Damien's Pov
The second I stepped into the hospital, a headache formed between my brows.
He was here.
Nathaniel Cross.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me where to go. The nurses all looked too afraid to approach me, anyway. My coat was still open from the rushed drive back, and my jaw ached from how tight it had been clenched since the call.
And I knew I had that look . The one that said: don’t test me.
I was supposed to be home, unwinding after that awful conference. Instead, I was back here, entertaining a man I loathed just by breathing the same air.
"He’s waiting in the private lounge," my assistant whispered as I passed by. I didn’t even break stride.
When I got there, I found him exactly how I expected.
He was decked out like some GQ cover model with a stupid amount of confidence and a suit that probably cost more than his brain. No tie. Crisp white shirt. And a smile that made my skin crawl.
He stood when he saw me, all charm and arrogance.
“Dr. Damien Voss," he said, extending a
