Page 72 of Chase

His blue eyes move back to mine and widen. He cocks his head to one side and smiles wide. “Whose bed were you in when you got out of the elevator?” he asks. “Casanova or his brother’s? I’d love some details if you were willing to tell, because someone was fucking you as you walked across this floor. That face of yours was lit up like a Christmas tree.”

“A lady never tells.” I wink at him, turn on my heel, and go to walk off.

“Spoilsport,” he mutters. “And there was me thinking we’re friends.”

I retrace my steps, then place my hands on his desk before leaning forward. He rises a fraction from his seat closer to my lips. “I’ll tell you a secret,” I say, my voice low and conspiratorial. He leans in closer, his breathing quickening with excitement as he thinks I am going to divulge some big, juicy secret. “Connor likes cream in his coffee, but Russell prefers it black. Both of them love a cookie in the morning.”

“Fuck’s sake, Sam. Unless cookie is a code word for blow job or anal, then I am deeply disappointed in your lack of transparency.”

I shrug unruffled by his complaint, and he throws himself back down in the chair. “As I said, a lady doesn’t tell.”

“You’re no fucking lady,” he mutters. “You’re fucking two of the most gorgeous, eligible men in London. That’s greedy, and ladies are not greedy.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Totally,” he agrees with a small smile. “But allow me to wallow in my self pity. Your life gets more exciting as mine gets more complex.”

“What’s happened now?” I ask him. Between Bryan’s kids and his ex, there’s always drama.

“I received a letter advising me that the witch will be reducing her child support payments due to her unemployed status.” He stops typing and drops his head into his hands. “I’m not sure how I’m going to survive, Sam. I can barely make ends meet as it is.”

“But she pays next to nothing!” I squeal, infuriated for him. “There must be a way we can fight this. She’s married to a billionaire!”

“Fighting costs money, and money is one thing I don’t have.”

“Bryan…” I trail off, not knowing what to say but my mind whirling with possibilities of how I can help.

“It’s okay,” he says. “You can’t fix my situation any more than I can. Just talking to you helps. Thanks for being my personal agony aunt.” I laugh, but deep down my heart breaks for him. Bryan is one of my favorite people; he’s one of the only joyous things in this damn hospital. “Anyway, you better be getting on. The dragon will arrive soon, and we don’t want her to find you standing around talking to me.” With a salute, I turn and walk off toward the staffroom to prepare for my shift.

My morning rounds are relatively quiet. As I visit each patient to wash and change them, I enjoy the basic interaction. Both the transplant giver and receiver’s rooms are empty, however. The early hour of the operation is a surprise; normally, Dr. Rivera doesn’t operate until eleven in the morning.

As I reenter the reception area to quiz Bryan, the doctor herself comes screaming down the hallway. She blasts into the waiting area in her scrubs, pulling the latex gloves from her fingers. There are no patients yet; only Bryan and I are in the room.

Bryan jumps from his seat, running to her and grabbing her shoulders. Tears stream down her face, and she drops to her knees. Unsure what’s happening, I stand and gape at the scene in front of me as she crumbles before my eyes.

“What is wrong, doctor?” Bryan asks, his voice surprisingly firm but kind.

“She’s dead,” she wails in answer. Bryan’s glance flicks to me then to the back to the crazed woman in his arms.

“The patient?”

“I need to leave. I need to get out of here.” She pulls herself from his grasp. He steps toward her, but she holds up her hands defensively. “Don’t touch me!” Her eyes blaze, and she drops the rubber gloves on the floor.

“Doctor, if you lost a patient…”

“Not a patient,” she hisses. “A lifeline, and now the clock is ticking down for me too.”

Without giving either of us the chance to ask any further questions, she turns and runs for the back staircase. Bryan turns to me.

“I’ll go to the operating theater and see what’s happening,” I tell him.

“And I’ll try to calm her down.” He takes off in the direction Dr. Rivera took.

When I reach the operating room, I find the remaining surgical staff tidying up the dead body of the donor patient. The young woman lies on the table, cold, gray and gone. Everyone in the room looks shellshocked, and seem to be going about their business on autopilot.

“What happened?” I ask, as I push open the door. Four sets of eyes turn to me, but no one answers. “When did the doctor leave?”

One older nurse walks over and stands directly under my nose. She’s short but lifts her chin defiantly before speaking.

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