Club Prive: Sweet Escape (Kindle Worlds Novella) (8 page)

“There you are,” he says, his other hand holding tight to mine. “Focus on me. Inhale deeply for me.”

Staring up into his eyes, I do as he says, and he removes the mask but holds it under my chin so the extra oxygen will flow into my face. “O2 is ninety-three. Ninety-five. That’s it, a little more.” I inhale again, my tongue not feeling as thick this time. “Good girl. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine.”

Tabitha grabs my other hand. “Honey, are you okay?” Tears are pouring down her face. “I swear to God that there was no shellfish in that drink. I know you’re allergic, and I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

I work my mouth, trying to speak, but everything still feels too swollen. Instead, with all the effort in me, I bring her hand to my cheek, trying to show her that I don’t blame her.

“We should test the contents,” Gray says and Tabitha nods in agreement.

She squeezes my hand again. “I’ll have it cleaned up and sent to the lab.”

Gray covers both of our hands with his. “We need someone else to do that, Tabitha,” he says gently. “Keep chain of command clean.”

My heart sinks as tears well in Tabitha’s eyes again. But she only nods. “Yes, of course, you’re right.”

I shake my head, trying to talk. “She … not … hurt … me.”

Gray looks serious. “I’m sure she wouldn’t. Not intentionally, but we need to discover what’s in that drink that caused such a reaction. If you’ve developed a new allergy, you need to know. If you hadn’t been in the hospital, Avery, you would have died. You’re very lucky.”

“Snick … ers.”

Tabitha’s eyes widen. “Yes, she’d just had a couple of bites of a candy bar before you walked in.”

Gray speaks to someone I can’t see. “Bag and lab the smoothie as well as the Snickers bar she ate.”

Tabitha lets go of my hand. “I’ll show them where I threw it away, but I won’t touch it.”

“Her emergency contact needs to be called as well.”

Tabitha nods and wipes at her eyes again. An instant later, she’s out of the door.

“Do you two know each other?” It’s McGill’s voice, although I can’t see him from where I’m lying. “You seem very, uh, familiar with each other.”

“It’s called bedside manner,” Gray snaps, not taking his hand off of mine and not answering the question. “Maybe my first course of action as your chief of staff is to require mandatory lessons.”

McGill steps closer, just within the edge of my periphery. “Interesting that you knew right away that our little Avery was allergic to shellfish. How did you, Dr. Atwood, know such a thing?”

A tight ball grows in my stomach as Gray’s jaw tightens and he stands to his full height to face the other man. “It was a reasonable guess.”

McGill’s eyes slide down my body, and I realize my shirt has been ripped open so leads could be attached to my skin. Gray pulls a sheet up to my neck.

“A guess. Right.”

My hands begin to shake, then my arms, then my entire body. My teeth chatter, the sound clicking in my head.

“Get me a warm blanket,” Gray snaps and looks down at me. “It’s just the drugs wearing off. It’ll be over in a few minutes.” He looks back at McGill. “Blanket, now!”

“I’ll have a nurse bring one,” McGill mutters and leaves the room, but Gray’s eyes don’t leave mine.

“Don’t fight it. It’s just the epinephrine wearing off.” He thanks someone, and a heated blanket is draped over me. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.

I remember Mom taking the clothes out of the dryer and running to the living room with them, tossing them on me and Paisley. We’d snuggle down into their fresh smelling heat, giggling as two little girls were supposed to do.

Those were good days. The days before Paisley … changed.

I promptly burst into tears.

Chapter Eleven – Gray

“Is she going to be okay?” a little voice asks. Looking up, I see four faces peering around the door.

“Yes, she’s much better. Thank you.”

“Oh, thank goodness. She gave us such a fright.”

“You better take good care of her,” a woman wearing oxygen snaps. “That one there is a good one.”

Avery raises her head and smiles at the ladies. “I’m … okay,” she promises.

The oxygen wearing one walks in and pulls what looks like a pharmacy bag out of her purse. “Here you go, dear.” She tries to stuff the bag in Avery’s pocket, and I swear I hear some change rattling around. What the hell?

Avery pushes it back at her. “No, you all keep it.”

“No, dear, you’ve done too much already.”

There are several seconds worth of back and forth shoving before I reach over the bed and snatch it away.

“Make her keep it,” Avery murmurs and closes her eyes again.

I hold it out to the woman, and yes, there’s definitely change clinking together inside. “Please. I think she’s offering you a gift.”

Oxygen woman snatches it from my hand. “Oh all right.”

The lady with the pink hair chimes in. “Thank you, honey. Take good care of yourself. We’d stay longer, but our van is waiting downstairs.”

“Yeah,” oxygen woman grumbles. “If we’re a minute late, they might stand us in the fucking corner.”

“Dottie!” pink hair admonishes the gruff woman and grabs her arm. “Get better soon,” she says and pulls the other woman from the room by her oxygen tank.

They all wave goodbye to Avery, telling her they’ll keep her in their prayers.

“Dare I even ask?” I ask her once they’re gone.

She smiles and uses her fingers to zip her lips closed.

“That’s what I thought. Stick out your tongue,” I tell her, and she dutifully does what I say.

It’s still swollen and the back of her throat, when I check, is swollen too. “I think we should keep you over—”

“No.” When I narrow my eyes at her, she bats her eyelashes. “Sir.”

She makes me laugh, splotchy red face and all. Walking over to the sink, I rinse out a clean washcloth in cold water and come back to wipe it carefully over her face.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says, reaching for the cloth.

I don’t let it go. “It seems I enjoy taking care of you. In every way possible.”

Her lips part and a soft, “Oh,” escapes, but she lifts her chin so I can run the cloth over her neck. “I really don’t want to spend the night here,” she tells me. “Will you let me just go home?”

“Not by yourself.”

“I won’t be, my—”

She stops when a clattering of heels comes echoing down the hall and the blonde from last night whirls into the room. “Oh my gracious, Avery,” she pants, her hand going to her chest as she rushes to the bed. “They told me what happened. I ran the entire way. Are you okay? Can you talk? Please tell me you’ll be okay!”

“She’ll be fine,” I tell her, and the blonde’s eyes snap up to me, then widen in surprise.

“Oh. You. I…”

Dr. McGill steps through the door, no doubt being drawn out of his lair by this sensual woman. She looks different from last night, a sharply tailored business suit hugging her voluptuous curves.

I stick out my hand, staring at her intently. “I’m Dr. Gray Atwood, and I was just stepping into a meeting with Miss Beck when her allergic reaction occurred.”

“Oh, well, yes.” She shakes my hand and nods, her eyes meeting mine. “I understand. I’m just so glad it happened here, under your capable hands.”

McGill steps closer. “Yes, she gave us quite the scare, but we were on top of it.” He sticks out his own hand. “I’m Stan McGill. And you are?” I’m going to puke if the bastard kisses her fingers.

“Brooke Jenkins. Thank you so much for taking such good care of my friend.”

McGill sidles closer to her. “You’re very welcome. Avery means the world to us.”

I grip the railing of Avery’s bed, so I don’t knock his teeth out.

“Can I leave now?” Avery asks and everyone’s attention snaps back to her.

“Of course you—” McGill begins.

“Let’s keep you under observation for a couple hours,” I interrupt the red-faced man. “I don’t like that your throat is still swollen.” Glancing at Brooke, I ask, “Does that fit your schedule?”

Brooke grasps Avery’s hand. “That’s fine. I have meetings until four. I’ll come back and get you then.” She looks up at me. “Is that okay?”

I take a business card out of my wallet and write my cell phone number on the back. “Call before you leave and we’ll make sure she’s ready.” I stare at her again, trying to make her read between the lines.

“I understand.” Leaning down to kiss Avery on the cheek, she murmurs, “Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”

McGill watches her leave before turning to me, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate you interfering with my orders.”

“And I don’t appreciate you attempting to release a sick woman without bothering to physically examine her first. It’s beyond stupid, especially after such a severe reaction. Did you not see how quickly her throat closed? Seconds, damn you. Until we’re certain all traces of her reactant is eliminated from her system, she should be monitored for secondary symptoms.”

McGill’s face grows even redder, his mouth opening and closing before sputtering, “I planned to examine her prior to release, of course.”

“Well, now you don’t have to because she’s officially my patient.”

Between us, Avery tries to sit up, but I put a hand on her chest and press her back down.

“Stop it,” she says.

“Are you allergic to anything else?” I ask her, trying to change the subject and defuse the situation, but I’ll damn well be going through McGill’s charts very thoroughly from this point on.

“No.” She covers her eyes with her arm. I step over to the wall and flip off the lights, then walk over to the sink to recool the cloth. After wringing it out, I fold it and place it over her eyes.

McGill sneers at my actions. “You’d make a damn fine nurse, Dr. Atwood. Do all your patients get this special treatment?”

Fury burns hot in my gut.

“I suggest you pay attention, Dr. McGill, because it seems you have a few lessons to learn.” I step around the bed and keep walking until we’re toe to toe. “More importantly, you should pay attention to your actions and your inactions because I’ll be watching them very carefully. Do I make myself clear?”

Silence fills the room as I watch him mentally flip through his playbook, trying to decide what to do next. “I’ll be in my office,” he says and turns, striding through the door.

“You’re my hero,” Avery’s soft voice comes from the bed, her eyes still covered by the cloth.

I step over to the door and see nurses turning away from the room, making themselves busy as is the custodian, pushing his mop back and forth.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Brooke, giving me her contact information. I type out a thank you in reply, telling her my driver will be at her disposal when it’s time to take Avery home.

I text James to let him know the situation and to be on call. I also ask him to have food — several varieties of soups — delivered to her address, as well as place an order with a local grocery to have staples, including ice cream and popsicles, delivered too. Labels must be checked to avoid shellfish, I tell him, stressing it with asterisks on both sides of the words.

I turn back to my patient. My employee. My lover.

Yes, I want her to be my lover, I realize. More than that, I need her to be.

Watching her face turn red, the terror so clearly written on her face as her throat closed up was the most horrifying thing I’d ever experienced. Her green eyes begging me for help, her fingers clutching at me.

Not being able to make her breathe right away. The helplessness of watching her fight for her life as I did all I could to help her. The enormous relief when she was able to inhale. Being unable to let go of her hand, even with all the eyes watching me, watching her. Knowing it could cause her trouble, I couldn’t let her go.

I want her in my life. I want to get to know her better, see if there’s more than attraction between us, because I feel very certain that there is.

I spent years in medical school and became a good doctor because I have instincts about situations. I’ve helped my father increase the wealth of his company because I had instincts about directions to go in, patents to research and apply for.

My instincts had led me to New York. I hadn’t needed a job. I’ll never need a job. Neither will my children or their children or the children after that. But I’d been drawn to an ad in a medical journal from an east coast hospital needing a part-time chief of staff. I’d tossed the magazine aside, then picked it back up. The next day, I found myself applying. Then flying out to interview. Then saying goodbye to California because the timing felt so right for a change to occur in my life.

Because of her?

I don’t know, but I want to find out.

Avery moans and I step closer to the bed to grasp the hand that raises in the air. She’s dreaming. Defending herself from an attacker? Her sister? She cries out, and I lean down to place my lips on her forehead.

“Ssshhh … it’s alright. Nothing will hurt you. I’ll never let anything hurt you again.”

She calms and murmurs something I don’t understand, her hand relaxing in mine. A shadow falls into the room, and I look up, but it’s only the custodian. He turns away, his mop swishing in front of him.

My phone buzzes and I look at the screen. It’s an email from Dan Carmichael, my private investigator. I hadn’t canceled the investigation after I found her this morning.

Dr. Atwood,

Attached you’ll find numerous press clippings surrounding the murder of Noah and Emily Carlson. Daughters Avery, 16, and Paisley, 12, at time of death. Herkimer County, New York. I’m also attaching transcripts from the trial. Do not ask how I attained them.

At age 22, Avery Carlson no longer exists, and I’m assuming she had her name legally changed and the records sealed. I’ll continue the investigation to locate the young woman as I feel certain Avery Carlson is the woman you seek.

Dan

Carmichael Investigations

Replying to his message, I let him know the latest development and ask him to cancel the investigation.

He responds almost immediately:
Do you still want background on Miss Beck? Pictures?