TRACY
When I finally worked up the courage to enter, the elevator's doors hissed shut, breaking through the commotion of busy nurses and clattering carts. The smell of Chief Shelby hit me in the sudden silence, which was a combination of crisp laundry starch, expensive sandalwood, and a faint metallic hospital smell. It was a clinical, masculine smell that seemed to take up more room than the man.
With my eyes fixed on the glowing floor numbers as they crawled upward, I stood still. 2... 3... Next was my floor, but I wasn't sure if my legs would comply when the time came because the air felt so dense.
"I didn't get your name at orientation," he said, his low voice cutting through the hum of the lift. He repeated it slowly this time, and the sound vibrated in my marrow. But I've been asking about you. I gave the other doctors a description, but no one could identify the resident who disappeared like a ghost.
In sharp contradiction to the Ice Queen mask I usually wore with such ease, I could feel the heat rising up my neck. I was fully aware of what he was doing. He was telling lies. He had seen me say my name and heard it clearly in the conference room. This was a power play, a test to see if his pretended disinterest would cause me to fall for him.
"Tracy Williams," I said as I eventually turned to face him. Even though my heart was pounding rapidly against my ribs, I managed to keep my chin at that superior angle. And no, Chief, I haven't been hiding. I just got sick with the flu.
His gaze softened just enough to be dangerous as he tilted his head. Feeling homesick? The immune system can be affected by starting over in a new city. I'm shocked at how quickly you were able to recover.
I was taken aback. How did he know I just moved to a new city? How did he know I was homesick?
The third-floor elevator chimed. He stepped out and motioned for me and the other two residents to follow him. "Walk with me," he said. We followed him into his office, which was filled with the aroma of expensive coffee and old books.
He didn't take a seat. He completely ignored the other two residents as he turned and leaned against his desk. Are you still on medication?
"Two more days," I whispered.
What will you have for dinner tonight? Tell me it's not just another empty takeout box, please.
I blushed. On my way home, I planned to stop by Pink Pastries for some bagels.
Shelby let out a sound of disapproval. A recovering doctor should not eat bagels. Real food is what you need. What's your comfort food?
"I... I like pasta," I stammered, utterly taken aback by his question.
"Good." One of his shadow residents, Dr. Miller, was standing by the door when he turned to face her. "Dr. Miller, take Dr. Williams to my apartment.
Tracy, my apartment is just a short distance away. I'll call my cook and ask him to prepare a tasty pasta dinner for you." He said to me,
"Chief, I can't possibly—"
"You can, and you will," he said, lowering his voice and taking a step toward me so I could feel his breath on my face. "I wouldn't mind being your first real friend in this city, Tracy.
That was really intense. I went back to my work station and tried to ignore the thought of him, his breath on my face, and his lovely scent by burying myself in my work. I was deep in thought when Dr. Miller tapped me on the shoulder. Chief Shelby asked her to come get me and take me to his apartment after my shift ended. I quickly completed my task, grabbed my bag, and followed closely behind her. As we walked out into the streets, I could feel every resident's and nurse's eyes following us till we were out of sight.
The walk from the hospital was short; his apartment was only a few blocks away, but the winter air felt different now, filled with an odd, buzzing electricity. Dr. Miller walked ahead of me in a silence that seemed to be filled with unanswered questions. I sensed that she was sneaking peeks at me, wondering how the "Ice Queen" had broken through Chief Shelby's tough facade in less than a week.
"We're here," she said as she came to a halt in front of a modern structure.
The senior doctors of Larissa were living in a row of luxurious "bachelor pads" on the ground floor, which served as both a residence and a status symbol. The first thing that struck me was a wave of warmth rather than the cold of a bachelor's apartment when Dr. Miller swiped her keycard and opened the heavy oak door to Shelby's apartment.
The air was heavy with the aroma of expensive diffusers, with hints of amber and cedarwood blending with the subtle, expensive scent of scented candles. There was not a single misplaced cushion or stray piece of paper in sight; everything had been carefully arranged. It was a place of masculine precision, but for some reason, it felt like home. The feeling of homesickness in my chest went away for the first time since I arrived in this city.
Dr. Miller said, "Make yourself comfortable," but she appeared to be as nervous in the room as I was.
Sinking into a deep, charcoal leather armchair, I stared at the minimalist artwork and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Just wow!
I could hear the constant clanking of a knife on a cutting board in the kitchen. The smell of fresh herbs and sautéing garlic filled the spacious living area as Shelby's personal cook got to work.
Buzz, buzz.
On the coffee table, Dr. Miller's phone vibrated. Her posture changed as if he could see her through the line, and she answered right away.
"Yes, we are inside, Chief. She looks kind of pale, but she is resting." A tiny, knowing smile tugged at her lips as she turned to face me. "I'll tell her. Yes, sir."
After hanging up, she turned to face me.
"He wanted to make sure you were comfortable.
My stomach began to flutter. He was reaching me through the only means he had, checking on me as if I were something fragile and precious, even when he didn't even have my number. The feeling of being taken care of was highly addictive for a girl who had spent her entire life being the strongest person in the room.
The phone buzzed once more ten minutes later.
Miller said, "He wants to know if you've had any water yet," with a hint of amusement.
I closed my eyes and rested my head on the leather. I felt special. It was a feeling I had forbidden myself from having the moment I moved to this city. This was supposed to be a year of iron-clad focus, not candle-lit apartments and a Chief of Staff who knew my comfort food.
I suddenly felt dizzy as the chef started setting the table. It wasn't just the flu; it was the warmth of the room. Looking at the perfectly arranged tablecloth, I came to the realization that I would be allowing him into my world if I stayed, sat at his table, and ate his food without his being there. The "Ice Queen" would be replaced by a girl who was too comfortable in a man's house.
Standing up, my knees felt like jelly. "Dr. Miller, tell the chef to pack up. To go."
"What? Tracy, the food is about to be served. The chief said he'd be back soon."
"I can't," I said calmly, my voice stronger than the shaking in my hands. "I have stayed too long. This... is not my space. "I need to go home."
I needed my own room. I needed my oversized, faded t-shirt and worn-out sweatpants. I needed the privacy of my own space before being swept away by the scent of his cologne in the air.
Dr. Miller sighed and dialed his number. I watched her lips move, explaining my sudden change of heart. She handed me the phone. "He wants to talk to you."
"Tracy," his voice came through the speaker, deeper and more authoritative than before. "The pasta is better hot. Stay. Eat. I'm ten minutes away."
The thought of him coming back and being in the same intimate space gave me goosebumps and butterflies in my belly. What if something silly happens? What if he tries to kiss me? The thought of his strong hands on my body caressing me filled my head until Dr. Miller tapped me to ask if I was okay. Just then, I heard the door beep from sliding his key card. He's here. I suddenly felt like disappearing into thin air. I don't know if I can handle this tension.