“Patience, Beth. We’ve been here for four weeks; another hour isn’t going to make a difference.”
Beth is being discharged today, and we’re waiting on the doctor for final sign-off. Every time someone walks past our door, our heads snap up in hope that it’s Dr. Sanchez.
We’re itching to get out of here. What was supposed to be a two-week recovery ended up stretching to four weeks after she became seriously ill with a nasty infection, thanks to her compromised immune system. It was terrifying to watch her weakened body struggle to combat the infection. At one point they were even considering moving her back into ICU, but she made a turn for the better just in time.
I’ve stayed by her side the whole time, only leaving to shower, change, and bring back more of her things. My back is completely messed up from sleeping on the pull-out bed. The mattress is so thin, the springs poked through. But it was a small price to pay to stay with her. After I spent the first night awkwardly sleeping on the visitor’s chair, Dameon demanded the hospital provide a bed for me. I wasn’t going to complain about the lousy trundle bed; if I had, he would have arranged for a proper bed with a full-size mattress to be brought in and installed.
Dameon has been incredible throughout Beth’s recovery. He visits us every day, even though he’s swamped with work, and spends hours by our side. He brings us food, despite the fact we’re easily able to order Uber Eats ourselves when the hospital meals don’t cut it. He’s been my backbone, my rock. And with each passing day, I find myself falling a little bit harder. There’s no stopping it now; it’s a runaway train.
With all this time on my hands, I’ve had ample opportunity to scrutinize my feelings for him. My days have revolved around Beth, assisting her with everything from showers to walks to boosting her spirits with Big Macs when she turns her nose up at the hospital stew. We’ve passed the time playing cards, watching TV, and reading books together. But during the quiet moments, especially at night when the loud noises of the ward kept me awake, my mind would wonder, and my thoughts would inevitably drift to Dameon.
What would have happened if we hadn’t met at Eden, but under different circumstances? What would our life be like if we had crossed paths in a random café instead? I’ve wrestled with the question of whether to tell him how I feel and if so, when to do it. Should I speak up now, or wait until our contract is over? And then there’s the nagging doubt—does he feel the same way? Though I’m fairly sure he does, there’s always that lingering uncertainty. Would he even want to date me for real, knowing my profession? Or has he been too scarred by his past relationship to open himself up to vulnerability again?
And then there’s Mark, the inevitable shadow looming over everything. How on earth am I going to explain what I’ve done? It’s a conversation I know I need to have, and I don’t intend to keep it hidden forever. Once Beth is fully recovered, at the six-month mark, I’ll tell him everything. Including my feelings. By then there won’t be much of the contract left, and I can only hope I haven’t waited too long and missed my opportunity.
“What’s taking sooo long?!” Beth groans.
“Let’s play another game. Poker this time,” I suggest, trying to placate her. I shuffle the cards and deal them out.
A few moments later, Dr. Sanchez waltzes through the door, and both Beth and I throw our hands up in the air, cheering. The cards fall down around us like autumn leaves, and his cheeks tint pink at our dramatic response to this entrance.
“I hear you ladies want to get out of here.” He smiles.
“Damn straight, a month here is a month too long.” Beth’s already grabbing her bag, ready to make a run for it.
“I totally understand. Please remember everything we’ve told you and take it easy, as your body is still recovering. I’ll schedule a follow-up for you in a couple of weeks,” he adds, handing me the discharge paperwork. We thank the doctor, and with the paperwork in hand, we’re ready to leave this place behind for good.
Dameon is waiting for us at the entrance with his Porsche SUV. He insisted on driving himself to pick us up. Leaning against the car, he looks devastatingly handsome in his dark suit, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands in his pockets. When he spots us, his dimples appear, and my heart skips a beat.
“Hi, gorgeous.” Dameon greets me with a peck on the lips. His endearment is cute but I feel far from gorgeous. In fact, I feel more like a grotesque troll with matted, oily hair, frumpy clothes, and the stench of hospital clinging to my pores—a lovely combination of bleach and death.
“Welcome home, Beth,” he says, helping her into the backseat of the car.
“Let’s get this show on the road. I want my own bed, and I want my own space. This one has been up my ass for weeks.” She jerks her chin at me.
He chuckles, and that sound does delicious things to my neglected core.
“Didn’t I tell you?” I tease as I slide into the front passenger seat while Dameon takes the wheel. “I’m coming to stay in your apartment to help look after you.” Dameon visibly stiffens.
“What?” Beth gasps. “Hell, no!”
“Relax, I’m joking,” I assure them both, laughing. I squeeze Dameon’s thigh and shoot him a playful wink.
Chapter twenty-six
Dameon
Navigatingthepackedbar,I catch sight of the guys in one of the VIP booths. After the day I’ve had, I’d prefer a quiet drink on my own than to deal with the crowded chaos of Ivy. My mood is as dark as the lighting, and I’d rather be anywhere else. We should have opted for Eden instead; it’s more relaxed, and we’d have plenty of pleasant distractions to enjoy. Although, I do have a pleasant distraction of my own waiting for me. I should have just gone home and worked out my frustrations on her ass instead of hitting the gym.
Another merger fell through today, snatched up at the last minute by none other than Mark Strickland. This is the second time it’s happened, with deals that were solid suddenly crumbling, only to be acquired by Strickland’s company. I can’t say I’m surprised; it’s most likely payback for interfering in his plans for his stepdaughter. Once could be chalked up to luck, but twice feels like foul play. It’s niggling at me. I was considering skipping drinks with the guys tonight, but James convinced me to come since we haven’t caught up since the cruise.
“Well, look who decided to show up,” James quips when he spots me.
Zac, James, and Carter are already three drinks in, judging by the empty glasses scattered across the table.
“Why, did you miss me?” I slide into the empty seat and signal to a passing waitress for a whiskey and another round for the boys.
“You know you look ridiculous, right?” I say to Carter. He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face and dark sunglasses. We’re tucked away in a back corner of the VIP section where no one is going to see him, let alone recognize him.
