Page 111 of Wrecked on the Mountain
The adrenaline that carried me through my dramatic exit from the airport now propels me forward. I slam the truck door and march toward the entrance, my boots echoing against the timber steps like gunshots.
Martha's cheerful voice greets me the moment I burst through the front doors. "Dr. Shields! Good morning, dear. I didn't know you were working today."
"Where's Jamie?" I interrupt, barely slowing down as I storm past her ultra-pristine desk with its fresh mountain flower arrangement and that ridiculously expensive coffee setup.
She shoots out of her chair, suddenly realizing that I'm not slowing down for our usual morning catch up.
"Wait! He's on an important call!" Martha calls after me, her voice rising in alarm. "Dr. Shields, you really shouldn't—"
I'm already past the reception area, past the operations room where Knox and Chase look up from their computers with matching expressions of fascination. Their not-so-subtle gossiping about whatever's had Jamie on mysterious phone calls all morning will have to wait.
I don't knock.
Jamie's office door flies open under my palm, and there he is—broad shoulders hunched over his phone, one hand running through his dark hair in obvious frustration. His voice carries that crisp military authority that makes my knees weak under normal circumstances.
But not now.
"—understand this is effective immediately. I'll submit the formal paperwork by—"
My palms slam on Jamie's desk with a crack that reverberates through the room like thunder.
This desk.Thisdesk.
The memory of being bent over this very surface floods back. Jamie's hands claiming every inch of me that day, his voice rough with possession and filthy demands as he made me his for the very first time.
I'd never felt so alive before.
The way he'd commanded my surrender with nothing but his presence, that intoxicating blend of military authority and mountain man strength that no Chicago surgeon or businessman had ever possessed.
The desk where I'd discovered what it meant to be completely, utterly wrecked by someone like him.
Jamie's phone clatters to the floor as his eyes snap to mine, wide with shock.
"What the hell are you—"
"I'm staying." The words explode out of me. "I don't want the job. I don't want Chicago. I want—"
Jamie doesn't move for a long moment, his broad chest rising and falling as quickly as mine. God, just looking at him now… how could I ever leave? The man is built like he was carved from the mountain itself.
Slowly, he covers the phone's mouthpiece. "Brooke... what are you talking about?! I just resigned."
"You what?!"
"This morning." His face cycles through relief, panic, and something that looks suspiciously like terror. "First thing after I got here, I told the board I'm moving to Chicago. I was just on the phone to—"
"YOU RESIGNED?!" My voice probably carries all the way to Bear Paw Café. "You absolute MORON! I just turned down my dream job!"
Jamie stares at me for exactly three seconds before frantically pressing buttons on his phone. "Hold on—no, wait—don't process anything yet. I need to—"
"Striker?" The voice on the other end sounds confused. "You're breaking up."
"I'll call you back!" Jamie practically shouts, ending the call and immediately dialing another number. "I'll tell them Chase sent the email as a prank. Or temporary insanity from too much good sex."
"Jamie Striker!"
I can't decide whether to laugh or strangle him.
"Are you seriously trying to blame Chase for your resignation?"
