Page 127 of Forbidden Romeo

She points in the direction of the staff entrance. “Go in there and ask for Aisha in Anesthesiology; tell her you have someone in the car. Give her this number…” I listen intently as Aimee reels off what sounds like a pager number.

“I’m not leaving you here,” I reply stubbornly.

“If you carry me in, it will cause a scene,” she points out. “Please, Jack. Just trust me on this.”

I look her over once more. “Fine. I’ll be two minutes.”

With a final kiss on her cheek, I get out of the car and march straight over to the staff entrance.

The whole place makes me feel uncomfortable and out of place. My shirtless state doesn’t help, but I don’t get more than a few puzzled glances as I stride up to the only desk I can find.

“Excuse me, sir,” the woman behind it says as she looks up at me. “This is a staff entrance; kindly enter the building elsewhere.”

“I’m looking for Aisha? She’s in Anesthesiology?”

She purses her lips, and her gaze lingers on my chest. “You a stripper-gram or something?”

I grit my teeth and force a smile. “Sure.”

The woman barks a laugh and hits something into her pager. “Dr. Lous is going to lose her shit over this.”

A minute later, I’m spared the humiliation of being ogled by every woman the receptionist calls over by the appearance of a young nurse. She approaches me cautiously, “Who hired you?”

“Aisha?” I say and quickly recite the pager number Aimee gave me.

The nurse looks taken aback, “Yes, that’s me… How did you–”

“Aimee Maguire sent me. She’s been hurt.”

“What?”

I shush her. “You need to help get her in here.”

I see the moment the woman goes into nurse mode when she grabs my arm forcefully. “Where is she?”

“Outside, in the car.”

“How much blood has she lost?”

“Too much.”

Aisha turns from me and snaps her fingers at a passing hospital porter dragging along an empty gurney. “I’ll take that.”

Together, we push it back out through the entrance toward the car.

“You’re not the one who was stalking her, are you?” Aisha asks as we get closer.

“No, I’m her—I’m helping her,” I land on just as we reach the car. I step forward and yank the door open.

But Aisha is already there.

“Aimee? Can you hear me? Do you know this man?” She looks up at me emotionlessly. “I’ve got 911 a button away.”

I’m about to protest when Aimee’s voice calls out, “Jesus, Aisha, are you really going to call the cops on my fiancé?”

Aisha visibly recoils in shock. “He said he was a stripper-gram!”

“Aimee, we have a gurney. Can you stand?” I say, trying to restore some urgency to the situation.

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