My Billionaire Stranger

by Shae Black

  My Billionaire Stranger

  Shae Black

  All rights reserved. © 2015 Shae Black No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from Shae Black or her legal representative.

  Authors Note:

  This series contains adult content not meant for anyone under the age of 18. Those under the age of 18 are discouraged from reading this material.

  Chapter 1

  I love my job but working four twelve hour night shifts in a row is testing that love. Life shouldn’t be all about one thing, especially when that one thing is work. As I step off of the elevator I catch myself yawning in front my patients wife. I stayed late this morning to help stabilize him. Her eyes fill with sympathy and I fill with guilt. “You didn’t get enough sleep dear, I’m so sorry.” Mildred says. The sweet, slight, eighty year old wife of Bill in bed 12, who will likely never make it out of this hospital stands right outside the elevator. “Oh Mrs. Colby it’s fine I’m used to it, really it’s no problem.” She reaches out to touch my arm and smiles knowingly before exchanging places with me on the elevator. She’s right, I don’t sleep enough and I work too much. My little girl dreams of a husband, two kids and a house in the suburbs went up in smoke a long time ago, life is now just a cycle of work, sleep, rinse, repeat.

  I make my way down the corridor to the I.C.U. and mentally prepare myself for the long shift ahead.

  “Hey Imani!” Courtney, one of my closest co-workers and my personal cupid greets me the second I enter the break room. “I’ve got something special for you tonight!”

  She sounds way too excited. Crap.

  “So what’s up, a new patient?”

  “Yep and you’re gonna love him,” Great, a ‘him’. Courtney’s always trying to hook me up but with a patient? That is going too far, even for her. She doesn’t know about my past; she has good intentions but I have reasons for not dating and I don’t want to talk about them with her.

  “So… is he crazy or combative?” I ask, hoping for one of the two but I suspect it’s neighbor. “Let me have it, what am I dealing with for the next twelve hours?”

  “The guy in bed 8 was in a car accident this morning, his passenger was DOA and he’s is in rough shape, fractured leg and a head injury with swelling of the brain…. hasn’t regained consciousness.”

  “Yea so? Sounds like a typical patient.”

  “Oh there is nothing typical about him; you’ll find out when you go in there, his family hasn’t been here yet, he has a sister that lives out of state. We called, she’s on her way.”

  “So what are we talking about here Courtney? Hunchback of Notre Dame or what? I’m curious why this guy is such a big deal?”

  “I’m not saying another word but I’ll stay until shift change. I want to see your face after you’ve gotten report on him and done your assessment,” she sings ‘assessment’ like a goofy kid.

  “Ok… whatever.” I roll my eyes

  Working in a small private hospital in Seattle has its advantages; all the rooms are private, excellent staffing, and elite patients who are wealthy and famous and top-of-the-line equipment. Not to mention you wouldn’t know you were in a hospital if the sign out front didn’t say Seattle Trinity. We have water fountains in the waiting rooms and beautiful artwork on the walls. This place feels more like a posh hotel than a hospital. I’ve cared for famous athletes, movie stars, singers and business moguls, it’s pretty hard to impress me anymore. After I receive report from Lola who worked the day shift I’m wondering if Courtney’s lost her marbles. This patient seems like a typical MVA patient to me.

  With anticipation I walk into room 8. It’s a large, spacious room, the beds are in the center of the room surrounded by equipment. IV poles and monitors read the patient’s vital signs and heart rhythms. Behind it all are floor-to-ceiling glass windows that look out on one of the many thick plush green forests of Seattle, Washington. It’s a breathtaking view even if most of the patients here never get to see it. The mystery man in bed 8 is in traction due to his badly broken leg from the knee down. As a nurse used to doing a head to toe assessment I start with his face. My breath hitches at the sight of him, he’s beautiful. My mouth is suddenly parched and the room is too small. I feel like I’m one end of a life sized magnet being pulled toward him. Mr. Marcus Castillo is a very handsome man; he looks like a Greek God from the movie 300. My reaction is like nothing I have ever experienced with a man.

  Drawn to his side I take note of the abrasions and bruises on his face as well as a softball-sized knot on his forehead. Poor guy’s been through hell, Lola informed me in report that he drove his car over the side of the I-90 bridge into Lake Washington. His passenger was killed and it’s a miracle he’s alive. I am a confident nurse and I’m not easily intimidated. I can handle most of my patient’s personalities but something about this man emanates power and danger even critically injured and unconscious he demands my attention.

  Athletic and lean it’s obvious he works out and takes care of his body. His powerful square jaw is covered with a five o’clock shadow. Thick dark brown hair that looks to be wavy when it isn’t full of blood and glass shards clumps on his scalp. I guess him to be of Latin descent, his skin is a deep bronze and he has a sort of Mediterranean look to him. The most impressive thing about Mr. Castillo is his size; he’s easily 6 feet 4 inches of tall solid, lean muscle. He fills the hospital bed from top to bottom and then some.

  Gathering my wits I wonder why the hell am I so apprehensive? I lean over to assess his injuries as I would with any patient, although I know already that he isn’t going to be just any patient. I press the blood pressure button absently and stand there for a minute drinking in his beauty as the cuff inflates. The beeping of the machines, IV’s and his presence combined are hypnotizing. When his arm is released I can hear his soft, regular breathing as I fold the sheet down to his waist and listen with my stethoscope to his chest. This brings me face-to-face with this God like man, who is intimidating the hell out of me even with his eyes closed. Though he’s in a coma the little space between his eyebrows is pinched into a soft scowl. I wonder if it’s part of a permanent expression? If so he must scowl a lot. When I begin to evaluate his upper body I swear I’m ogling instead of clinically assessing. His muscular defined chest is covered with air bag abrasions and cuts, the strong smell of lake water assaults my nostrils. He’s a mess but my body couldn’t care less, my heart is pounding in my chest and my hands are slick with perspiration.

  Ok, so get it together Imani, you’ve been a nurse for 10 years, you’ve seen it all. Why is this guy making me feel so… I don’t know…. weird? I check him over once completely making sure his leg is positioned and aligned properly in the traction. Everything seems to be in order and technically I’m finished but I can’t manage to pull myself away from him, my lead feet are cemented at his bedside. I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to speak to him. Surprising myself I lean down and whisper in his ear, “I don’t want you to worry, you’re going to be ok. I’m Imani and I’ll be taking care of you until you wake up.” Nothing… I’m not sure what I expected; he’s not sleeping beauty, destined to wake from a fairy tale spell at the sound of my voice. I’ve never spoken to a patient this way, usually if they’re in a coma I simply narrate my actions so on the off chance that they can hear me they know what I’m doing. Mindlessly I take his big well-manicured hand in both of mine. This is so out of character for me. I’m a compassionate nurse but I’m also well aware of my boundaries and this is the first time in my career that I’ve ever come close to crossing them.

  I stand there for several minutes staring a
t him until Courtney comes to the door and I quickly drop his hand. Startled I move away from him snapping the invisible rubber band that was pulling us together.

  “HA! You think he’s hot!” she exclaims, eyes bright and playful.

  “Courtney, shush, he might hear you!” I hiss moving toward the door to nudge her out while I follow quietly.

  “Can you believe that guy’s body, he has muscles that never quit, did ya check him out under the covers?!” Courtney wiggles her eyebrows, she’s practically jumping up and down and strangely this stirs something protective in me.

  “Don’t talk like he’s a piece of meat Courtney, the poor guy’s been through a lot,”

  “Oh come on Imani, you gotta admit, it’s nice to have eye candy to look at while you work! Shit, it’s one of my favorite benefits of working in this hospital, hot, famous, rich people to gossip about!”

  “Yea but he’s… I dunno…”

  “Gorgeous, panty melting hot…. yea, duh that’s why I asked to have him assigned to you, I gotta get going, ta ta, enjoy!”

  “Later Courtney, see you in the morning.”

  “Okidoki.” I watch as she trots off toward the elevators. Marcus is due for some medication. I pop out into the hall to grab it and when I return that same magnetic pull consumes me, this guy is seriously messing with my head. I’ve never had actual feelings for a man, any man other than my father. I’ve spent my life running in the opposite direction, avoiding men and relationships like the plague.

  When I was 19 I was kidnapped, attacked and nearly raped to death for three horrific days, that attack left me, broken and damaged beyond repair, or so I thought. Now a man I don’t know and haven’t officially met has me practically panting.

  I push Marcus’s medication into his IV and drink in this stranger’s face. Lost in thoughts I wonder what he’s like when he’s awake and what color his eyes might be. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing staring at him when I’m startled by Sam poking her head in the door.

  “Sorry Imani, I need some help in room 7, do you have time?”

  “Sure, sure, I’ll be right there.” I shake my head trying to clear my thoughts as I reluctantly exit the room leaving Marcus’s door open in case he wakes up. The rest of my shift is uneventful; Marcus lies still and beautiful in the dim overhead light, screens from medical equipment glow and cast shadows over his body. I sit outside his room watching through the window that separates him from my charting station captivated by this insanely handsome, magnetic man. When I check the time it’s almost morning and I realize I don’t want to leave him when my shift ends. After work I’m usually knocking people down to get out of here and home to catch up on sleep. Not today, today the thought of leaving Marcus feels wrong. After I give my report to the day nurse I stop into his room and again I whisper into his ear, “I’m leaving now, rest easy, I’ll be back for you. Please try to wake up while I’m gone so I can see those eyes of yours.”

  I squeeze his hand and turn to leave. I can’t believe I’m doing this… he’s a perfect stranger, with an emphasis on perfect. I am so powerfully drawn to him it’s bizarre. The exhaustion of working so many shifts in a row hits me hard when I enter the parking garage. The further I move away from the hospital the more anxiety I have about leaving Marcus alone. What the hell is going on with me?

  Knock it off Imani; get a grip, he’s a patient just like all the patients you take care of. Just get your ass home and sleep, you’re working too damn hard. I think you’re losing your mind!

  Chapter 2

  Sleep… something so easy for most people will elude me every time I slip between the sheets. Even though I’m exhausted I have to medicate myself heavily to avoid the night terrors that accompany the much-needed rest. My past haunts me every time I close my eyes. During the day I’m able to press the memories of the attack down deep below the surface, but the vulnerability of sleep enables the horrific experience to return and torture me all over again. My recovery has taken a long time, and I still attend a support group for victims of violent crimes. Posttraumatic stress syndrome feasts on my fears and anxiety like a four course meal.

  With friends and family the absence of boyfriend in my life isn’t as devastating as it could be. Those who don’t know my secret are always bringing it to my attention. ‘You’re such a pretty girl why don’t you date? ‘You’re so smart Imani when are you going to settle down?’ ugh I get so sick of it sometimes I want to scream at them ‘I was raped by 3 men!!! I don’t want a fucking husband!!’ so they will shut up and leave me alone. I try to convince myself that being an Aunt to my sister’s children will fulfill my maternal needs, and that living the life of a single woman isn’t bad.

  My fear of men is crippling; I never expected to have a serious relationship after my attack. My mind and body deny the ache my heart has for that kind of love. I remind myself how lucky I am to be alive every day.

  I swallow my pills and snuggle up with the only things I’ve slept with for ten long years, my pillows. It isn’t long before I drift into a dreamless medically induced slumber. My last thoughts are of Marcus, and if I could dream my dreams would be filled with him.

  I’m not scheduled for three nights after my four-night stretch and Marcus is never far from my thoughts. This obsession or whatever it is is making me crazy. ‘Thanks a lot Courtney!’ As the days drag by I wonder about the unusual connection between myself and Marcus, how could this have happened? I try to distract myself filling my time with normal activities like working out, visiting my sister and playing with her kids. Loving those kids is as close as I’ll ever come to having my own children.

  After my attack my shrink encouraged me to pick up a hobby and somehow glassblowing became that hobby. I spend a lot of my time at the Seattle glassblowing studio, it’s relaxing and it helps bring out my creative side. I trudge through my days with the looming sensation that I should be somewhere else. It’s all I can do to restrain myself from dropping by the hospital. I called a few co-workers using lame excuses to see if Marcus has regained consciousness but every time the answer was no. They tell me his sister arrived and is sitting with him every day, I’m glad he’s not alone. Somehow I make it through those three long ass days and while driving to work for my next shift I have another overwhelming urge. This one presses my foot to the accelerator saying hurry and get there. When I walk back into the ICU I head straight to the charting station by Marcus’s room. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see he’s still there but a woman is at his bedside. She is holding one of his large hands in hers reading from an iPad with her other. Dressed in jeans and a soft, cream-colored sweater, she has a glow about her, a pure angelic aura that is opposite her brothers dark troubled one. Her long silky dark brown hair is gathered in a low ponytail that hangs to her waist. I casually walk past the open door to room 8 and glance inside. She sits at her brother’s bedside with her legs crossed, one foot swaying back and forth. I have been gone for three nights what if that's his wife or girlfriend? No, his information said he had no other family and these two look too much alike to not be related. They share the same beautiful bronze skin, dark hair and long legs. God why do I care anyway? It shouldn’t matter to me who she is.

  Completely disgusted with myself, I enter the locker room and toss my purse in my locker, swipe my badge through the time clock and find the nurse who took care of him today. She rushes through our report, nothing much has changed; some of the swelling has gone down in his brain, he’s still in traction, and of course he is still Roman Gladiator gorgeous.

  I introduce myself to his sister while ticking things off of my assessment list in my head.

  “Hi, I’m Imani, I’ll be taking care of... your brother is it?” She lays her iPad down on Marcus’s bed and smiles extending her hand.

  “Yes, yes, I’m Elena, nice to meet you.” I shake her hand. I don’t usually shake hands with family members but she stuck it out there so I can't be rude. Upon closer examination I realize just how much she looks
like Marcus, exactly like him.

  “Nice to meet you Elena, how’s he doing today?”

  “The same I suppose, he’s so still; I’ve never seen him like this… it’s strange. Marcus is perpetual motion, he always has been; we’re twins, we haven’t been close the past few years though,” she says. Her voice is laden with sadness and I sense a deep pain. After being with him for just one shift I can’t imagine life without Marcus.

  “Twins, ah, I was just thinking how much you look alike, it makes sense now. Someone said you don’t live here in Seattle where are you from?”

  “Maine… about as far away as we can get from each other in the continental United States.”

  I move to the bedside and listen to his lungs while we continue to chitchat. She seems sad about the distance between them, but I don’t want to be too nosy. Twins that don’t keep contact, there must be something serious going on between them. I watch Elena slide her hand back into his before relaxing into her chair and find myself wishing it were my hand in his instead of hers.

  “It’s just the two of us, our parents aren’t alive.” she explains.

  “I’m glad he has someone here with him.” I say smiling. “I believe he can hear you when you talk to him. I always tell family members to speak to their loved ones, you never know, it could help.”

  “Oh, I have heard of that but I wasn’t sure if it were true; I’ll start talking to him, do you think I should read to him too?”

  “Sure, anything that stimulates his brain can be helpful.”

  “Ok, part of me wishes he would show some kind of response but… I mean, oh I don’t know… ” Elena’s voice drifts off. She seems uneasy, I can’t tell if she’s worried that he won’t regain consciousness or that he will.

  “You don’t want him to wake up?” I can’t believe I asked that question out loud, but I couldn’t help it. “Well Marcus is a little… difficult, maybe I shouldn’t say anything in front of him if he can hear me…”