Chapter 2 - The Man in the Doorway
There are moments in medicine when your training takes over completely.
A patient stops breathing.
A monitor alarms.
A family member collapses.
Your hands move before fear has time to reach your brain.
Unfortunately, medical school does not prepare you for discovering that the devastatingly handsome stranger whose luxury SUV you accidentally used as a mobile bedroom is standing in your patient's room.
I stared at Tristan Bellamy.
He stared back.
Eleanor stared at both of us.
And I knew immediately that she had noticed everything.
"Do you two know each other?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Briefly," Tristan said simultaneously.
I turned toward him.
He looked entirely too calm.
Eleanor's eyebrows rose.
"Interesting."
"It wasn't interesting," I said quickly.
Tristan removed his coat.
"I thought it was."
I gave him a warning look.
Eleanor's smile widened.
I reminded myself that I was a physician.
A professional.
A responsible adult.
"I should review your medication schedule," I told Eleanor.
"Of course," she said, clearly enjoying herself.
I focused on the chart.
Or tried to.
Tristan moved toward his mother's bedside and kissed her forehead.
His entire demeanor changed.
The intimidating businessman vanished.
For one brief moment, he was simply a son worried about his mother.
"You look better," he said.
"I told you I would."
"You also told me you didn't need surgery."
"I was wrong once."
"Historic day."
She slapped his wrist.
I tried not to smile.
Tristan noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"How's she doing?" he asked me.
His tone became serious.
"Very well. Her pain is controlled, the incision looks good, and physical therapy has already gotten her walking short distances."
"I hate physical therapy," Eleanor said.
"You hate following instructions," Tristan corrected.
"I raised you. Clearly I failed somewhere."
I almost laughed again.
For some reason, seeing them together made Tristan less intimidating.
Almost human.
Then Eleanor suddenly looked at me.
"So how exactly did you meet my son?"
I nearly dropped the chart.
"Eleanor."
"What?"
"Your blood pressure."
"Is excellent."
"It may not remain that way."
Tristan folded his arms.
"She climbed into my SUV."
Eleanor's mouth fell open.
I closed my eyes.
"Tristan."
"Accidentally," he added.
"After a twenty-four-hour shift," I said.
"And fell asleep."
Eleanor stared at me.
Then at Tristan.
Then she burst out laughing.
Not a polite laugh.
A full, delighted laugh.
I covered my face briefly.
"I'm transferring your care."
"You are not," Eleanor said between laughs.
"I'll find another physician."
"I refuse."
"Patients don't choose based on embarrassing history."
"I do."
Tristan's expression remained composed, but his eyes betrayed him.
He was enjoying every second.
I pointed toward him.
"You could have omitted the sleeping part."
"It seemed relevant."
"It was not."
"You were unconscious for nearly ten minutes."
"I was tired."
"I noticed."
Eleanor wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.
"This is the best thing that's happened since they gave me morphine."
I stared at the ceiling.
This was my life now.
Eventually, professionalism returned.
Mostly.
I reviewed Eleanor's medication changes, discussed discharge expectations, and made sure she understood the risks of overexertion.
Tristan listened carefully.
Very carefully.
He asked intelligent questions without attempting to control the conversation.
That surprised me.
Wealthy relatives often came into hospitals expecting rules to bend around them.
Tristan didn't.
When I explained something, he listened.
When he disagreed, he asked.
When Eleanor complained, he gently redirected her.
By the end of the conversation, I had nearly forgotten our strange introduction.
Nearly.
Then my pager buzzed.
I checked it.
"Emergency department needs me."
Eleanor waved.
"Go save Manhattan."
"I'm mostly prescribing antibiotics."
"Less dramatic."
I smiled.
As I headed toward the door, Tristan followed.
The hallway was quieter than the room.
I turned.
"Was there something else?"
He slipped one hand into his pocket.
"I wanted to apologize."
That surprised me.
"For what?"
"Embarrassing you."
"You didn't."
One eyebrow rose.
"You looked ready to climb through the window."
"I considered it."
His mouth curved.
There it was again.
That restrained smile.
"So," he said, "Dr. Carter."
"Yes?"
"Do you always enter random vehicles?"
"Only Thursdays."
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
It transformed his face.
For a second he looked younger.
Less controlled.
Dangerously attractive.
I immediately looked away.
"Your mother will probably be discharged tomorrow," I said.
"I know."
"So you'll be free of me."
His expression changed slightly.
"I didn't say I wanted that."
My heart did something extremely inconvenient.
A nurse walked past us.
I stepped backward.
"Your mother's lucky to have you."
"And apparently I'm lucky you chose my SUV."
I shook my head.
"Goodbye, Mr. Bellamy."
"Tristan."
"Goodbye, Mr. Bellamy."
I walked away.
I could feel him watching me.
That evening, Natalie was waiting at home.
She had wine.
Two glasses.
And the unmistakable expression of somebody preparing for gossip.
"You saw him again."
I stopped.
"How do you know?"
"You texted me: 'You will not believe what happened.' Then disappeared for six hours."
I dropped onto the couch.
"The patient I'm treating is his mother."
Natalie stared.
"No."
"Yes."
"The billionaire SUV man?"
"Apparently his name is Tristan Bellamy."
Natalie's phone nearly flew from her hand.
"What did you say?"
"I said his name is Tristan Bellamy."
"I heard you."
She began typing.
"What are you doing?"
"Searching."
"No."
"Yes."
"Don't."
Too late.
Her face changed.
"Bianca."
I reached for the wine.
"What?"
"He's not just rich."
"Everyone wearing a watch worth more than my student loans is rich."
Natalie turned the phone toward me.
"Bellamy Holdings."
I looked.
A photograph of Tristan stood beside an article.
TRISTAN BELLAMY CLOSES $4.8 BILLION INFRASTRUCTURE DEAL
Another headline appeared beneath it.
THE RECLUSIVE BILLIONAIRE REBUILDING MANHATTAN'S EAST SIDE
I blinked.
Natalie scrolled.
"Hotels. Real estate. Medical technology investments. Transportation. Construction. Private equity."
"I understand the concept."
"His estimated net worth is—"
"Don't."
She told me anyway.
I drank half the wine.
Natalie leaned toward me.
"You fell asleep on a billionaire."
"I fell asleep beside a billionaire."
"Difference?"
"Several legal categories."
She laughed.
Then she studied me.
"Is he nice?"
The question surprised me.
I thought about the way Tristan had kissed his mother's forehead.
The way he'd listened to my medical explanation.
The way he'd said I didn't say I wanted that.
"Maybe."
Natalie smiled knowingly.
"No."
"What?"
"Whatever you're thinking."
"I'm thinking you're interested."
"I'm thinking he's my patient's son."
"For one more day."
"Exactly."
She lifted her glass.
"Then tomorrow..."
"Nothing happens tomorrow."
I believed that when I said it.
The following afternoon, Eleanor was discharged.
She hugged me before leaving.
"You take care of yourself, Bianca."
"You too."
"And sleep."
"I plan to."
"In appropriate vehicles."
I groaned.
Tristan stood beside her holding her bag.
He looked at me.
"Thank you for taking care of her."
"It's my job."
"Still."
His voice held genuine gratitude.
I nodded.
"You're welcome."
Eleanor was wheeled toward the elevator.
Tristan remained behind for another moment.
"Goodbye, Dr. Carter."
"Goodbye."
He walked away.
That should have been the end.
For two weeks, it seemed like it was.
Then one Friday evening, after another long shift, I walked outside St. Catherine's.
A black SUV waited at the curb.
My stomach immediately tightened.
The rear door opened.
Tristan stepped out.
Not a driver.
Not an assistant.
Tristan.
He held two cups of coffee.
I stopped walking.
"What are you doing here?"
He extended one cup.
"Making sure you choose the correct SUV."
I stared at him.
Then at the coffee.
"How do you know what I drink?"
"My mother asked one of the nurses."
"That's concerning."
"She lacks boundaries."
"I noticed."
He smiled.
"This is not a kidnapping."
"Strong opening."
"I wanted to ask you something."
I hesitated.
"What?"
"Dinner."
My heart skipped.
I stared at him for several seconds.
"You're asking me to dinner?"
"I am."
"Why?"
Something softer entered his eyes.
"Because for two weeks I've tried to convince myself that finding you asleep in my car was simply a strange story."
He stepped closer.
"It isn't working."
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.
I looked down.
The hospital number.
I answered.
"Dr. Carter."
A frantic voice came through.
My expression changed.
"What happened?"
Tristan watched me closely.
I turned back toward the hospital.
"I'm coming."
I ended the call.
"Emergency?"
"One of my patients crashed."
I handed the coffee back.
"I have to go."
He nodded immediately.
"Go."
I ran toward the entrance.
Then stopped.
I turned around.
Tristan was still standing beside the SUV.
"Tristan!"
He looked up.
"Ask me again."
For the first time since I'd met him, surprise completely broke through his composure.
I couldn't help smiling.
Then I disappeared through the hospital doors.
May you like
Neither of us knew that before our first dinner ever happened, the Bellamy name would bring something far more dangerous than awkward romance into my life.
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