Falling for the Arrogant Billionaire Doctor

EMILY'S POV "You're in trouble, Emily," said Char, my supervisor. The fear in her usually calm blue eyes sent my heart racing, hammering against my chest. If Char was scared, I had every reason to be terrified. "What happened?" My voice came out in a shaky whisper, though deep down, I already knew what the problem was. The weight of my failure from an hour ago hung heavy on my shoulders. I had frozen in the operating theater, unable to release the Babcock forceps, clutched uselessly in my hands as the surgeon called for it. "Mr. Dale wants to see you now. And, Emily..." Char hesitated, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. "I don't think it’s going to end well." I nodded because I was out of words. "Third floor. First office on the right," she added softly. The look of fear in her eyes had morphed into that of pity. My legs felt heavy as I walked toward the elevator, the soles of my crocs squeaking faintly against the glossy tiled floor. When I reached the elevator, I pressed the button for the third floor with a trembling finger. The reflective steel walls of the elevator felt suffocating as the doors slid shut behind me. I stared at my faint reflection, trying to suppress the growing panic in my chest. My hand instinctively pressed against my belly—a habit I'd developed over the years whenever anxiety consumed me. Victor Dale was the Chief Medical Director of Dale Valley Hospital. He was a public figure lauded for his assertiveness, kindness and his charity. He was a billionaire, too. He'd inherited the wealth from his father. And often his face graced newspapers and local news segments, his smile warm and approachable. But within these hospital walls, his name was uttered in hushed tones, synonymous with discipline and perfection. Char had warned me during the orientation of the hospital's newly employed staff that Victor Dale ran this hospital like a well-oiled machine. "No room for error," she'd said, her voice unusually stern. "He believes that when it comes to healthcare, every mistake is a matter of life or death." The elevator dinged, jolting me back to reality. Swiftly, the doors slid open, revealing the polished expanse of the third floor. Everything here seemed quieter, more clinical. My steps faltered as I approached the first office on the right. The frosted glass door bore his name in bold, black letters: Victor Dale, MD, Chief Medical Director. I stopped in front of it, my imagination running wild, conjuring all the ways this could end. Would he fire me? Reprimand me in a way that would haunt my career forever? My stomach churned as the racing in my heart escalated. Taking a deep breath, I forced my trembling hand to knock on the door. The response was a curt “come in”. The sound of those words made my nerves rattle even more, but I turned the handle anyway and entered the office. Victor Dale sat behind a sleek, dark wooden desk, his face buried in a file. The slow rustling of the pages was the only sound in the room. It stirred tension in me. “Yes, what is it?” he asked, his voice flat and emotionless. He didn’t look up at me. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Um, you asked to see me,” I said, my lips trembling. He finally looked up then, the deep blue of his irises locking onto me with an unsettling intensity. They were sharp and knowing, as though they saw straight through my soul. Above those blue eyes were thick and slightly arched brows. He was handsome in a way that was almost too perfect. My eyes stayed on his jawline now. It was well defined, with a chiseled curve. Victor was easily the youngest Chief Medical Director in the city, being just 27 years of age. “You're Emily Blayke aren't you?” he said. “I am, Sir.” I felt as though I were standing before something much larger than just a man. I'd never felt so intimidated by a man before. “I was informed of your carelessness and recklessness in the theater,” his voice was colder now, sharp with disapproval. “What excuse could you possibly find to have put the patient's life at risk? If you weren't okay, you should have spoken to your supervisor to pick another nurse for the surgery.” The words hit me like a slap. It was an accident, I wanted to explain. But my voice caught in my throat. How could I possibly have anticipated the moment when it all came rushing back to me? I didn’t know it would happen. It was my first time in the operating theater since the accident. The images from the bus accident five days ago had flashed into my mind terrifyingly. I could still hear the screech of the tires, feel the violent jolt as the bus swerved off the road. I had thought I was going to die in that accident, my life flashing before my eyes. But somehow I'd come out unharmed. But the woman sitting beside me...she hadn't been so lucky. I could still remember the blood, the thick, dark red stain spreading across her belly. I had been shaken to the core, but had told myself I was fine. Char didn't even know about it. And I'd tried to convince myself that I could move on, that it wouldn't affect me. But in that operating room, when the surgeon had cut into the patient and his intestines were exposed, the memories of the incident had flooded my mind. “Are you deaf?” Victor bit out in a raised voice. “I'm sorry, Sir;” I said, finally finding my voice. “You're sorry,” he mocked. “Would sorry have fixed things if the patient had died in the theater?” I tried to find the right words to respond. “I'm sorry, Sir. I just, um.” “You're fired, Emily Blayke,” he mouthed harshly. “Get out of my office.”