Stealing The Heart Of The CEO

Episode 3: A Relief

Getting an in-house spa built into the hospital must be the most ingenious thing I’ve ever thought of doing.

"My Goodness!" I exclaimed, soaking in the mud for 30 minutes.

Prior to that, I had given the nurses instructions to transfer the patient to the recovery room for close monitoring.

Craig's vitals needed to be monitored closely in case of any complications. I mean, post-op complications hardly ever happen in my cases, but management has stressed post-surgical check-ups are necessary to put the patients' minds at ease and assist whenever there was a complication.

I really couldn’t care less about that. That’s why I have nurses.

They have my page and can beep me at any time.

"Hopefully not any time soon," I mumbled to myself.

Cucumbers on my eyes, my thoughts float in the secluded room, the cold mud coating every inch of me.

The guts for that wretched woman to attack me in my own home… well, home in progress, but it was mine and she ambushed me.

"May I not become like you when I get married," I said a little loudly, as if she was there, listening to me.

You’d think living 5000 miles away from their abode would put enough distance between you and stay that way, but that’s not the case.

She wanted something. I knew it. I’d always been “useless” to the family… well before I realized a “failing” dream and made millions, sorry, BILLIONS. My net worth skyrocketed and so did my self-worth.

Now she thought she could buy into that worth. Not a chance!

She and Dad. She’d do all the bad talk and dad would just stand there agreeing with her.

I wish he had grown a backbone, but then again, we were two peas in a pod in that regard when it came to mum. Of all the traits to adopt, it was spinelessness.

Ironically enough, no one in my institute would dare think that about me.

I once bit off the ear of an older nurse and, admittedly, I could have managed it better. But a recent hire of a young age had the audacity to whisper “It’s giving family trauma” to another nurse who was watching as well. Fired her of course.

I don’t tolerate stupidity of any kind, either with your use of grammar or your lack of manners.

However, she wasn’t wrong. I did -do- have family trauma. I could never amount to anything before… but now I can -I am.

I’m not going to let anyone, be it family, take away my newfound happiness. I should be about done with my mud bath. And just in time too. My pager went off. Time to go see our patient.

I waltzed into the patient's room after rinsing off. I met a nurse who was with the patient holding his medical chart and awaiting instructions.

I perched by the patient’s bedside. He appeared to be coming out of the anesthesia.

I smiled warmly as I approached him, my eyes sharp and attentive. The nurse, a familiar face, handed me the chart, and I quickly scanned the details.

"Well, well, look at who's decided to rejoin the land of the living," I teased, a deadpan look on my face.

I wasn’t a fan of expressing too many emotions with my facial expressions. However, whatever his response to that joke was, it wouldn’t bother me much.

The patient managed a weak smile, his eyes still heavy with the remnants of anesthesia. "You don’t seem to smile much, do you?" He asked. "A day in the hospital and I can already tell your company could use a touch of joy."

The nurse with them silently chuckled, his voice filled with genuine amusement.

I just offered the patient a curt smirk while warning the nurse with casually threatening eyes.

"Not your business," I muttered in my head, turning my attention to the equipment that was laid beside him.

“Now, let's see how well that heart of yours is behaving, shall we?" I leaned over, gently examining the surgical site, noting the monitors displaying his vital signs and the reassuring rhythm of his heart on the ECG.

The patient winced a bit, but bravely held still. "Be gentle, Doctor. It's my first time with a fresh set of stitches."

I shot him a mock stern look. "Don't worry, I'm known for my delicate touch. If you weren't already aware, I have a reputation to uphold."

He grinned, despite the tenderness. "I heard rumors. Some say you've got steady hands that could put a sniper to shame."

I feigned a modest blush. "Oh, stop it. I'll let you in on a secret, though. It's not magic, it's just years of practice and an uncanny ability to coerce the trickiest of hearts to bend to my will”.

The room quietened down in silence for a few seconds… then the patient started to bawl over in laughter.

“Careful, you might pop some stitches!” The nurse cautioned, but the man went on deaf ears hugging his sides. I subtly smirked. I went through the monitor, ensuring everything was okay.

"Alright, my friend, you've passed the first post-op test with flying colors. Now, it's time to focus on resting and recovering. Nurse…" I paused, looking at the nurse, waiting for him to mention his name.

“Carlisle," He mumbled with a small, embarrassed smile.

I’ve seen him a couple of times in the operating room, but never took the time to learn his name.

Even with that, I never forget a face, especially one as handsome as he is, and to the credit of his parents, he has got one heck of an astounding genetic structure. Wait, why am I thinking this way?

Be professional, Melissa.

“Nurse Carlisle will follow you up with some medication and will guide you through the recovery process. You should be up and active in at least 2 months," I explained. "So don’t go about doing extreme activities… or scrap that. Do it.” I said, shrugging. “More money for me that way.”

The man laughed good-naturedly, but swore off work.

I turned to the nurse that waited on the patient as we walked out of the room.

“Give him some epidural to help with his pain. Also, check all the items listed with this chart and provide him the prescription drugs laid out," I ordered. "When you’re done with this, fill out the paperwork for all the medical care administered to him and bring it over to my office to sign off on.”

“Alright, doctor,” he said hurriedly, trying to keep up with my quickened pace.

“I don’t want to be in this hospital any longer than I have to, so please make it snappy. I’ve got places to be,” I said, walking off without sparing him another glance.

I was in desperate need of ‘me’ time. Yes, I’ve had plenty already, but it can never be too much. I’m never one for social interactions unless they are completely necessary.

Every second I spent next to another human, was a second I replenished twice with isolation.

And for someone who owned and worked in one of the most prestigious hospitals in all of America, I was never short of patients or staff. So, you can imagine where my office was in this whole building, can’t you?

Taking my private elevator, I ascended two stories up to where my office is, you guessed it, the whole floor.

The office is like a mini apartment for me. It has got all sorts of luxurious furniture, from beddings to living room furniture to even a bar where I beeline to because I need a drink.

I poured myself a glass full of ‘Louis XIII Cognac’ Liquor and reveled in the silky and velvety feel of the drink as I stared down my huge office space overlooking the city.

The rich aroma filled the air, mingling with the scent of leather and mahogany that spread in the room.

Peace!

It was one of my favorite places in 'my' own world. The way the warm colors of the sinking sunlight splashed across the huge windows, painting the office with a surreal glow, was nothing short of breathtaking.

The cityscape sprawled out below, its twinkling lights like a blanket of stars, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride wash over me.

The furniture was elegant, each piece carefully selected for its level of comfort should be. The sofa was buried in plush velvet, inviting me to sink in and lose track of time, and trust me, I will.

I stared at the desk, crafted from the finest wood, but awfully adorned with leather-bound books, and a number of case study files that desperately needed my attention. I’ll get to that as soon as I can, but not right now.

The crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a gentle, warm light. The walls were adorned with all sorts of artwork, each piece telling a story and, to anyone perceptive enough, could probably decipher my life's journey through them.

As I took another sip of the Louis XIII, I couldn't help but reflect on how far I've come; how much I’ve accomplished all together.

I sank into the plush armchair by the window, the cognac in hand, and let the moment wash over me.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice called out from behind me. It sounds familiar, but I still turned to get a proper look at him.

His eyes stared out the window, similarly, reveling in the serenity that came from the warm light.

“It is, Carol,” I said, affirming his judgment, but I wasn’t interested in having company.

“It’s Carlisle, boss,” he corrected me. "Carlisle," but I couldn’t care less about his name.

“Yes, whatever. Drop the document and leave,” I said sternly while facing the window.

I did not bother to listen to the receding footsteps before I fell back into the serene trance I was in.

“I was always an art kid,” the voice came back again.

Does he not understand grammar?

“Even in school, I minored in art back in college," he continued, as if he did not just hear me dismiss him. "Because I believed every color is a language and every work of art is a story woven together by intricate colors told from a story often personal.”

I looked back at him, and I caught him staring at my gallery of painted art.

He stared grimly at the paintings and then satisfactorily. Almost as if he could read the paintings on the wall... my own story on the wall. Curiosity bit at me, and I gave in to it to hear what he thought.

“What are they telling you?” I asked him, directing his baby blue eyes back to the art. “The art on the wall, what does it say?”

As he continued to study the artwork, I got up and walked over to him. I watched his gaze shift between paintings.

"This one reminds me of a powerful figure still giving off radiance in the face of struggle," he said, pointing at an artwork.

On it the sun still shone brightly, contrasting the stormy waves of the sea.

. What he said to me had a bit of sense and I could relate to it on some level. I encouraged him to go on by nodding.

"And here," he said, pausing in front of a picture showing a lone individual staring into the distance. "This one is a story about a lone person. It's about someone who takes comfort in their own company. But they put up walls to protect themselves from others.”

With a steady gaze, he continued, "Everyone thinks you're a damaged lady. Using extravagant things to make up for, what some consider, your lack of humanity in order to compensate for your feeling of emptiness," he paused. "Some think you're a stuck-up brat and evil incarnate. But me? I see a lonely child, yearning for affection, love, a connection—one you were denied as a child," he paused again for effect. "It pushed you forward and made you resentful. It inspired you to rise to power on your own. However, at the end of the day, you're just like the rest of us—still searching for the happiness that makes everything worth it."

His words hung in the air, heavy with emotion.

For a moment, I felt seen in a way I hadn't experienced before. But it was too much, too personal. I couldn't bear to have my soul laid bare in such a way.

“Enough!” I snapped, my voice cutting through the air. “I didn’t ask for a psychological analysis. Leave, now!”

Carlisle's expression shifted from empathy to surprise, then disappointment. He gathered the documents he had brought, his once vibrant eyes now downcast.

As he walked towards the door, I couldn’t bear to look at him.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the room, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Once he was gone, I closed my eyes, trying to regain the composure that had slipped away.