6. Im pretty sure Id remember meeting you.
By day three, the conference no longer felt overwhelming.
After yesterday, Daxton's warm attitude, his kind gestures and words had settled a warmth deep in my heart.
It was surreal. The fact that I had conversed with the country's most successful businessman. The man that I had been crushing on for years. Watching him through a screen. Reading about him online.
That man now knew that I existed. Not just that, he made sure to make me feel welcome and comfortable. To extend words of praise for me. To show me that he saw me.
He brought me sugar for my coffee.
That point would probably come off as laughable for most people. For me, it was a charming act. A simple move, and he'd made me believe that I belonged here. That I was cared for. That I mattered.
There was another roundtable scheduled for the day, but with fewer delegates than the last one. I was honoured at making the list of attendees.
I took my seat, placing my notebook in front of me, shoulders squared.
Daxton sat two seats away this time.
Close enough for me to notice little things about him.
The way he adjusted his cuff links before the session started.
How he ran his fingers through his hair.
How he rested his hands on the table when he listened attentively.
And how his gaze always managed to hold mine at intervals, even if the contact lasted only a few seconds.
The discussion turned to implementation challenges.
"We'll need clinicians who can adapt quickly," one of the senior executives said. "This isn't theoretical medicine. It's practical."
"I agree," I said, leaning forward slightly. "But adaptability doesn't come from experience alone. It comes from training. Residents like myself are immersed in evolving protocols every day. We're used to integrating new systems quickly."
There was a pause.
"With all due respect," a man from across the table spoke up, his brow arched almost in a sarcastic manner. "don't you think this level of responsibility should be handled by someone more... seasoned?"
The word landed like a blade disguised as politeness.
My stomach tightened.
"I disagree." Daxton's voice cut through the room, calm and unmistakably firm.
Every head turned.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, hands clasped loosely, but his gaze was sharp, directed at the man who had spoken.
"Experience isn't defined by years alone," he continued evenly.
"It's defined by competence, clarity, and the ability to execute under pressure.
Dr. Ayra has demonstrated all three. Her insights over the past two days have been among the most practical at this table.
If adaptability is what we're looking for, she embodies it,"
My heart did a somersault.
"... and any person being given the opportunity to attend this conference, is here because they proved that they deserved it." He asserted, a stern look on his face as if he were challenging the people in the room to dare speak up against him.
The man sat shocked before clearing his throat. "I— I didn't—"
"Let's continue," Daxton cut him off curtly, turning towards another attendee. "Mr. Lorenzo, you were going to tell us about the prototype?"
Discussion resumed, but the room's energy had shifted.
My heartbeat still hadn't settled, my mind still in awe of the fact that he had defended me. Stood up for me. Yet again.
He hadn't raised his voice. Hadn't made a spectacle of it. He'd simply... stepped in. Asserted. Protected. Not just me, but my worth.
———
The knock came just as I was slipping out of my heels.
I froze.
It was almost 9 pm. Who could that be?
The conference floor had gone still an hour ago, delegates retreating to their rooms or private dinners I hadn't been invited to.
I glanced at the door again, my heart beginning to race.
Another knock followed.
I slipped my heels back on and headed to open the door.
A lady stood outside, poised and elegantly dressed. I recognised her. She was Daxton's assistant.
"Good evening, Dr. Ayra," she gave me a courteous smile. "I'm Emma Miller, Mr. Anderson's personal assistant. I hope I'm not disturbing."
"Nice to meet you, Emma. It's perfectly alright. Can I help you?"
"Mr. Anderson asked me to let you know that he's expecting you for dinner this evening. A one-on-one." She apprised.
I stiffened, lips parting slightly, my pulse quickening. "W-what? Me?"
She nodded. "Yes, Dr. Ayra."
"I wasn't aware I had any meetings scheduled." I managed to say.
"This isn't a meeting," she said gently. "He requested dinner. If you're available."
Requested. Dinner. With him.
Oh. My. Dear. God.
I swallowed, surprised. "Tonight?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "In the private dining lounge on the top floor. He'll be there shortly... I hope you can make it?"
My pulse thundered in my ears as I struggled to find words. One-on-one. Just me and him. How would I survive having dinner with him alone?
"I... um... okay."
She smiled. "Great. Take your time, doctor. I'll inform him."
I nodded, stepping backwards into my room.
The door closed softly.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the wood grain as if it might offer answers.
My life was steadily taking a drastic turn I never could have expected in a million years.
I exhaled shakily and pressed my palm against my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.
I walked toward the mirror and stopped.
The girl staring back at me looked nothing like the confident doctor I pretended to be all day.
Her eyes were too bright. Her cheeks faintly flushed. Her expression caught somewhere between excitement and disbelief.
I headed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, grounding myself.
"You're a professional," I murmured. "Act like one.
I showered quickly, letting the warm water steady my thoughts, though it did little to quiet the way my stomach fluttered.
Wrapping a towel around my body, I stepped out and wondered: What did one wear to a private dinner with a man like him?
Not scrubs. Not conference attire.
I reached for a dress I'd packed and hesitated.
Would it be strange wearing such a dress to dinner with the country's most eligible bachelor? Would it seem desperate? Or inappropriate?
I dropped the dress and grabbed an elegant, understated one instead. One that showed a lot less skin. I slipped it on, smoothing the fabric down with slightly trembling hands.
Brushing my hair, I decided to leave it down. Then I dabbed on some lip gloss, sprayed some perfume and took a look at myself in the mirror again. Simple. Not over the top. Very casual dinner friendly.
Except this dinner invitation didn't seem so casual.
Get it together. It's not like he's going to propose you.
Wouldn't that be a dream come true?
I sighed in exasperation, forcing my mind to shut up with its ridiculous thoughts.
Taking in a deep breath, I grabbed my clutch with shaky hands and walked out of my room on trembling legs.
I took the elevator to the top floor, willing for my breathing to calm down, but to no avail.
The dinner lounge was exquisite. Warm lighting. Low music. Linen-draped tables spaced far enough apart to feel private without being isolating.
Daxton stood when he saw me.
That alone made my breath hitch.
"Hi," he said, voice gentle, eyes warm as they met mine. "You came."
I nodded, suddenly very aware of my hands. "Of course."
He pulled out the chair for me, waiting until I was seated before taking his own across from me.
"Thank you." I murmured, struggling to meet his eyes.
"You're welcome." His lips curved slightly. "I'm glad you agreed."
I folded my hands in my lap, posture straight, heart anything but steady.
A waiter approached, and Daxton smoothly ordered for himself before glancing at me. "What would you like to have?"
My mind was a mess. I couldn't be bothered with going through the menu when I could barely think one cohesive thought.
"I'll have what you're having." I said quietly.
After the waiter left, Daxton leaned back slightly, resting one arm against the chair, his gaze steady on me. Not intense. Not overwhelming. Just attentive.
"I wanted to talk to you without a room full of people listening," he began. "If that's alright."
That made me extremely nervous. "Sure."
He nodded. "I've been reviewing the preliminary requirements from St. Celeste. But I wanted to hear directly from you."
Oh.
My fingers tightened together. "From me?"
"Yes." His tone was calm, encouraging. "You work in the department. You see the gaps firsthand. Are there any specific requirements in OB-GYN that I should keep in mind while developing the technology?"
I blinked, surprised that he was seeking my opinion.
"I—um," I cleared my throat. "Well... OB is... complicated."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "I gathered."
I smiled shyly, relaxing just a fraction. "Everything is time-sensitive. You don't always get a warning. Emergencies happen fast, and... sometimes in chaos."
He nodded, listening attentively.
"So," I continued quietly, "anything we use needs to be intuitive. No complicated steps. No extra screens. When a patient is hemorrhaging or fetal distress happens, we don't have time to think. We just act."
"That makes sense," he said thoughtfully. "Speed without sacrificing accuracy."
"Yes." I nodded, encouraged. "And privacy. OB patients are vulnerable. Emotionally and physically. Data security matters a lot."
His gaze sharpened slightly, thoughtful. "You're protective of your patients."
I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "It's part of the job."
"I think it's more than that. You're empathetic. You feel for your patients." He said gently.
Heat crept up my neck.
The food arrived, breaking the moment, and I was grateful for the pause.
As we ate, Daxton carried the conversation effortlessly.
He asked about residency—what my days looked like, how I ended up in OB, what my favorite part of the job was. He didn't rush me when I hesitated, didn't fill the silence too quickly when I searched for words.
Every passing minute, conversation with him seemed easier and easier.
"When I see a healthy baby cry for the first time," I admitted quietly. "That moment gives me an adrenaline boost that can't be put into words."
His eyes softened. "You're there for someone's beginning."
I nodded. "It's... grounding."
"That's rare," he said. "Most people don't get to see the impact of their work so directly."
I glanced up at him. "What about you?"
He smiled faintly. "I usually see results in numbers. Growth charts. User adoption. Not quite as poetic."
"But important." I said quickly.
His gaze warmed. "True."
There was a pause. A comfortable one.
Then he reached for his glass, hesitated, and said lightly, "For the record, you don't have to be nervous around me."
I froze. "I—sorry," I whispered. "I'm just... not very good at this."
"At what?"
"Being... social," I admitted, embarrassed. "Especially with people like you."
"People like me?" He looked amused.
"Confident," I said honestly. "Intimidating. CEO."
He chuckled softly. "I promise, I'm not trying to intimidate you."
"I know," I said. "You've been very kind."
"That's intentional." He replied.
My heart skipped.
"Can I ask you something?" He asked.
My stomach fluttered. "Yes."
He leaned back just a fraction, eyes never leaving mine. "Have we met before?"
My breath caught.
"Um yeah, at the conference? First day?" I replied, confused.
He shook his head. "No, before that."
I pressed my lips together, heat rising to my cheeks. "Um... I bumped into you earlier that day."
A faint smile played on his lips. "Even before that."
I blinked, perplexed. "No? I don't think so. Why?"
He sighed. "Yeah, that's what I thought, but..."
"But?" I asked curiously.
"You look familiar." He responded.
I pondered over it. It sounded weird. "Maybe you're resembling me with someone."
He shrugged slightly. "Maybe."
I laughed softly, nervously. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember meeting you."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "I was thinking the same thing."
Silence fell between us for a few minutes, before I broke it.
"I have to admit something."
He looked at me expectantly.
"I've heard things about you."
His brow lifted, amused rather than offended. "Have you now?"
I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "That you're... intimidating. Scary. Arrogant. Mean."
A soft laugh left him. "That's quite the list."
I bit my lip. "I never quite believed it, and now that I've met you... it's all come out to be false indeed."
He smiled. "Is that so?"
I nodded. "You're very humble and kind for someone who's the most successful man in the country."
"I don't think this would have sounded as charming coming from anybody else." He replied, smile still in place.
I couldn't help but smile back.
"So, I'm not scary, huh?" He inquired, amusement loud in his voice.
"Well, you are, a little." I admitted.
He chuckled, nodding. "How about arrogant?"
"Arrogant? No. Self-assertive? Yes." I answered.
He seemed pleased. "And mean?"
I laughed softly. "Definitely not mean."
He studied me for a moment, longer this time. "That's not what most people see."
"Maybe they don't look closely enough." I said before I could stop myself.
Silence settled between us again, thicker now.
"I'm usually all of those things," he admitted quietly. "Just not with you."
My breath hitched.