Doctored Vows - Chapter 6

“I’m on my way now.” A valid excuse drowns out Zoya’s shocked huff. “A patient came in with severe stomach cramps, and there was a rostering issue with the student doctors.”

I hustle past a patient wheeling his IV stand outside so he can get his daily hit of nicotine.

“And then I called Gigi to make sure everything was okay. You know how much she loves to chat.” I barely stop to suck in a much-needed breath. “I’ll still be there in plenty of time, and I checked in online, so I can go straight to security.”

“Okay.”

Her calm response is shocking.

She is usually more vocal when stressed.

“Is she there?” I don’t need to say her mother’s name for her to know who I am referencing. My high pitch announces my worry without additional words needed.

I breathe a little easier when she replies, “No. It’s just⁠—”

She’s interrupted by my cell phone sounding a long, annoying beep.

“Shit. I forgot to charge my phone.” When I’m not riled about how even my cell is forced to operate with minimal recharges, I say, “Zoya…? Z…?”

I pull my phone from my ear and cuss when I notice it has begun its shutdown.

After storing it in my pocket, I sprint through the revolving door of Myasnikov Private Hospital. My speed is so brutal a woman is flung into the hospital foyer so forcefully she almost stumbles.

“Sorry.”

I’d offer a more heartfelt apology if I had more than a minute to race to the bus stop half a block down. I can’t miss this trip. It hasn’t been in the works for months, but the instant it was brought up, I promised Zoya I’d be her plus-one.

The briskness of the evening air flapping my jacket out should be the first indicator of the slippery conditions I’ve merged into, but my brain doesn’t register that the ground is icy until my stilettos lose traction with the slush-covered concrete.

I skid for several feet before I crash into a wall of hardness. The soles of my pumps are worn from hours of rounds. There’s barely any tread left. So even with my skid ending, I still flap and wail like a chicken released from a coop when my feet continue to slip out from beneath me.

I’m saved from landing on my ass with a thud by digging my nails into the arm of the spicy-scented man keeping me upright. It is a cruel clutch that has me wishing I hadn’t placed myself first.

“I’m so sorry…” The rest of my apology traps in my throat when I raise my eyes to my savior. His murky, almost black eyes are familiar, and just like every time I’ve caught their attention, they set my heart racing. “Maksim…” Like a freight train crashing, worry smacks into me hard and fast. “Is your mother okay? I tried to caution her to slow down, but she doesn’t seem the type to⁠—”

“Listen? Act her age? Continually change her mind on a whim?” He smirks at me, and it has me as giddy as a teen girl meeting her idol. “If it is the latter, you may need to reevaluate your belief.”

While smiling at the mirth in his tone, I correct my footing before placing a smidge of distance between us. Not a lot. Just enough to breathe without my erect nipples grazing his arm. “I was going to say she doesn’t seem like the type to take unwanted medical advice. But if you need to vent, I’ve been told I’m a skilled listener.”

His smirk turns into a smile. “Thank you for the offer, but there isn’t enough time in the world to work through all my kinks.”

With so much attraction firing in the air, my reply literally kills me. “I’d love to prove otherwise, but unfortunately, I can’t. My bus”—my heart sinks when my eyes shoot down the street—“is leaving without me.”

Shit.

It’s the last bus to the downtown district. If I don’t catch it, I won’t be able to keep my promise to Zoya. That’ll be worse than the corny lines I just tossed out. I’ve never been good at flirting, and tonight’s attempt proves it is still a skill I lack.

The blows keep coming when I dig my cell phone out of my pocket to see if I can rummage up enough funds from an overdrawn credit card to pay an Uber fare.

I can’t even order an Uber since my phone’s battery is flat.

Double shit.

“Come with me.”

Not waiting for me to reply, Maksim removes my carry-on bag from my grasp, flattens his spare hand on my lower back, and then guides me toward a foreign-plated car that is gaining nearly as many admiring stares as his animalistic walk.

He moves with such purpose, and before a single thought can conjure in my tired head, I’m seated in the back seat of the flashy ride next to him, and he instructs his driver to go.

As the driver finds an opening, I swallow to relieve my parched throat. The heat is at a nice setting, but it is impossible to sit next to a man with such pulse-setting good looks and not feel thirsty.

Maksim must also feel the heat. Two miles from the hospital, he adjusts the sleeves of the business suit he’s now wearing minus the jacket. He only tugs them up an inch, but it exposes what I feared.

I was the only one saved from injury when he sheltered me from the icy ground.

My nails pierced into his wrists so brutally I punctured his skin.

“I’m so sorry⁠—”

When Maksim’s growl cuts off my apology, I use actions instead of words to express my sorrow. I dig a strip of Band-Aids and the sterile wipes I had planned to use on the bus out of my oversize purse before scooting to his half of the cab.

His scent is more pungent now, almost like he undertook strenuous activities during our time apart. It has my insides jittering like I’m submerged in below-freezing waters, but I act like the professional I’m meant to be. I wipe over the nail-width indents with the equivalent of a sterilized baby wipe before covering them with Band-Aids.

“At least they’re not the Hello Kitty ones I’ve been using all week,” I say when Maksim grunts about the superhero-themed Band-Aid I place on the angry red indents on his wrist. “They were pink and highly emasculating. The perfect accessory for the little princess warrior I took care of today.”

My fondness for my profession can’t be missed in my tone.

It is exhausting, but the rewards to come will forever make up for that.

“I thought you were studying to be a surgeon?”

“I am,” I agree, my smile picking, knowing that he must have researched me like I did his family. “But the plan is to specialize in pediatric neurosurgery, so a few months in the pediatric ward will greatly assist with that plan.”

Dr. Sidorov thought he was punishing me for being ungrateful when he placed me on the ped’s roster. He couldn’t have been further from the mark. This has been my goal since I was ten.

“Why pediatrics?” Maksim asks, his tone genuinely interested.

I give him the answer I gave in my college admission assessment. “There is substantial inequity in survival outcomes for pediatric brain tumor patients residing in high-income areas compared to low-and middle-income areas. I want to change that.” I swallow to make sure my voice doesn’t crack with emotions when I realize how close to home my statement hits. “A patient’s care shouldn’t be based on the tax bracket in which their parents reside. Healthcare should be the same across the board. Wealth shouldn’t enter the equation.”

“A million doctors and pharmaceutical companies disagree with you.”

My huff ruffles a wisp of hair fallen from my bun. “If people stop thinking you must be rich to be successful, greed will only ever be an issue of the heart.” I laugh like the donuts I purchased today for Alla and me aren’t squashed in the bottom of my purse. “Although that could be just as dangerous. My heart always craves more donuts than my stomach can handle.”

Once I peel off the protective strip of a fourth Band-Aid and set it into place on Maksim’s left hand, I lift my eyes to gauge his response to his big, manly hands donning cartoon characters.

Air traps in my lungs when our eyes lock. I didn’t realize I had scooted so close to him. Barely an inch of air is between us. I’ve practically crawled onto his lap during my assessment of his wounds.

“I’m so sor⁠—”

I swallow the remainder of my apology with the spit his growl instigates. I’ve never heard such a brutish yet arousing sound. It could only be more delicious if it were vibrating through my clit instead of my lips.

I should pull back.

I should do anything but return his stare, but for the life of me, I can’t get my body to cooperate with my head.

It refuses to budge since all its focus is devoted on how wild his hooded gaze makes me feel.

Ecstasy is trickling through every inch of me, and he isn’t even touching me. I can only imagine how explosive it would be if he’d answer one of the shameful pleas beaming from my eyes.

I’m all but begging, and it fills me with so much shame. When I spot the bus I should have caught in front of us, I shift my eyes to the driver’s beady pair watching us in the rearview mirror before saying, “If you pass the bus, I can get out at the next stop. I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

When the driver strays his eyes to Maksim, seeking his thoughts on my proposal, Maksim waits a beat before he shakes his head.

“I’m also going to the airport, so it’s no bother.”

“We’re going to the airport?” I can’t see the driver’s brows since they’re hidden behind floppy, unkempt hair, but from the highness of his tone, I imagine they’re cocked.

Maksim’s glare is hot enough to melt ice when he returns the driver’s watch. “Yes, we are.”

The driver’s gulp is audible before he signals to pull onto the freeway.

Although hostility is rife, I sink low into my chair before attempting to strike up a conversation. “Are you going home?” I ask at the same time Maksim queries, “Was the rest of your luggage pre-delivered to the airport?”

“Oh… No. This is all I need.” I kick my carry-on he placed on the floor between us. “I’m only going away for the weekend, so I don’t need much.”

Maksim tugs down the sleeves of his shirt, covering most of the Band-Aids, before asking, “To Trudny Peninsula, right?”

I startle, dumbstruck he eavesdropped on my conversation with Zoya more than I realized. “Yes. I’m traveling with a friend. It is her little sister’s hen party.” When he replies with a simple nod, I ask, “Have you been to the Trudny Peninsula District before?”

He jerks up his chin. “A handful of times.”

“Any recommendations?”

He wets his lips before aligning his eyes with mine. “For?”

“Places to eat. Visit. I don’t have a lot of funds, but I’ve heard you don’t need it at Nakhodka.”

When his jaw tightens, I wonder if I said something wrong. Not everyone is a fan of penny-pinchers, but my budget consciousness has never caused such a severe reaction before.

Maksim takes our conversation in a direction I never anticipated. “What happened to the big payout you were recently offered?”

I swallow harshly, my throat drier than a desert.

How does everyone know about the promotion I was offered, but fail to keep abreast of it?

And I wouldn’t exactly call it a big payout. If I had accepted the position, once income tax gobbled up a chunk of it, I would have only had enough to pay off one of my credit cards. My tuition and Grandfather’s medication would have had to wait.

Although I don’t owe Maksim an explanation, I give him one. I’d still be working in the ER if he hadn’t funded the new wing at Myasnikov Private. “I turned down the placement.”

He looks shocked, and his bewilderment jumps onto my face when he says, “So how can you afford to live in the Chrysler building not even half a mile from the hospital?”

The glitziness of his tone is highly inaccurate. Apartments in my building rent in the high six figures a month, but mine is the equivalent of a servant’s quarters. It is cramped, dingy, and damp. I often wonder if the moldy conditions are aggravating my grandfather’s emphysema.

But despite this, it would still be outside my means if my grandparents didn’t have a rent control agreement in place.

Housing in Myasnikov skyrocketed three years, pricing most people out of the built-up areas. Even dumps on the outskirts of town fetch top dollar.

“You do live there, right?”

“Yes,” I reply, talking through the burn of a dry throat. “But it isn’t as glamorous as it sounds.”

With the tension turning awkward too fast for me to save, I’ve never been more grateful for the slow flow of traffic that always impedes the departure lanes of a local airport terminal.

After sliding to my half of the cab, I snatch up my bag, throw open my door with so much urgency the driver has no choice but to stop, and then hightail it out.

“Thank you so much for the ride.”

I slam the door shut before Maksim can vocalize a reply, then suck in a relieved breath like I dodged a bullet I didn’t realize was targeting me until now.