Tempted by Her Boss

Donovan didn’t want to be involved with someone at work. End. Of.

It didn’t matter that he’d told her he was attracted to her. It didn’t matter the way his body reacted when they kissed. It didn’t matter that the man could glance at her from the other side of the room and set her skin on fire.

This wasn’t going to happen.

The long and short of it? Donovan was right.

She was too busy thinking about him to focus on her job. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and her eyes felt wet instantly.

She had a horrible sinking realisation. She was in that first flush of love. The kind that made you dizzy and lose focus.

Shouldn’t love make you shout from the rooftops and sing to the world? Wasn’t love supposed to make you happy and view the world through rose-tinted glasses?

Not when the person who held your heart in their hands had just told you there was no chance for you.

She buried her face in the pillow on the bed. It didn’t offer any comfort as it was hard and impossibly lumpy. She had a horrible feeling of dread. As if there was something else—something more—and she just didn’t know what.

The sooner she got out of there the better.

* * *

The door knock sounded sharply. She jumped and glanced at her watch. Then her heart started to flutter. Donovan. It had to be Donovan.

She stood and crossed the room quicker than she’d thought possible. Her hand hesitated at the doorhandle. This was it. This was where she had to admit to exactly how she felt about him. This was where she had to put her hand on her heart and tell him that he was right.

Dating the boss was never going to work. She was beyond distracted. She wanted to love everything about this fieldwork post, but all she could think about was Donovan.

Until she’d been in this position she could never have imagined how it felt.

Maybe there would be a chance to join another team. Maybe if she could wait it out a little longer, she would have opportunity to decide where she wanted to specialise and move to another department.

That could work. It would be time limited. They could have a no-touch policy for a few weeks—or, at worst, a few months. Surely they could last that out?

Her heart gave a little surge. It wasn’t hopeless. It wasn’t. This could work.

She pulled open the door. ‘Donovan, I was just thinking that—’

Except it wasn’t Donovan. It was Callum Ferguson. His large frame filled the doorway. Thank goodness she was appropriately dressed.

He leaned against the doorjamb, folded his arms and gave her a crooked, knowing smile. ‘So, Dr Barclay. You kissed Donovan Reid.’

‘What...? Who told you that?’ She wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Her first reaction was to deny it. But Callum was already looking at her as if he could read her mind.

She couldn’t quite get over the fact that Callum was standing on her doorstep. He was the last person she’d expected to see.

But there was something else. The usual twinkle in his eyes wasn’t there. Was he mad? She felt a little shiver go down her spine. Callum didn’t look mad. This was something else entirely.

‘What is it?’

He sighed and ran his fingers through his grey hair. What wasn’t he telling her? ‘Donovan had to tell me he kissed you, Grace.’

‘Donovan told you? But why?’ Her mouth started working before her brain. Why on earth would he try and get them both into trouble? That made no sense. No sense at all. Unless...

‘Oh, no.’ Her hand flew up to her mouth. Unless Callum needed to contact trace. Her public-health head could put the pieces together a whole lot quicker than her Donovan-filled brain.

‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong with Donovan?’

Callum’s firm hand rested on her upper arm. ‘Grace, calm down. I know you only finished work a few hours ago but I think it would be best if you come back to the hospital.’

There was serious edge to his voice and she was ominously aware that he hadn’t yet told her what was wrong with Donovan.

‘Of course.’ She crossed the room quickly, slipping her feet into her shoes and picking up her jacket and bag. ‘Let’s go.’

It was only a five-minute drive back to the hospital. Her brain was in overload. She was trying not to acknowledge the fact that Callum had obviously left the hospital to come and get her. They’d been getting one of the hospital maintenance staff to pick them up and drop them off before this.

She was trying too hard to keep control. The fact that Callum knew she’d been kissing Donovan seemed irrelevant. The initial embarrassment had only taken a few seconds to disintegrate into the wind with the thought that something was really wrong.

She’d been feeling a little melancholy before. Realising the strength of her feelings for Donovan, and his attitude, which had seemed unreasonable before, was probably for the best.

The car pulled up next to the ambulance bay of the hospital, a little cloud of dust rising around them as it screeched to a halt.

She jumped out and waited at the door for Callum. He didn’t waste any time, striding down the corridor and heading towards the lab. ‘Come with me,’ he called over his shoulder.

She bit her lip. ‘Where’s Donovan?’ But he didn’t reply and she sucked in a breath so quickly it hurt.

She hurried after his disappearing frame. For a big man, Callum could move quickly. He lifted the phone outside the laboratory entrance and buzzed the staff inside, putting them on speakerphone. Everyone was wearing a hazmat suit, and there were three staff. Was Donovan in there?

All three heads turned. David, John and Lucas from the other team. No Donovan. She winced. ‘Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?’ She was starting to feel desperate. As if there was some unspoken rule that no one could tell her what was wrong. There was still the horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. The reason that Donovan would have to reveal personal information to Callum, to allow the public-health duty of contact tracing to take place. But why wouldn’t someone just put her out of her misery and tell her?

David looked up from his microscope, his eyes darting past her and fixing quickly on Callum. The man she’d shared a few jokes with earlier now couldn’t look her in the eye. ‘I can’t find any evidence of Marburg virus in his sample. No shepherd’s crook. Even if it was in the early stages there would still be some evidence in the sample.’

Callum nodded. ‘Best guess?’

John walked over to the glass panel. ‘While you’ve been gone I’ve been up and taken a lumbar puncture. I think we’ve got a meningitis case. Give me an hour.’

Callum nodded. ‘I’ll start him on some IV antibiotics in the meantime. I’m not going to wait on the results.’

He touched her elbow. She felt numb. Numb with shock. She’d thought Donovan had been off with her earlier. She’d had no idea he was ill. What kind of a doctor was she if she couldn’t pick up symptoms in a colleague?

‘Grace? Do you want to come back upstairs with me?’

She nodded and followed him to the stairwell. Donovan must be seriously unwell if they’d first suspected Marburg virus. Meningitis was every bit as serious and some of the symptoms were similar to Marburg. The headache, sore neck and throat, temperature and nausea.

Her legs were moving quicker and quicker. She couldn’t help it. More than anything in the world she wanted to see Donovan. She wanted to know that he’d be all right.

As soon as they exited the stairwell she could see a flurry of activity at one of the rooms at the end of the corridor. She couldn’t stop herself and started to run.

Callum matched her step for step. ‘What is it?’ he asked the nurse inside the room.

Her face was pale. ‘A rash. It’s started to appear across his abdomen.’

Her eyes met Callum’s. They didn’t need to say a word. Both of them knew that in some cases of meningitis, by the time the rash appeared it was too late for the patient.

Donovan was lying on the bed, his face coated in a sheen of sweat, his eyes closed. His chest was bare, the definition of his toned arms clear. She walked over to the side of the bed and touched his damp hair. His skin was burning. ‘Donovan? It’s Grace. Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling unwell?’

He didn’t move. He didn’t respond. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. She turned to the nurse. ‘How are his observations?’

The nurse frowned. ‘His level of consciousness has deteriorated quite quickly. I’ve put him on neuro obs. His blood pressure is dropping and he’s pyrexial.’