Page 47 of Doctor Mile High
No one is allowed to talk to her like that. I’m still tempted to kick him out of the conference and cancel his lectures.
I’ll deal with him only when Dove is rested and the baby is taken care of. They’re my first priority above anything else.
“So? Don’t leave me hanging,” she probes, our son letting out a loud wail. “Oh, he’s hungry.” She lifts her shirt, freeing her left breast from her bra, and Winston latches on with ease.
Dove hisses, wincing with pain.
“Are you okay? What hurts? How can I help?” I ask her.
“No, I’m fine. Breastfeeding is a new sensation I need to get used to. It’s uncomfortable, but I’ll be fine. Perfect timing. If he eats, he’ll go to sleep, and then maybe I can rest.” She yawns. “I’m not feeling all that well.”
The elevator doors open, revealing the large penthouse overlooking the city of Los Angeles. Marble floors shine bright, reflecting another chandelier hanging in the middle of the living room. There’s a fireplace to the right and a large velvet black couch that wraps around the sunken living room floor. The kitchen opens to the living room, the countertop pitch-black to match the front desk.
“Wow.”
“Impressed?” I push her toward the elevator that takes us to the primary bedroom.
There are steps, but I’m not willing to risk her going up the staircase after having a baby and having surgery. I know she needs to walk; movement is good for the soul and needed for recovery. But for the next few days, I want her to take it slow.
Sloth slow.
I push her into the glass elevator, pressing the button that takes us upstairs.
“All glass elevator? Never thought I’d see the day,” she says, darting her gaze over every corner of the space.
“Nervous, Dove?”
“A little.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and winces again when my son latches on a bit harder.
I gently rub her upper back, wishing I could help in some way. I feel so useless right now when she’s the one going through everything.
“I won’t let anything happen to you. This elevator is safe. I wouldn’t bring you on it if it weren’t.” The doors open, showinga large room with a king-size four-post bed, a couch against the wall, a big flat-screen mounted above the dresser, and to the left, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook LA.
“This is beautiful. That bed looks so good,” she groans, reminding me of her moans in Costa Rica.
I clear my throat, telling myself that I can’t let my desire for her show. “How about I help you shower? And then tuck you in bed so you can rest.”
“We can’t. I can’t leave him alone in the bed. He’s too little. We don’t have a crib or anything to put him in either.” She yawns, rubbing her eyes just as baby Winston stops feeding. Lifting him to her shoulder, she pats his back to burp him.
She’s a natural.
“I can fix that.” I stroll to the side of the bed where the phone is and press the front desk button.
It rings twice before someone answers.
“Dr. Warrick, how can I help you? Is everything up to your standard? We loaded the fridge with your favorite food and drinks. Is there something we missed?”
“Thank you for that. No, everything is wonderful. I need a brand-new crib or bassinet brought up to me. My fiancée unexpectedly gave birth a month early and we’re very underprepared. I need the crib immediately.”
“I’ll have someone bring one up in the next hour, sir.”
“Sooner, please. She needs her rest.”
“Of course, Dr. Warrick.”
I hang up the phone, tucking my hands in my pockets. “It’s taken care of, Love Dove. I can take him. If you want. You can come lie down and I’ll wake you up when the crib is here.”
“I would love some help to the couch. I don’t want to get in the bed until I have fresh clothes on.”
