lancets—until I found what I was looking for.
Grabbing the glucagon pen, I pulled her shirt up and injected it into her abdomen. I then safely placed her on her side and briefly left to grab what I needed for when she woke up.
Once I got what I needed from my kitchen, I came back to sit on the floor by her side, half a cup of different types of juices since I didn’t know what she liked, three glucose tablets I’d found in her emergency kit dissolving in a cup of water since it’d be easier for her to take, and a few snacks that were high in carbs and protein.
I reached for her phone and watched her glucose readings like a hawk as it slowly climbed up, counting down every second of the fifteen minutes, praying and begging whoever was up there to have her wake up.
I ran a hand through my hair, shaking my head. I should call the hospital. This was the dumbest decision I’d ever made. I was a doctor for God’s sake. I should know better.
Her body stirred next to me but I was in the middle of cursing myself under my breath in Korean to notice right away.
“Michael?” she asked in a whisper, and it immediately had me on high alert. It was also the first time she’d called me by my name and I didn’t think it ever sounded better than coming out of her lips.
Michael, now’s not the time.
I turned my head to find Azara slowly regaining consciousness.
“Hey, gumiho ,” I said, instant relief flooding my bloodstream at seeing her wake up. Before I could stop myself, I reached for the loose strands of her curly hair that had fallen and pushed them back and away from her face.
I skimmed her cheek with my thumb, but dropped my hand down when her eyes fluttered open, letting it rest in a safer position on her arm.
“What happened?” she asked puzzled, her eyes scanning the room we were in.
“We’re at my place. You had a hypoglycemic episode,” I explained, softly.
She blinked a few times, the information slowly registering.
“Can you sit up for me?” I asked,
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded in response. She moved to do it herself, but I quickly shifted to my knees to help. Once she was sitting upright, I asked, “Apple, orange, or pineapple?”
She glanced at me quizzically. “What?”
“What do you prefer?”
A hint of surprise filled her features, before she scolded them back into something more familiar to what I’d grown accustomed to over the last few months.
“Orange is fine,” she replied, moving to grab one of the cups, but I beat her to it.
I picked up the cup with the orange juice in it. “Drink,” I ordered softly, carefully bringing it to her lips.
“I’m not a child, I can do it myself,” she retorted, reaching for the cup.
I pushed her hand down and held it on top of her thigh. “I know. Drink,” I repeated, more firmly this time.
She rolled her eyes, but did as told and a small wave of unexpected satisfaction rippled through me. She parted her lips and I brought it closer, resting it on her bottom lip and tilting ever so lightly to let her drink at her pace.
I watched her intently, my gaze glued to the slender column of her neck as it bobbed with each swallow. Unwarranted images filled my mind, but I immediately cursed myself.
Get a grip Michael.
I pushed the thoughts away because it was highly inappropriate to imagine her throat doing the same under very different circumstances.
Once she was done, I pulled the glass away from her lips and a small drop of orange juice trickled past her lips. I caught it with the pad of my thumb just before it trickled down her chin. Then, almost instinctively, I brought my finger to my mouth and sucked on the droplet, quietly relishing the sweetness and wondering if it came from her or the liquid.
Shaking the thought off, I looked over to her to ask how she felt, only to find her gaze zeroed in on my lips. I knew our bodies were close given our positioning, but the distance became more striking at this moment.
Her tongue snaked out the tiniest bit, licking at that same spot.
My eyes trailed up to meet hers and I watched as she swallowed thickly before slowly meeting my gaze. Something that closely resembled desire swarmed across her irises, but it was just as quickly gone.
She cleared her throat and said, “Right, well I should get going.”
As if she’d snapped the cord of whatever trance we were briefly in, I shook my head and said, “No.”
Her brows furrowed. “What?”
Realizing how my reply might have come across, I added, “Yet.” I reached for her phone on the coffee table to show her the screen that displayed her sugar was still below the safe zone. “We need to monitor it again.”
“I can do it myself,” she said, echoing her earlier words.
“I know, but I’d feel much more comfortable if you did it here. You know, so I can make sure you don’t faint again on your way home.”
I didn’t want her to think that I didn’t think she was capable of caring for herself, but I wouldn’t let her leave mere minutes after she’d regained consciousness.
“Doctor’s order,” I added with a smile, hoping to infuse a little bit of humor into the moment as I moved from the floor and perched myself onto the coffee table.
I knew she didn’t have any allergies, so I grabbed one of the protein bars I’d brought from my kitchen and handed it to her. “Eat.”
She eyed the bar for a moment, before accepting it with a resigned sigh. “Fine,” she muttered before leaning against the back cushion and started eating.
We sat in silence for a while, waiting for the next fifteen minutes to pass. But after the second minute lapsed, I broke the silence. “Does this happen often?” I asked, opting for a safe question. “The fainting, I mean.”
“No,” she replied without looking at me.
I waited for her to offer more, but she kept her attention focused on the timer.
Well… okay then .
The silence wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but I found myself wanting to talk to her. So I tried again. “How long have you been diabetic?”
She shot me a sharp look with a raised brow. “What is this? An interrogation?”
I wanted to laugh at her witty remark, amused that even a hypoglycemic episode didn’t dull her hatred toward me, but I wouldn’t put it past her to hit me if I did.
“I just want to know more about you,” I replied sincerely, surprising both her and myself at my answer.
Her features softened and she let out a long sigh before replying, “I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes when I was seventeen,” she said her voice quieter now, “right before I started medical school.”
“That must have been a lot.”
“It was,” she replied, the hint of a sorrowful look flitting across her face.
Since I’d poured hours over learning everything about her and her family that the internet could give me access to, I knew that was around the same time she’d lost her mother. I wanted to say something, but that would be careless since we’d never talked— really talked—before so there was no reason for me to be aware of that information.
“Did your Dexcom malfunction or something?” I asked, steering the conversation away before I outed myself. “I’m surprised you didn’t get an alert.”
“I did,” she replied with another sigh before answering the puzzlement that she must have read on my face. “I always have small packs of Skittles with me, but I’d already gone through them. I was on my way to the cafeteria when you stopped me.”
I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. “Shit, this is my fault,” I muttered. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have pressed her to come with me. I should have paid more attention. I should have noticed the signs, I’m a doctor for…
“Hey,” she said, placing a hand on my arm and pulling me back. “It’s fine. It wasn’t your fault.” She shook her head. “I’m the one who should have done a better job at listening to my body,” she admitted.
I met her gaze, and she withdrew her hand, standing up abruptly. “I–I should go,” she said, quickly moving to leave. But in her haste, she miscalculated her steps, and tripped on my foot, stumbling forward.
She almost fell face down on the carpet, but I caught her just in time.
I steadied her and she looked down at me, her gaze flitting between my eyes and where my fingers gripped her waist. My heart increasingly thumped in my chest as my brain scrambled on what to do next.
Logically, it would be to let her go, but logic didn’t seem to be common for me these days. I met her gaze again and before I did something stupid like pull her down on my lap and kiss her, I forced myself to opt for reason.
“Maybe we should go to the hospital,” I suggested, my voice hoarse.
Even though she’d woken up and said she was fine, I’d much rather have her see a practitioner or we could ask for labs without having to go through the proper channels if she didn’t want others to know.
My comment snapped her back from wherever she’d seemed to be. “No, I’m fine,” she replied, shrugging my hands off her body and putting a reasonable distance between us.
“But—”
“I said I’m fine,” she repeated, more firm this time, as she pulled her curly hair into a bun on top of her head using the elastic band on her wrist. She stopped mid-way, then looked at me with a sigh. “Could I use your washroom before I leave?”
“Yeah, third door down on your left,” I replied, gesturing toward the hallway where it was.
Without a word, she stepped out of the living room and headed for where I’d shown her. When the bathroom door finally closed shut, I sat there for a moment before the reason I’d come looking for her dawned on me.
I’d planned to use her distraught from the meeting to my advantage and get a hold of her mobile, but then I’d found her outside on the verge of passing out.
Everything was swept away by the panic of seeing her in that state.
Shaking the memory away, I swiftly grabbed her phone that she’d left behind and hurried to my kitchen table where my laptop was. Once unlocked, I plugged her phone in and transferred her data into a private folder.
While I waited for it to be downloaded, I opened the encrypted program Sofiane had installed on my computer ages ago and installed a virtual chip into her server so I could track her whereabouts and listen in to her conversations.
After her father had officially been taken care of, all that had been left for me to do was to convince the board that I was the best candidate for the new open position. With Adnan planting a seed into the board member’s ear—since I knew they trusted him—I’d planned for the rest to be straightforward.
But I should have anticipated that this wouldn’t be so easily wielded in my favor.
I knew the only other person that could potentially be a hindrance to me swiftly taking the position was Azara. I had no doubt she’d be equally fit for it. She was an excellent surgeon and the beloved daughter of our previous medical director, but she had yet to finish her training so the idea she’d be considered hadn’t felt like something to be worried about.
I’d grown complacent, a mistake I wouldn’t—couldn’t—make again.
I was prepared to do whatever it took to complete my Order. And although a part of me recoiled at the thought of burying her, I needed to adhere to ‘by any means necessary’.
And what better way to do so than to keep your ‘enemies’ closer.
At least, that’s what I convinced myself was the best plan.
Nothing to do with wanting to be near her, of course.
I wanted to feel wrong about invading her privacy, but I didn’t care. I had six months left before my Ascension, and with my father’s disappointment that I hadn’t accomplished it already breathing down my neck, this job had to be mine, and if it meant taking her out, then she’d have to be collateral damage.
The transfer was ninety-seven percent done when I heard the bathroom door creak open.
Fuck.
The door clicked shut behind her, and her footsteps came closer as I watched the progress bar move, but it wasn’t fast enough. I was a good fucking liar, but what kind of excuse would be plausible enough for me to explain why her phone was plugged into my computer.
I jumped out of my seat the moment right before she walked back into the living room. In one fluid motion, I leaned my forearm against the wall, intercepting her.
She stopped short, her eyes flicking up to meet mine, startled. “Michael, wh-what are you doing?”
I hadn’t thought this far.
“Let me drive you home,” I suggested. I knew she’d say no, but it was the only thing I could think of that wouldn’t sound suspicious.
“I can get myself there,” she replied, trying to sidestep me.
I shifted my position, placing both hands firmly on either side of the hallway, effectively boxing her in. “Yes,” I said, “but I think it’ll be safer if I do it.”
She frowned, clearly growing irritated. “Move,” she said curtly, trying to move past me again, but I stepped in front of her once more.
“I could do that, but not until you let me. What if something happens?” This data transfer better ought to be done by the time I let her go.
Her eyes narrowed, lips pressing together in annoyance before she said, “Listen, I’m tired and don’t have time for this. So either move or I’ll move you.”
I couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at the corner of my lips. “I’d like to see you try,” I goaded her, stepping just a fraction closer to her.
Taking me by surprise, she placed her hands on my chest with a deliberate, almost playful touch. Then, her fingers trailed down the front of my scrub top, the movement sending a ripple of warmth down my spine.
“Michael,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, almost husky tone.
My pulse quickened, and I could feel a flush creeping up my neck, my thoughts scrambling to catch up. My brain knew what she was doing, but my body seemed to be lagging behind, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of her gesture.
And how much I wished there wasn’t fabric separating us.
Before I could get my brain and body to corroborate with each other, she used my brief moment of distraction to give herself just enough room to slide past me.
Whatever trance she’d put me in abruptly snapped in half when her touch disappeared. I wasted no time, dashing to the dining table to grab her phone, seizing the opportunity where her attention was diverted as she headed where she’d left her purse on the large sectional sofa. I tucked it behind my back, carefully keeping it out of her line of sight as she turned to face me.
“Goodbye,” she said, making her way toward the entryway. She slipped on her trainers, then summoned the private lift which arrived almost immediately. The doors opened and she hurried inside the cabin, but as the doors began to close, I quickly erased the distance and shot a hand out, halting the elevator doors with a swift motion.
Her lips parted in exasperation, but before she could speak, I interrupted her.
“You left this behind,” I said casually, holding her phone out toward her with a nonchalant smile.
She gave me an exasperated look before taking it from my hand. I then leaned in, scanned my fingerprint, and pressed the button for the ground floor before stepping back.
“Azara,” I said in goodbye, giving her an amused smirk.
“Michael,” she replied, shaking her head.
The elevator doors slid shut, leaving my name hanging in the air between us. I’d never tire of her saying it.
Shaking my head, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket to watch her live location as she headed for the hospital parking lot. Once she’d made it, I headed down to my parking garage. Sliding into my most inconspicuous car, I kept a safe distance between her vehicle and mine as I followed her home.