Chapter 1
Chapter One
HARPER
The coffee machine hissed and gurgled in the pre-dawn quiet of my kitchen. I yawned, shuffling down the hall toward the heavenly scent wafting through my condo.
I passed the living room, glancing over just to admire it. It was comfy, cozy, made just for me. Everything was in its place because that’s how I functioned best—pillows arranged just so, books stacked on the coffee table, a soft blanket folded over the arm of a chair.
My slippers flapped against the heels of my feet as I entered the kitchen. The tablet that lived on the island came to life with a tap. I liked listening to overnight shenanigans while I waited for the coffee to brew.
After one last gurgle from the coffee machine, I filled a thick ceramic mug, added a splash of cream, and took my first sip while watching the city wake up through the sliding glass doors off of the dining room. The city wasn’t even awake yet.
This was the time of the day I protected the most. The moment before anyone could demand anything from me, before anything could be spoiled.
The iPad blared reports about some city council meeting and a traffic accident on the interstate; nothing that required my full attention, which was good because my mind was already running through the day ahead.
I had a morning briefing with the rest of the Risk Management and Patient Advocacy teams, I’d scheduled a follow-up on an orthopedic complaint that came in the week before, and I needed to complete an assessment prior to my lunch meeting with the new Director of Surgical Services.
In the pocket of my robe, my phone vibrated. I pulled it out, glanced at the screen, then clicked my tongue softly and slid my finger across the device.
“Did you know most people are still asleep at six in the morning?” I asked, trying and failing to sound stern.
“The early bird gets the worm, I heard.” My assistant, Rowan, laughed. “Every morning, you get an attitude about how early I call you and every single morning, you’re already up.”
“That doesn’t mean I want you on my phone.”
“Take a few more sips of that bitter ass dark roast that’s stripping the lining out of your intestinal tract.”
“I’m four sips in, actually. If you’re jealous of my custom coffee blend, just say that.”
“Ain’t nobody jealous of that expensive bean water. My taste buds don’t require a second mortgage.”
“Don’t come for my coffee when you’re drinking a peppermint mocha thing that smells like a Bath & Body Works candle.”
“Excuse you! My coffee blend is delicious.”
“Alright, what’s going on?” I asked, already bracing. “You didn’t call me before sunrise to debate coffee.”
“Yes, I did, but okay. I’ve been tracking a patient death. The family’s starting to ask questions.”
Noting the inflection, I lowered the volume on the iPad and asked, “What kind of questions?”
“The kind they hire a medical negligence law firm to ask. A records request came through Friday afternoon. The review team flagged it.”
Patient deaths happened every day at Ridgeway Medical Center. We were the largest hospital in the region, a level one trauma center, the place people came when everything else had failed. When protocols and policies came into question, the Risk Management department got involved.
Most families grieved and moved on. Some asked questions. A few hired lawyers.
“Walk me through it,” I said.
The sounds of clicking told me they were already in the file. “Elderly patient brought in unresponsive. ER found a ruptured aneurysm. His condition deteriorated, he was transferred to surgery. Patient died before family arrived.”
“Happens,” I said. “So, what’s the problem?”
“Next of kin is pressed. They’re saying they were left out of critical decisions, and no consent was obtained for the interventions.”
I frowned. “An imminent situation trumps consent. We aren’t going to wait for family to mosey on down to the ER to say yes, we can save a life.”
“Normally, yeah. But the patient is a Hart. As in Hart Pavilion, Hart Endowed Chair—”
My eyes slammed shut and I set my mug down with a heavy thunk. “Fuuuuuuck.”
“Right.” Rowan paused, pushing out a sigh. “Dr. Rice is already in my inbox.”
Dr. Elizabeth Rice, Vice President of Risk Management and Patient Advocacy, had never met a problem she couldn’t reframe as someone else’s fault. She and I had a tenuous relationship. We got along better when she let me do my job. Unfortunately, she was a bit of a helicopter and a micromanager.
“Who was on the case?” I asked.
After a few clicks, Rowan replied, “Aside from the ER team, Dr. Cole Vaughn, trauma surgeon. He’s been at RMC about three years. He’s as good as they get, from what I hear.”
I knew the name, the face, the physique.
Dr. Vaughn looked like he’d stepped straight out of central casting of a nighttime medical drama.
Mid-forties, dark, moody eyes framed by bushy brows.
He had distinguished grays throughout his hair and beard that probably had the nurses doodling his name in their journals at night.
Vaughn didn’t seem particularly political. Either he was smart enough not to play games or naive enough to think being good at his job was enough to protect him.
We all learn sometime.
I glanced at the clock. I had time to finish my coffee, get dressed, and arrive at the hospital ready to jump into this case.
“Alright. I’ll be there by eight,” I said.
“See you then. I’ll have coffee waiting.”
“You have enough to do without fetching me coffee.”
“We have talked about this, Harper. You’re much more pleasant when you’re caffeinated.”
I pouted. “I’m starting to feel like you’re managing me.”
“Somebody has to. See you in a bit.”
I hung up and stood in my kitchen enjoying the last moments of silence. A long snore rolled from down the hall, reminding me that I wasn’t alone. I padded back to my bedroom. The door was cracked and from inside, the sound of deep breathing came through.
The dark-skinned, muscled body I’d worshiped the evening before was sprawled across one half of my king-sized bed.
The duvet had been tossed away like an afterthought at some point during the night.
One arm was thrown over his face, a sheet tangled low enough around his waist that I could trace his Adonis lines to a well-groomed length if I so desired.
Jeremiah and I had been doing this for three months—meeting for a game or a movie or dinner, then stealing time with each other, no strings.
He was a project manager at a tech company downtown.
Funny, sexy, great in bed, and smart enough to let me control the speed and depth of our relationship.
He did not ask questions I didn’t want to answer.
He texted or called, I responded if I felt like it.
And if I felt like it, I could wake up next to him taking up half of my bed.
I eased onto the edge of the bed and reached out, landing a hand on his shoulder, and rubbing his warm form. “Hey.”
He stirred, squinting and groaning, twisting as he rolled toward me. I admired the wiry, sinewy muscles of his shoulders, his forearms, his back in the dim light. “Morning already?”
“Yep. And I’ve got to be in a bit early today. Just letting you know we’re on a time clock this morning.”
He grunted, then pushed out a heavy sigh. “So, no seconds then?”
I chuckled low, then slid a hand down the side of his body and below his taut belly, where I knew what was waiting for me, if I said the word. “Uh, that would be thirds, greedy. Rain check?”
“Mmmmph. Tore my ass up. You don’t owe me shit.” He stretched, looking around for his clothes. They were scattered across the floor where we’d left them. “What time is it?”
“Little after six thirty.”
“Damn. I was knocked out.” He sat up, scratching the stubble that had grown in overnight, sending an earthy sound into the air. “You got coffee on?”
“You know how I am about coffee. I’ve already had mine. You know where the to-go cups are.”
“To-go cups.” He mumbled, found his boxer briefs, pulled them on. “So, uh, you around next week? Maybe Thursday?”
“Honestly, I don’t know yet.”
I loosened the belt of my robe and let it slide from my shoulders. Typically, I slept in the nude and only wore a robe when I was not expected to be naked. I wasn’t looking at him, but I knew he was eating up my full breasts, my hips, my ass, my thighs.
My feet.
This freak loved my feet.
“A new case is rolling in,” I said, continuing like I didn’t know he was slowly re-dressing while staring with his mouth open. “No telling how unpredictable work is about to get.”
I heard the denim of his jeans rustle as he pulled them up his legs, then the zipper. He headed to the bathroom to use the spare toothbrush I kept handy for him.
“My boy that books TONIC night club said Maxwell was blowing through on some dinner and a show type shit,” he called from the bathroom. “I can get you in if you wanna join. Let me know.”
“I’ll text you when I know if I’ll be buried or not.”
He grabbed his shirt and shoes and pulled them on, then made sure his wallet was in his back pocket. He leaned in only after taking one last long look at my naked breasts and kissed me.
“Enjoyed myself, as always,” he said, before pulling back.
“As did I,” I replied with a genuine smile. “I look forward to our next encounter.”
“A’ight, I don’t need the customer service voice. I’m going.”
“Bye, fool. Lock my door on your way out.”
I listened to him move through the apartment to gather his jacket and keys.
The front door opened and closed and the deadbolt whirred after he entered the code to lock the door, leaving me to stand in the middle of the room looking at the rumpled sheets, the dent in the pillow where his head had been.
This was normal. It was what I insisted I wanted—physical intimacy without the risk of anything deep and meaningful and dramatic.
Men who were fine with texting when it was convenient and disappearing when it wasn’t. Nothing formal. Just a good time.