Chapter 3

LARA

The emergency room was a mess when  I got there.  There was blood everywhere. Doctors were yelling. Nurses were running around. Patients on stretchers were lined up in the halls, some screaming, some crying, some just sitting there looking really scared which was actually worse because when people are silent like that it usually means they're really hurt.

I pushed through all the chaos and found my station. There was a man with a piece of metal stuck in his leg. A woman's face was so swollen I couldn't even tell if she was old or young. A kid, no more than seven years old, had a towel pressed to his head and his moms hands were shaking as she held it there.

I got to work.

I stitched. I clamped. I told the nurses what to do. I snapped at some residents who were too slow. I forgot about Delson and Elijah. I forgot about everything except the blood and the hurt people and the science of keeping them alive. I was in my element. What made me feel alive.

Four hours flew by in like four minutes.

When the last critical patient was stable I walked to the break room and collapsed into a chair. My scrubs were soaked with blood. My hands hurt and my back ached.

"You're still here."

I looked up. Amara was leaning against the doorframe holding two cups of coffee. She handed me one.

"I never left though. How could I when today had been a very busy day.”  I with a deep sigh.

“I know, right? One patient died in my hands today.”

I looked at her and pursed my lips. “It happens. I'm sorry.” I patted her thigh as she sat across from me.

“You haven't eaten, right? Is three pm.”

“Oh.” Was the only thing I could mutter.

She sat across from me. Stared. "You're going to kill yourself if you keep this up."

"Maybe that's the point." I said slowly, my eyes distant.

The words came out before I could stop them. Amara's face changed. She looked concerned and scared.

"Lara—"

"Forget I said that." I stood up with my coffee in hand. "I need to check on my patients."

"Actually." She grabbed my arm. "Dr. Harmon wants to see you. In his office."

My stomach dropped. Dr. Harmon was the head of surgery. He was old with his grey hair, and he never smiled. A face. If he wanted to see me it was either really good or really bad.

“About what?”

"He didn't say." She squeezed my arm. "He had a visitor this morning though. It was someone in a suit. Someone who looked rich."

Elijah?

Delson?

Either way I was fucked.

I hurried to Dr. Harmon's office. He sat behind his desk, his fingers clapsed together, his eyes cold.

"Dr. Ford. Close the door."

I closed it and came in.

"Sit."

I sat.

He didn't offer me water or coffee or small talk. He just looked at me for a time like he was deciding if I was worth the trouble.

"I'm assigning you to a patient,”  he said finally. "Full time. No other cases. He needs medical supervision and he's requested you specifically."

My heart stopped.

"Elijah Roosevelt.” I said to myself.

"Elijah Roosevelt." Harmon's eyes narrowed. "I know about the... Complications. His family and your husband's family have a history. But the hospital board has made a decision. The Roosevelt Foundation donates a lot of money to this hospital every year. We can't say no to them."

"I'm a trauma surgeon. Not a private nurse."

"You're whatever I tell you to be." His voice was sharp. "You'll report to his residence daily. You'll monitor his condition. You'll report back to me weekly. This is not a request, Dr. Ford. This is an order."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw his leather chair out his stupid window. I wanted to remind him that I was a person, not a pawn, not a thing to be traded between men. I'd learned a long time ago that protests didn't work.

I didn't go to Elijah's room that afternoon, because he was the cause of my predicament right now.

I told myself it was because I was tired. Because I had charts to finish. Because I needed to go and shower and pretend to be a wife before Delson came back.

The truth was simpler.

I was scared.

Not of Elijah. Of myself. Of what I might do if I was alone with him again. Of the way my body reacted when he touched my wrist. Of the heat that spread through my stomach when he looked at me.

I was a woman.

A married woman whose husband owned her like a piece of furniture. A married woman who hadn't felt desired in two years. A married woman who was about to spend hours with the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

I was so messed up.

I went to his penthouse the next morning.

Not the hospital. His actual home. The Roosevelt Tower, which was this building in the center of the city with a private elevator that required a fingerprint scan and men with guns at every corner.

Victor, Elijah's in-command met me in the lobby. He was tall and just…there.  He looked at me like I was a problem.

"This way Dr. Ford."

He took me to the elevator and we got in. When the doors opened I stepped into an apartment that cost more than I would earn in my lifetime.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. Black marble floors. Furniture that looked like it had never been sat on. Him.

Elijah Roosevelt stood by the window shirtless with his back to me. The bandages were gone and his wounds were healing faster than they should have. His shoulders were broad. His waist was narrow. I watched the hair on his chest trailed down his stomach disappear into his pants. I swallowed.

"Dr. Lara," He didn't turn around. "You're late."