The Unexpected Crush, Book One (An Alpha Billionaire In Love BBW Romance) Read Free

buttoned my blazer. I’d opted for a black skirt suit instead of dress pants and, with my long brown hair pulled up in a tight bun, I hoped my overall ensemble implied competence and respectability.
    “I’ve done it before,” Carrie reminded me.
    I nodded, taking a deep breath. I knew I shouldn’t take my anxiety out on Carrie. She’d been nothing but helpful to me during the entire process and had even procured a babysitter to be here, supporting me on her day off. I knew that as a working mother, Carrie relished what little time she had with her daughter — and yet she had sacrificed that time for me today.
    “You’re right,” I said, turning from the mirror to face her. “Thank you. For everything.”
    “Not a problem,” she reassured me. “Now go kick some ass!”
    We found seats in the back of the conference room and I flipped through the file one more time as I waited for my turn to present. I didn’t really need to review my notes; I was very well versed in the fine details of the case by now. I had interviewed every doctor, nurse, and technician that had been in the room during the procedure. I knew everything that had happened as well as how each person had responded and why. I had this. I was going to be fine.
    “Dr. Davenport,” someone finally called. Carrie, who was sitting next to me, nudged my arm.
    “Kaia,” she whispered. “That’s you.”
    I blanched. I don’t know why, but I somehow managed to space out. Filling a little silly, I nodded and stood, straightening my outfit as I headed to the podium. The room was filled with doctors, administration, and the board of trustees. All I had to do was present the details of the case; they would discuss whether there had been any errors, as well as ways in which the system could be improved in the future. And then it’ll be all over.
    “Begin whenever you’re ready,” encouraged an older gentleman with grey hair.
    “Sixty-three year old male,” I began, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. “Suffered a myocardial infarction on July twenty-seventh. After his initial testing, the decision was reached that the best course of action would be a coronary artery bypass. Patient was scheduled for surgery two days later. During the operation, the patient fell into cardiac arrest. The surgical and anesthesia team, led by Dr. Elliott Taylor, did their best and followed all protocols, but the patient could not be resuscitated.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Davenport,” the man leading the proceedings replied once I’d finished. “Does anyone have any questions for Dr. Davenport?”
    A few people asked about how members of the anesthesia team had performed, and there was a request for further clarification on the time of the surgery and the time of death. But, for the most part, the group discussed the case amongst themselves, examining ways in which the response time could have been shortened and what the best protocol when a patient codes on the operating table was. Eventually, the discussion quieted down as the group came to a consensus about how to handle such an event in the future.
    “If there are no further questions,” said the moderator, “I will excuse Dr. Davenport.”
    I turned to go but was stopped almost immediately.
    “Actually,” came a deep voice from the back corner of the conference room, “I have a few questions.”
    I tried to find the source of the voice. A man I hadn’t noticed before was leaning forward in his chair, looking straight at me. He was decidedly younger than most of his colleagues — probably in his early thirties at the oldest. His dark hair looked somewhat wavy and unruly, hinting at irreverence, yet his square jaw was stern and intimidating. His hard grey eyes were examining me critically and I couldn’t help but feel nervous all over again. Just when I thought I was done with this case.
    His thin lips were turned down in a slight frown, giving him an overly severe appearance. Still, the expression did