Three days passed after he called me trouble.
I had decided it was probably nothing. Unfortunately, he had a talent for making 'nothing' feel like something. He didn't text me again after that night. He didn't need to. He simply appeared at the office the next morning with a cup of coffee on my desk.
No explanation. No note. Just coffee. I stared at it nearly a minute.
Meredith walked past my desk and stopped. "That's new."
I looked at her. "What?"
"Coffee."
"I can see that."
"He doesn't buy coffee for people."
"Maybe he accidentally ordered two."
She looked toward Alistair's closed office. "Alistair doesn't accidentally do anything."
I picked up the cup. "Maybe he accidentally likes me."
Meredith nearly choked. "Don't say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because if he hears you, you'll never hear the end of it."
I smiled. "Noted."
The office door opened. He stepped out. His eyes immediately landed on the coffee in my hand. "You're drinking it?"
I raised the cup. "You gave it to me."
"I didn't say you had to drink it."
"Then why did you but it?"
He stared at me. "I thought you'd want one."
"Then thank you."
He nodded once. "You're welcome."
Meredith looked between us. I could practically see her trying not to smile.
Alistair noticed. "Meredith."
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't."
She straightened. "I didn't say anything."
"Your face did." She immediately walked away. I covered my smiled with the coffee. He glanced at me. "You find this amusing?"
"A little."
"You shouldn't."
"I'll try."
He looked at his watch. "I'm leaving."
"For where?"
"Boston."
"Business trip?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"One night."
I nodded. "Do you need me to arrange anything?"
"No."
"Your medication?"
"No."
"Medical kit?"
His expression changed. "I won't need it."
I looked at him. "You said that last time."
"And I was fine."
"You were bleeding."
"I survived."
"That's a very low standard."
He almost smiled. Almost. Then he walked toward the elevator. Before the doors closed, he looked back at me. "Don't stay late."
"You're not my father."
His eyes narrowed. "I could be worse." The elevator doors closed.
I stared at them. "Definitely worse."
I went back to work. I didn't think much about his trip. At least, I tried not to. Until midnight.
The executive floor was almost completely dark. I was finishing some documents when I heard the elevator doors open. I looked up. Alistair stepped out.
My first thought was that he looked exhausted. My second thought was that something was wrong. His suit jacket was missing. His white shirt was stained dark. Blood.
I stood so quickly my chair rolled backward. "Sir?"
He stopped. His jaw tightened. "Go home."
I stared at his shirt. "You're bleeding."
"I'm aware."
"How badly?"
"It's nothing."
I walked toward him. "Take off your shirt."
He blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I don't think that's an appropriate request from an employee."
"Then consider it a medical record."
His eyes narrowed. "You've been waiting to say that."
"Maybe."
He looked down at himself. Then back at me. "I can handle it."
"No, you can't."
"Ezhra."
"Mr. Ashford."
We stared at each other. Neither moved. Finally, he sighed. "Fine."
He turned and walked toward his office. I followed. The moment he closed the door, he locked it. That caught my attention.
"You don't usually lock your office."
"Tonight I do."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want anyone seeing me like this."
I nodded slowly. "Good."
He looked at me. "Good?"
"Means you're finally admitting you need help."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
He removed his watch and placed it on the desk. Then he reached for the buttons of his shirt. One. Two. Three. I turned my attention toward the medical cabinet.
"Stop staring."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I was looking at the wound."
"You haven't seen it yet."
I paused. "Then stop talking."
He gave a quiet laughed. I heard the fabric hit the floor. His back was covered in blood. Several small cuts ran across his shoulder blades. But the worst part was the glass. Tiny shards were embedded beneath his skin.
I stared. "Mr. Ashford."
"I'm fine."
"You're an idiot."
"That's affectionate."
"It's medical."
He sat backward on one of the chairs, resting his arms against the back. "How bad?"
"Bad enough that you shouldn't be talking."
"You're talking."
"I'm allowed."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the nurse." His mouth curved slightly. I pulled on my gloves. "You're going to hate this."
"How much?"
"Enough."
I prepare the tweezers and antiseptic. He glanced at the instruments. Then at me. "You seem very comfortable."
"I'm not."
"You don't look nervous."
"Panicking won't remove the glass."
His gaze lingered on my face. "Where did you learn this?"
"Training."
"What kind?"
"Medical training."
"That's vague."
"You're asking too many questions."
"I thought that was my line."
I smiled. "Tonight it's mine."
I moved closer. "Hold still." The first shard was near his shoulder. I carefully positioned the tweezers. "Ready?"
"Just do it."
I pulled. His shoulders tightened. The glass came free. I placed it into a metal tray. He exhaled slowly. "One."
"How many?"
"I examined his back. "Seven."
He closed his eyes. "Wonderful."
I picked up another shard. "This one's deeper."
"Just remove it."
"You're going to feel this one."
"I can handle the pain."
"That's not the same as being immune to it."
He looked over his shoulder at me. "I've handled worse."
"I believe you."
"That sounded sincere."
"It was."
I held a folded cloth in front of him. "Open your mouth."
He stared at it. "What?"
"You'll need something to bite."
"I'm not biting that."
"Then your own hand."
His eyebrow rose. "You've got a strange bedside manner."
"I've got a practical one."
He looked at the cloth again. Then at me. "You're enjoying ordering me around."
"Maybe a little."
He took the cloth. "Happy?"
"Very." He placed it between his teeth.
"Good." I took a breath. Then I began. The tweezers slipped beneath the skin. His fingers tightened around the chair. He groaned quietly through the cloth. I kept my focus on the wound. "Almost."
He gave me a look over his shoulder. "Don't look at me like that." He made another muffled sound.
"I know it hurts." I pulled the shard free. "There." I dropped it into the tray. He breathed heavily. "Five more." His eyes widened. I smiled. "Don't worry." I picked up the next instrument. "I'll be gentle." He stared at me. Even with the cloth between his teeth, I could tell exactly what he wanted to say. I laughed softly. "Trust me."
For some reason, those two words made him go completely still. His eyes met mine through the reflection of the mirror. And for the first time since I had met him, he looked at me without the CEO mask.
Not like an employee. Not like a stranger. But like a man trying to figure out exactly who the woman standing behind him really was. And somehow, that was far more dangerous than the blood.
I pulled out the fifth shard. His entire back tensed beneath my hands. He groaned into the cloth.
"Almost," I whispered. He gave me a look through the mirror. I rolled my eyes. "Don't look at me like I'm enjoying this." He made another muffled sound. "You know what? Keep complaining." His eyes narrowed. I smiled. "You're very cute when you're annoyed."
He immediately pulled the cloth from his mouth. "What did you say?"
I froze. "Nothing."
"You called me cute."
"I absolutely did not."
"You did."
"I was referring to your reaction."
"That's not better."
I turned back toward his wound. "Put the cloth back."
"No."
"Mr. Ashford."
"I want you to say it again."
"You're impossible."
"That's not what you called me."
I sighed. "Put it back."
He smiled. "Make me."
I stared at him. He stared back. For a moment, I completely forgot that there were still two pieces of glass embedded in his back. Then I remembered. "You're bleeding on my floor."
His eyes dropped toward the floor. "Yes."
"Not me?"
"You're replaceable."
His eyebrow shot up. I immediately regretted the words. "That's cold."
"You started it."
He laughed quietly and put the cloth back between his teeth. "Good."
I continued. The sixth shard came out more easily. The seventh was different. It was lodged close to his shoulder blade, surrounded by angry red skin.
I leaned closer. "Don't move."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I breathed."
"Then stop breathing." His muffled laugh vibrated through the cloth. I shook my head. "You're unbelievable." I carefully worked the tweezers beneath the shard. His fingers tightened around the chair. "Ready?" He nodded. I pulled. The glass came free. I dropped it into the tray. "Done."
He slowly removed the cloth. "Finally."
"You survived."
"Barely."
I looked at him. "You're dramatic."
"You pulled glass out of my back without anesthesia."
"You didn't ask for any."
"I didn't know I needed to."
"Now you know."
He turned slightly, examining the tray. "That's all of it?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." I reached for the antiseptic. "Now I need to clean the wounds."
He looked over his shoulder. "How long?"
"About ten minutes."
"And stitching?"
"Some of them."
His expression fell. "You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
I started cleaning the first wound. He didn't say anything for a while. That was unusual. He always had something to say. A command. A sarcastic remark. A question.
Tonight, however, he was quiet. Too quiet. I glanced at him. His eyes were closed. His head rested against his folded arms.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"That's what you said before."
"And I was right."
"You were bleeding all over my medical room."
"It's your medical room."
"You know what I mean."
He opened one eye. "You're worried about me."
"No."
"Youa re."
"I'm professionally concerned."
"That's still concern."
I ignored him. I cleaned another wound. He hissed. "Sorry."
"You don't sound sorry."
"I'm not."
He laughed. I smiled to myself. Then my fingers brushed his skin again. Something shifted. It was subtle. But I felt it. The room suddenly seemed smaller. The air warmer. His breathing changed. I tried to focus on the wound. I really did. And he was watching me. Not my hands. Not the medical supplies. Me.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"So, are you."
"I'm working."
"So, am I."
I frowned. "Working on what?"
He turned his head slightly. "Figuring you out."
My hand stopped. "You've known me for two weeks."
"Exactly."
"And you haven't figured me out?"
"No."
"Maybe I'm not interesting."
"You're very interesting."
The way he said it made my stomach tighten. I looked away. "Hold still."
"You're avoiding the conversation."
"I'm avoiding you moving."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
He smiled. I hated how easily he could do that. "Where did you learn to stitch like this?"
There it was. The question I knew was coming. I kept my expression neutral. "Training."
"What kind of training?"
"Medical."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting."
He studied me. "Most private nurses I've interviewed don't know how to remove glass from someone's back without panicking."
"I'm not most nurse."
"I've noticed."
I tied off the first stitch. "You're asking too many questions again."
"You keep giving suspicious answers."
"Maybe you're suspicious by nature."
"I am."
"That must be exhausting."
"It is."
"Then stop."
"I can't."
I looked at him. "Why?"
His eyes held mine. "Because I don't trust easily."
The teasing disappeared from his voice. I didn't know what to say. So, I returned to the wound. "You don't have to trust me."
"I know."
"Good."
"But I want to."
My fingers stopped. He looked away first. I swallowed. "Don't say things you don't mean."
"I don't."
I continued stitching. One. Two. Three. His breathing remained steady. I tied the final knot. "Done." I stepped back.
He turned carefully. "How bad?"
"Seven shards, four stitches, several cuts."
He looked at the tray. "And you?"
"What about me?"
"You're not bothered."
"Should I be?"
"You saw all that blood and didn't even blink."
I shrugged. "Blood is blood."
His eyes narrowed. "That's an unusual thing to say."
I smiled. "Maybe you're just easy to scare."
"I've been shot."
"I noticed."
"I've been stabbed."
"I suspected."
"I've had worse injuries."
"That doesn't make you invincible."
He stood. He was close. Too close. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne beneath the antiseptic. I stepped backward. My back nearly touched the counter.
"Mr. Ashford."
"What?"
"You're standing too close."
"I know."
"Why?"
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes dropped toward my lips. The returned to my eyes. My heart started beating faster.
"This is a bad idea," I whispered.
"Probably."
"You've had a head injury."
"Not tonight."
"You're bleeding."
"Not anymore."
"I'm your employee."
"I know."
"I'm your nurse."
"And you're my boss."
"I know."
"Then move."
He didn't. Instead, he quietly asked. "Do you want me to?"
I should have said yes. Immediately. Instead, I stayed there. Silent.
His hand came up slowly, stopping beside my face without touching me. "Tell me to move." I looked into his eyes. I couldn't. His voice softened. "Ezhra."
I swallowed. "You're making this difficult."
A faint smile appeared on his lips. "You started it."
"I did not."
"You called me cute."
I laughed nervously. "You remembered that?"
"I remember everything you say." That sentence shouldn't have affected me. It did. I looked away. He gently touched my chin and turned my face back toward him. "Tell me to stop."
I didn't. He leaned closer. Slowly. Giving me every opportunity to step away. I stayed. His lips brushed mine. Just once. Soft. Brief. Almost questioning. Then he pulled back.
We stared at each other. I could hear my won heartbeat. His expression had changed too. The arrogance was gone. For once, he looked uncertain.
"Was that, okay?" he asked quiet.
I nodded. "Yes."
He exhaled. Then I surprised both of us. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back. Our lips met again. His hand settled gently against my waist as I kissed him back.
For several seconds, everything else disappeared. No office. No blood. No questions. No secrets. Just him. And me.
When we finally separated, I was breathing harder than I wanted to admit. He rested his forehead against mine.
"You're trouble."
I smiled. "You already knew that."
"I didn't know much."
I pushed slightly against his chest. "You need to rest."
He laughed softly. "That's your response?"
"Yes."
"After kissing me?"
"Especially after kissing you."
He looked amused. "You're going to pretend that didn't happen."
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
I picked up the medical kit. "I'm saying you have seven wounds, four stitches, and a very questionable sense of timing."
He smiled. "And you're avoiding me again."
"Maybe." He reached for his shirt. I stopped him. "Don't." He looked at me. "You need to let the wounds breathe."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Stay here."
He smiled. "You're ordering me around again."
"Yes."
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
He shook his head and sat back down. I gathered the used supplies. Before I could walk away, he spoke. "Ezhra."
I turned. "Yes?"
His expression became serious again. "Where did you really learn to do that?"
I knew exactly what he meant. The stitching. The calm. The way I had handled the blood. I slimed lightly. "Maybe one day I'll tell you."
He studied me. "And until then?"
"Until then, you'll have to trust me."
For a long moment, he said noting. The he nodded. "All right." I turned toward the door. Behind me, his voice came again. "Good night, trouble."
I smiled without turning around. "Good night, Alistair."
And somehow, saying his first name felt far more intimate than kissing him.
