Chapter Three
Our discussion didn’t resume until we were on the flight home. I was merely trying to pin Adam down on a time for when we could have a serious talk about it. He wouldn’t even give me that.
I leaned forward, resting an elbow on the arm of my airplane seat in our adjoining first class pods. “Should I call your assistant and ask her to pencil me in? How about next Tuesday between three and three-twenty?”
Comfortably ensconced within his own pod, his arms were folded over his chest. “I really want to watch something but forgot to download a new movie. We get free Wi-Fi in first class, but I’m sure their streaming speed is for shit.”
“Adam—”
“Are you using your tablet?” he cut me off.
“Oh, I downloaded a couple 80s movies. Right up your alley. John Hughes. You like his movies, right? That Kevin Bacon one? She’s Having a Baby.”
Adam’s side-eye game was perfected long ago, long before we met, and he shot me some of it right then.And you know what? I didn’t give a shit.
I responded with my sternest stare, punctuated with true exasperation. “When are we going to talk about this seriously?”
His eyes narrowed. “We sure as fuck are not doing it right now on this plane surrounded by two hundred of our closest friends for the next twelve hours.”
I raised my brows in hope. “So, Maggie will pencil me in for twenty minutes next week?”
He rolled his eyes. “Emilia, please.”
I rummaged in my carryon and shoved my tablet at him. “Here, have a ball. Enjoy the tablet, since I don’t planon talking to you except for basic survival needs until you tell me when we’re having this conversation.”
He took the tablet from me and threw me an unreadable but careful look. “Basic survival needs, huh? Does that include—”
“No, it doesn’t. You’ll never become a member of the mile high club at this rate.”
He blinked, threw still more side-eye my way, then unlocked my tablet without another word while slipping on his noise-canceling headphones.
He must have liked my John Hughes suggestion, at any rate, because a few minutes later, he had the opening sequence of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off playing on the screen.
I blew out an exasperated breath that was lost on him due to the headphones. Hopefully, he got the message when I pressed the button to raise the divider between our two pods.
I rolled over to catch a nap, but my thoughts were racing too much to let me doze off. This man had to give in someday. Someday. But Adam’s stubbornness was legendary. And try as I could—and had in the past—I was, quite honestly, no match for it.
And as I had to be at the hospital all day tomorrow for my intern orientation, who knew when we’d have the time to talk again? Unless he made the overt effort to be home for dinner that night—and he only hit that mark about half the time, messaging me by early afternoon to tell me whether it was going to happen.
The next morning, fighting jetlag, I got up extra early, put on my hospital scrubs and a bit of makeup, and headed out the door. I allowed Adam to grab me up into a hug and land a peck on my cheek. “Have a good day at orientation. Try not to fall asleep in the middle of a presentation. Might be a bad look.”
I arched a brow at him. As if I’d fall asleep on my very first day as an actual doctor. How many years had led up to this day? And now, it was finally here.
“Forgive me?” he asked, tilting his head in that way that made him fetchingly handsome while he implored me with those dark, compelling eyes. Must be nice to be so fucking irresistible. But I was Mia Strong, and I could resist even the sexiest man on the planet.
For a little while, at least.
“You’re forgiven the second you put our chat on the calendar and follow through with it.” I tugged against his grip, reaching out to grab my purse.
He didn’t release his hold. “It’s your first day as Dr. Mia. Don’t go to work mad at your adoring hubby.”
“I’m not mad. I’m...exasperated. I’m—”
“Aroused?” He arched a brow at me, and I almost laughed at him. Instead, I smacked his chest, right on his firm, hard pec.
“Stop it. I’m annoyed. I’m—I’m—disappointed.”
His dark brows twitched together. “Disappointed?” And at my nod he added, “Ouch.”
I tilted my head as if to ask, do you blame me? And he slowly released his hold on my waist. Before stepping away, I landed a peck on his cheek. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight depending on when you can break free.”
“Have a great first day, doctor!” he called as I closed the front door and headed out.
It was nearly noon and after four straight hours of going over policies and procedures with our senior resident, several fellows, and attending physicians, we were more than ready for lunch. My brain felt fried. Funny that I could take hours and hours cramming medical terms, suggested dosages, and drug compatibilities, and feel refreshed after a short break, ready to dive in for more, but give me a bunch of legalese and my brain shut down after mere minutes. This reaffirmed that the medical track was the one for me and I should steer far clear of law, should I ever decide on a later in life career change.
“Dr. Strong, you have a delivery,” came a voice over the mic as we were breaking up for lunch. “Check in the mailroom.”
I turned to Louisa, whose brows raised as she asked me. “What’s all that about?”
I shrugged. “No idea. I haven’t ordered anything, though now I have this handy dandy list of suggested items.” I gave a sarcastic wave to my notes listing equipment we were supposed to provide ourselves while undergoing our internship—such as a stethoscope, otoscope and the like.
Her eyes lit up. She’d had her hair done into cornrow braids since I’d last seen her at graduation, and they looked amazing on her. She claimed it was a move of sheer practicality. “Let’s go see what it is, and then I’m dying for a bite to eat. I can’t believe we only get thirty minutes.”
“Medical school was only the beginning of the masochism, I’m afraid.” I smirked at her as we made our way down to the mail room, per the summons.
I knew the minute I got to the mail desk which delivery was for me. A massive bunch of flowers—red roses prominent.
“I was told I had a delivery.” I grimaced sheepishly. “Dr. Strong?”
“Yup,” the woman pivoted, grabbed the massive floral arrangement by the heavy vase and pivoted, depositing it on the counter between us. Her nametag read Elaine, and she beamed at me, making a big show of peering around the flowers. “What a great way to start your first day as a doctor. Somebody loves you,” she cooed.
I glanced at the card and rather than it being typed out or scrawled in some florist’s hand, I saw, printed out in my husband’s very distinctive handwriting: Dr. Emilia Strong and then in tiny writing just underneath and in parentheses: (aka Mrs. Drake).
“Aw look at that. He even put both your last names on it,” Louisa said, eyes lighting up. “I wish Josh was this thoughtful—and romantic. Dayum, woman. All this and hot as hell on top of it.”
“Oh, he’s hot?” Elaine asked, still invested in the conversation from where she crouched to see us around the massive arrangement. “Tell me more. Got a pic?”
Louisa actually pulled out her phone and fished up a picture of us at graduation standing with our husbands and pointed him out to her. She bent to look, eyes widening. “Wow!”
She gave me a look, maybe wondering how I ended up with someone with Adam’s stunning looks. Currently, I wasn’t exactly looking my best in my unglamorous hospital scrubs, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and with only light makeup.
“Oh, that’s not all,” Louisa leaned forward to dish. “On top of being super hot, he’s also a bil—”
“Okay, time to go!”I snatched up the vase, wrapping my arms around the unwieldy base so I wouldn’t drop it. “Thanks so much, Elaine,” I said to the mailroom lady while sending a pointed glare Louisa’s way. She responded with an apologetic shrug.
I had to carry that damn thing all through the cafeteria line while every eye in the room seemed fixated on it and me. “Aren’t you going to read the card?” Louisa asked.
“Eventually,” I answered. “Thanks for handling my food tray. I just want one of those Cobb salads with a little ranch dressing on the side.”
When we finally made it to a small, two-person table, the damn arrangement took up so much room, we had hardly any place to fit our plates.
“Go on, read the card.”
I pushed out a loud sigh. The card probably bore a profuse apology. And I’d rather not have to explain exactly what he was apologizing for which would eventually lead to her feeling bad and—worse—possibly apologizing for being pregnant or talking about her pregnancy, which I didn’t want at all.
I could just make up what it said, couldn’t I?
I snatched up the card from its little holder, but before I could open it to read, a presence made itself known, hovering near us at the table. Our senior resident, Dr. Craig Iverson, stood staring at the massive jungle-growth of flowers that seemed to be growing bigger by the second. Jeez. Adam never did things halfway and apparently that trickled all the way down to his taste in apology flowers, too. Goddamn it.
“Doctors Bluth and Strong? Good. I just wanted to let you know that I have you down for three twelve-hour shifts each this week. Dr. Strong, you’re on...” He clicked an app on the tablet he was carrying and scrolled. “You’re working the next three nights starting tomorrow and Dr. Bluth, you’ll follow—” He interrupted himself, throwing another look at the massive arrangement. His eyes landed on the envelope in my hand and he tilted his head, reading it. For some reason, I wanted to reach out and snatch it away.
“Wait, what?” Louisa protested. “Can’t Mia and I work together sometimes? Are you always going to schedule us opposite each other?” Louisa said, eyes wide with alarm.
Dr. Iverson blinked. “Well, this isn’t a girls’ club, Dr. Bluth, but I’ll see what I can do next week.”
I immediately felt myself prickle at the tone of his voice. “Dr. Iverson, ‘Girls club’ sounds a little....” I gestured with my hand to infer what I meant because the words were likely to inflame.
His eyes narrowed at me. “A little what?”
I blinked. He couldn’t be this clueless, could he? “Well, as we are two of only five female interns this year, I think it sounds a little sexist to call it a girl’s club just because we are requesting some rotations together.”
His features froze. I’d said the s-word. That word was not liked by men in charge, clearly. I sighed inwardly.
“I apologize, Dr. Strong. I’ll endeavor not to ever use the term again in any context—”
I held up a placating hand though it irked me to do so. “Please, I was just pointing out—”
“No, no. Fair enough. I have been called out. Now is there anything sexist in the sentence: You’re working for the next three days, late 12-hour shift?”
I blinked, then swallowed. “Umm. No.”
“Good. Thanks for keeping me on the straight and narrow.” He spun and left, his bearing stiff. He was clearly offended. Great, Mia. I sure knew when to pick my battles, didn’t I?
“Uh, maybe that wasn’t such a great idea,” Louisa said, watching him go.
I turned and peered after him, making a face. “Probably not, but hey, I bet today would be a great day to let him know you’re pregnant and going to need maternity leave in about seven months. I doubt he’d have anything to say about it.”
She grimaced at me. “Good point.”
Before Louisa could pester me about it again, I pulled the card out of the envelope, opened it, read it, and tucked it into the front pocket of my new white coat.
“Well? What did it say?”
I made an exaggerated face. “Can’t tell you. This cafeteria is rated PG, and let’s just say the note was NC-17.” I waggled my eyebrows for effect.
Louisa flushed, jaw dropping, eyes widening. “Oh my god, you are so damn lucky. What I wouldn’t give—”
I held up my hand. “Josh is amazing. Stop saying that.”
Later, during a particularly boring stretch of lecture, I fingered Adam’s card in my coat. He promised that we’d have that talk as soon as he was back from the short business trip he was taking over the next few days.
Which suited nicely, since apparently, I would be working late 12-hour shifts for the next three days...