Dr. Fake It - A Possessive Doctor Romance

I frowned slightly. “I don’t know what I can do about that.”

“You know members of the zoning board. Several prominent members have donated large sums of money to your hospital. And one of your doctors is on that board in his spare time.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Fred Martin.”

I sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. “I know him.”

“I’m sure you do.” He uncrossed his legs and slowly struggled to his feet. “Go to Vincent and Dante. Offer to have their property rezoned as residential in exchange for whatever you need. I have a feeling they’ll accept.”

“And if I can’t make that happen?”

“Then I suppose you’re looking at both your future and a dead man.” He walked to the door. “Good luck, Gavin. I’m rooting for you.” He slid it open and left.

I stood there, staring up at the ceiling.

It was possible. I knew it was possible. Dr. Martin might be willing to grant me a favor—but that might come at a high price, the sort of price I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay.

Then again, I couldn’t imagine turning into Chen, either. He was bitter, and angry, and afraid, and I knew that I couldn’t put Erica through that. I’d live with a chip on my shoulder, constantly looking around corners to make sure nobody was waiting to kill me. Chen was my future if I didn’t find a way out.

I smiled at Linda and walked to her side. I touched her hand softly. “Your daughter’s a smart girl. Still a pain in my ass, but smart.”

I squeezed her hand, then left the room and continued my rounds.22EricaI stared at the TV but couldn’t follow the action. Nothing seemed to matter to me, and I couldn’t bring myself to invest any attention in the characters flitting across the screen.

I kept thinking about Gavin and what the mafia wanted from him, and it made me want to break down.

Throughout all this, I kept telling myself one thing, over and over again: no matter what, they wouldn’t own me. Since this started, I kept thinking about it that way, kept imagining that this was all about me, all about my future and what Cosimo wanted to do to me, but now it was so clear that Gavin was deeply tied up into my mistakes. Looking back, I knew I should’ve run away, and never should’ve taken him up on his offer, but I was broken and confused and so scared, and when that handsome doctor offered to save me, offered to marry me, I couldn’t turn him down.

Now he would pay the price for my failures.

I got up and paced across the living room, glancing at the clock. He should’ve been home already, and I kept picturing him dead in the street, stabbed over and over again by Cosimo, or shot in the head and left for dead. I opened a bottle of wine and poured myself a full glass, hand trembling as I took a long sip, and stalked back toward the front window, heart racing. I couldn’t get these horrible thoughts out of my head, not ever since this all started.

Before, I’d been a happy girl. Mostly happy, at least—happy enough that I didn’t obsess about my future, didn’t worry about failures, and lived day to day in a hazy, gauzy shimmer of contentment. I had my mom, and my job, and my friends at the restaurant, and I had a little money in my pocket, a little cash saved up. I wasn’t ambitious, but I wasn’t unhappy, and that seemed good enough.

At least until my father’s debt drowned us. Now I felt like a different person, always anxious, always on edge trying to make life-or-death decisions, when I’d grown up never having to make them. Even though I felt like I was always on the verge of falling apart, it never seemed to matter. I had my mother and I trusted that things would work out, sooner or later. My dad would find his way in the world, or he’d end up in the gutter, and either way we’d be okay.

Except it didn’t happen that way, and now I was so stuck it hurt.

I peered out the front window, sipped my wine, and felt my heart do flips as I spotted Gavin coming toward the house. He walked up the steps and unlocked the door, and I quickly moved away, sitting back down on the couch like I hadn’t been peering outside like a weirdo.

He stepped into the room and locked the door behind him. I smiled a little, holding the wine glass up in front of my face.

“You’re home,” I said.

“I’m home.” He smiled at me, narrowed his eyes, and nodded. “I could use one of those.”

I followed him into the kitchen and watched him pour a glass. He sipped some wine and sighed, then leaned up against the sink and watched me.