Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
AZARA
I knew this was a terrible idea the moment I’d downloaded that bloody dating app at Hazel’s wedding two weeks ago.
“Like I said, it’s a really big opportunity they’ve entrusted in me and I’m looking forward to showing them what I’m capable of,” Craig, my date, finished, ending his fifteen minute monologue with a smile and looking straight at me.
Craig had brought me to Alessandro’s, a renowned fine-dining Italian restaurant in Mayfair. I would have much preferred something more casual for a first date, but the man I’d matched with last night had insisted on coming here.
Although the company was questionable, the place was quite beautiful and reminded me of the month I’d spent in Italy after my second year of medical school.
“That sounds great,” I replied with as much enthusiasm as I could muster after taking another sip from my water.
I’d barely said a word once we were seated at our table before he took over and just kept on yapping. I’d tried to add into the conversation earlier in our date, but had quickly given up, because with men with egos like his, there was no point in even trying.
“Yes, I’m committed to making important changes in the company, and hopefully make partner by the time I’m thirty-five,” he droned on.
Tearing my hair out strand by strand would have been less painful than the last hour I’d just wasted listening to this man talk. But, I shot him a fake smile, not wanting to say anything that would set him off onto another endless monologue.
I hadn’t been on a date in a very long time and this was exactly why.
For some puzzling reason, men seemed to always think that women either wanted to hear them talk about themselves all night, be mansplained basic concepts even a child would understand or worse, thought we wanted to go home and have sex with them after they’d treated us to a nice dinner.
I glanced at my phone on the table and subtly tapped a finger on my screen to check the time, praying that it was almost time for me to see myself out of this date. It was only 5:00 p.m., and I’d given myself until 6:30 p.m. to leave if I was to make it to my overnight shift on time.
Conveniently, he’d chosen a restaurant that was only a ten-minute Tube ride from AGH. I’d dropped my things at the hospital before meeting him here so I wouldn’t have to carry my things or need to go home before heading to work.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” Craig grumbled, startling me out of my thoughts.
I focused my attention back to him. “Sorry?”
He leaned slightly back into his chairs, his fingers drumming along the table. “You keep checking your phone, so I was wondering if you had somewhere else to be,” he said, his tone oozing with annoyance that I wasn’t hanging on to his every word.
And here I thought he wasn’t paying attention to anything but himself.
“No,” I paused. “I mean technically, yes I do, but not right away. I just have work this evening,” I explained, waiting for his very predictable reaction by the way his eyes widened at my words.
“You’re working after our date?” he asked, almost outraged that I’d dare have other plans after this.
If we were being technical, I hadn’t been scheduled to come into work tonight since this was my weekend off, but I knew the moment I’d said yes to this date that I’d need something to make me forget if this proved to be a disaster.
At least this proved that my gut was never wrong.
Except for Michael, my mind chimed in and I groaned.
He was the very reason I was subjecting myself to this date with Craig. It had been just over a month since my diabetes had placed me in a rather peculiar situation, one that ended with me at Michael’s flat.
Of all places I’d thought I’d end up waking up at, his living room had been the last place on my list. I’d expected him to bring me to the hospital, but instead I’d learned that he’d carried me all the way from Amanar’s parking lot to his apartment.
Something I’d learned courtesy of his doorman that had seemed relieved to see me well and awake when I’d left Michael’s apartment complex.
For the rest of that day, while I drove home, made myself dinner and then laid in bed, my thoughts were entirely consumed by that fact. I didn’t trust many people with my disease, but Michael had been unbelievably… kind and attentive.
Still overbearing and infuriating, sure, but what he’d done for me had made my reasons for hating him less, well, hateful.
I’d spent that night wide awake, just thinking about how he wasn’t just the boss I couldn’t stand, but the person who’d carried me all the way to his home, somehow knowing I’d prefer the privacy, treated my low blood sugar, stayed with me until I regained consciousness and didn’t make me feel like an object of pity when I told him I was diabetic.
So to deflect whatever weird feeling my body was going through every time I thought about him or saw him at work, I’d made the grave mistake of downloading a dating app after years of refusing to do so and said yes to the first match I’d made that didn’t look like a serial killer.
“I am,” I finally answered Craig, and without disappointment, he proved my hypothesis about his reaction to that fact correct.
His green eyes hardened. “What kind of job has you going into the office on a Friday evening?”
His voice was a note louder than before, attracting the eyes of other customers in our direction. I gave them a small, apologetic smile, before turning my attention back to him. In any other circumstance, I would have just excused myself and left, but Davide, the poor kid who had been assigned to work our table had had to endure my date’s lack of mannerism the entire night and I wanted to make sure he’d be tipped well before leaving.
“I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon,” I said calmly, not surprised that Craig had forgotten what I did for a living. I wasn’t one to flaunt my job, but the disdain that flashed across his face from my response sent a thrill of satisfaction through me.
At least one thing about this date would be.
Before he could say anything, we were thankfully interrupted by our server. “Would you like to look at the desert menu?” Davide asked with a forced, professional smile.
“No, we’ll get the check,” Craig responded curtly, and I’d never been happier for a date to end.
After taking care of the bill because who the fuck asked to split the bill on a first date, I’d hailed for a taxi to drive me to Amanar because I was too exhausted to deal with the evening rush hour of the Underground.
I got to the hospital with plenty of time to spare despite the traffic we’d been stuck in. I walked through the giant glass sliding front door of AGH and headed for the elevators on the left, my heels clicking against the vinyl floors and echoing in the quiet evening lobby.
A few of my colleagues shot me surprised looks, but I just smiled and pretended my attire was a normal occurrence. I rarely wore dresses or even dressed-up coming to work since I’d just change into scrubs, work all day and go home right after.
I lived and breathed surgery and occasionally went out with the girls. The last time I’d worn a dress was for the masquerade ball and it wasn’t a time I’d like to reminisce on.
I pressed the button to call the lift. While I waited for what I knew would be a moment, I reached inside my shoulder bag to grab my phone and check if I had any important emails or urgent tasks to complete before I began my shift.
I had a few emails about miscellaneous meetings that I ignored, and continued scrolling to see if the surgical program director had given me an answer to my proposition.
It’d already been a little over a month since Thompson had announced to Michael and I that we would be competing for the medical director position.
As much as I hated admitting it, Michael and I were pretty matched in our surgical skills, and we’d even both done the specialty run-through program, on top of finishing it earlier than most surgeons. I’d even thought my years of loyalty and dedication to this hospital would give me an advantage, but according to our COO, that didn’t matter.
Which was absurd if you asked my opinion.
So the only thing that I could do to set myself apart from Michael was to come up with an idea that would benefit the hospital and help run it more efficiently.
I’d been volunteering to hold teaching sessions for medical students and junior doctors over the last few years whenever I had time, but AGH didn’t have any permanent teaching programs in place.
We learned a ton in school, but theory wasn’t always practice. Frankly, I’d learned most of everything I knew now while working in clinical settings because things were vastly different with real patients and real situations, especially when our bloody textbooks weren’t diverse and inclusive in their teachings.
I’d sent a proposal earlier this week, but still hadn’t received any sort of response.
The lift doors slid open with a soft ding just as I finished typing a reply to another email. Without looking up, I stepped forward when the sound of someone sharply sucking in a breath made my steps falter.
I paused, my skin already prickling, as if my body knew exactly who it was before I dared to glance up. And sure enough, when I did, my gaze met an all too familiar one.
For fuck’s sake. No matter what I did, I could not stop seeing him. He was bloody everywhere. I couldn’t go just one day without crossing paths with him.
Michael stood there in the otherwise empty cabin, leaning against the railing of the back wall with his hands casually shoved in the pockets of his navy scrubs. His hair was slightly tousled from what I could only assume was a long shift—Fridays here were always like that.
“Are you getting in?” he asked cockily as his dark eyes slowly roamed over my figure, taking in my sleek black satin dress with lace detailing that I’d paired with strappy black sandals.
An expression I’d never seen there before flickered across his features as his gaze locked with mine again, sending warmth rippling through my body and igniting that weird fluttering sensation around my stomach.
My lips parted to say a reply, but then I remembered that I was supposed to be ignoring him. That was the whole reason behind my attire and the ridiculous date I’d just suffered through.
I briefly considered waiting for the next lift, but it would take ages to get here because despite the hundreds of thousands of pounds this place received every year, investing in faster elevators wasn’t quite on their top priority list.
Shaking whatever virus my body must be developing, I squared my shoulders and finally stepped inside, deliberately keeping as much distance between us as possible. I pressed the button for my floor and kept my gaze firmly fixed ahead. I watched the doors slide shut, and suddenly, the soft hum of the elevator felt deafening.
The warmth of Michael’s gaze burned between my bare shoulder blades, and the foreign fluttering from earlier multiplied uncontrollably. I cursed myself inwardly and silently willed the lift to hurry, so I could get away before he said anything that would force me to acknowledge him.
Unfortunately, luck was never on my side when it came to Dr. Young.
“Bit overdressed for surgery, don’t you think?”
I didn’t look at him. Don’t engage him , I told myself. Don’t eng ? —
I felt him step closer. “Ignoring me, Dr. Ziani?”
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, bracing myself before reluctantly responding. “Not ignoring you, just didn’t think your comment was worth a response,” I said, my eyes fixed on the illuminated floor number.
He laughed softly under his breath, warm and deep, and I could feel him moving even closer. “Can you blame me for wondering why you look so breathtakingly beautiful?” His voice dropped on the last word, and I gripped my phone tighter.
I’d been called beautiful before, but coming from him felt… more.
I could almost feel his eyes trailing over my bare back and I hated that my body was reacting to it. This was ridiculous. Why did it always do that when he was near? Couldn’t my body, just once, do as I asked it and ignore his presence?
“That’s none of your business, Michael,” I said, attempting to sound indifferent but even I could hear the faint waver in my voice.
“Oh, it’s Michael now?” he teased with that infuriating lilt that always seemed to make my pulse spike. The front of his top grazed against my bare spine, my skin tingling at the friction
Why were these elevators so damn slow?
“Quite unlike you to let me have the last word,” he said, amusement threading through his voice.
“Aren’t you supposed to be home by now?” I snapped, risking a glance at him over my shoulder. The previous distance between us was now gone. He was wearing his stupid, smug grin and I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze.
“I could say the same thing about you,” he said smoothly, “but let me guess—bad date?” The corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing smirk, though his smile looked a little strained. Or maybe I was imagining it.
Not that it should fucking matter what his smile looked like.
“What?” I said, feigning ignorance.
He leaned his back against the wall next to me, crossing his ankles and folding his arms across his chest. “The reason you’re working on a Friday night, wearing that dress.”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, but it was a great date,” I lied, refusing to give him the satisfaction as I faced forward.
“Great, right,” he repeated, dragging out the word and knowing it would get under my skin, but I ignored it. He was quiet for a moment before he added, “He’s really a fool, then.” His voice had dropped to a murmur, almost as if the words were meant more for himself than for me.
Against my better judgment, I glanced at him again. “What?”
His eyes flicked down my body, then back up to meet mine. “I don’t think I would have been able to let you go after seeing you wearing that.”
His presence suddenly sucked all the air out of my lungs and I swallowed thickly, when the elevator finally came to a halt. I didn’t wait for the doors to fully open before bolting out of there.
“See you later, gumiho ,” I heard him call after me.
My heart was still hammering by the time I reached the surgeon’s lounge and only when I walked inside did I realize that I’d been holding my breath this entire time.
After I’d washed my face clean of makeup and changed into my scrubs, I caught up on finishing writing up my cases and checked the referral system for any emergencies that might require my attention since I had almost two hours to kill before my shift started.
When 7:00 p.m. rolled around, I treaded the familiar path to the surgical ward. I wouldn’t have much to do tonight unless there was an emergency but it was a better distraction than staying at home and thinking about him .
Despite the disastrous afternoon I’d had, I found myself looking forward to settling into my work routine. I’d finally have the chance to shut everything else off and focus on others. That was one of the things I loved the most about being a physician.
However, my promising mood evaporated the moment I stepped onto the ward and saw Michael leaning casually against a corner wall. He’d changed into a knitted jumper that left nothing to the imagination of his upper muscular frame, the navy fabric molding every inch. Even his pair of dark trousers made him look even better.
As if that was even possible.
I groaned in exasperation. What had I done to deserve such treatment from fate?
He was in the middle of a lively conversation with a tall, leggy brunette dressed in an outfit that probably cost twice more than my monthly salary.
What was he still doing here? His shift had been over ages ago. Way before I was even scheduled to start. Trust me, I’d checked before accepting the overtime.
Her back was turned to me, but as soon as I heard her laugh, I recognized who it was. Michelle Thompson. One of the consultant plastic surgeons here, who also happened to be David Thompson’s wife and another member on the board.
I’d only had to work with her once a couple of years ago, but it had been one too many. Her reputation for looking down on anyone who wasn’t in her field and her hate for interdisciplinary cooperation was well-known amongst AGH’s staff. It was either her way or she wouldn’t help.
Young and her were huddled a few feet away from where I stood at the ward’s front desk, far too close to each other.
I rolled my eyes and moved behind the station to find out which nurses had been assigned to my patients in the previous shift so I could get a quick update on how they were doing.
I’d been trying to focus on what Marissa was saying about Mr. Casas for the last few minutes, but Michelle was laughing so obnoxiously loud, I couldn’t concentrate. I glanced over at them again, their bodies now even closer and her manicured hand resting on his forearm.
We were in a hospital, not a bloody pub.
And she was married, did he have no shame? Besides, since when have they known each other? She barely operated anymore so this couldn’t be an exchange about a patient.
It definitely wasn’t looking that way to begin with from the scene in front of me.
“Dr. Ziani?” I heard Marissa say.
“Yes?” I replied absentmindedly, my gaze still fixed on the utterly inappropriate exchange.
“I asked if you could write the exit prescription for Casas so it can be ready for his discharge?” Marissa asked, her voice firmer this time.
My gaze snapped back on her to find her looking at me with puzzlement. “Yes, sorry. I’ll do that after I see him tonight.”
“Great, thank you,” she said, before going back to writing her progress note since her shift would be ending soon.
Before starting my rounds, I swiftly logged into a computer to claim it as mine and to have it ready when I needed it before heading to see my first patient. And unfortunately for me, I had to pass them to get to the hospital room.
I kept my gaze firmly ahead, doing my best to appear unfazed. They were exchanging goodbyes and I caught the last part of their conversation just as I walked past them.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Michelle said, with resolute confidence in her tone.
I hadn’t been able to hear their conversation this entire time and kept wondering what they could even be talking about that would warrant such camaraderie. But just as I was about to walk into one of my patient’s rooms, my hand froze on the panel when the way she’d said those words dawned on me.
You have nothing to worry about.
She couldn’t be referring to…
I was being paranoid. He wouldn’t try to win votes that way. Right?
I should have pushed the door open and stepped into the room. But?—
He had his back to me when I glanced over at them again just in time to find her placing a kiss to his cheek before waving her fingers in a goodbye and walking toward the ward’s exit.
When she was out of sight, Michael briefly looked over at me with a smug smile on his face before walking toward the hallway that housed both my father’s office and his own a few doors down.
The bastard.
He was probably taunting me and I should let it go and get to work, but my feet grew a mind of their own and before I could stop myself, I stalked after him.
And once I caught up to him in a few strides, I grabbed his wrist, and pushed us inside the first room I saw.