Stay With Me (A BWWM Russian Billionaire Romance Novel) (Imani's Russian Billionaire Series Book 1) (11 page)

T
hania heard an annoying buzzing sound
, and she tried to swat it away. It would not stop though, and it was right around her head, so she smacked the air.

“Ow!” Vlad said, and she looked over in the dark to see him rubbing his forehead.

“Sorry, love,” she mumbled as she patted his naked behind. “Bug in here.”

The sound was so loud and irritating now that Vlad had turned on the light in the bedroom in order to find it.

“Kill it!” she said, her face in her pillow. “Kill it right now, Vlad!”

The idea was not very charitable, Thania admitted to herself, but there you have it. They needed sleep, and it was the middle of the night. The bug must die. It really was that simple. Thania had come to terms with the arrangement.

Except the bug wasn’t flying anywhere. And it wasn’t a bug at all. The noise was coming from one spot, and Vlad hunted it down until he found it—Thania’s hand bag.

“Do you want me to kill it?” he asked in a serious tone. “It’s your phone,” he said, tossing it lightly to her.

She sat up at the same time and the phone hit her on the nose. “Ow!” Thania said, wiping her watering eyes.

“Sorry, love,” Vlad mumbled, as he got back into bed beside her and snuggled close.

She stared at her phone as if it was a foreign object. Which it sort of was, since she hadn’t used it in going on two weeks now. But the damn thing would
not stop ringing
. There was some sort of international code on the screen so she didn’t even know who it was that was calling her at this un-Godly hour.

“Hello!” she yelled into the phone after swiping the screen. She heard clicks and clangs and strange noises in the background, and she was just about to hang up when she heard her.

“Thania!” It was Asha, and she sounded hysterical, even through the poor international connection.

Thania sat straight up in bed.

“Asha! Asha!” she yelled into the phone, getting more and more distressed as the moments passed and she did not hear her friend’s voice again.

Vlad got up out of bed and turned on the nightstand lamp. It was pitch black outside.

“Thania!” she heard again.

“Asha, what is it? What’s wrong?” She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Asha would never contact her when she was away with Vlad, unless it was truly an emergency. Thania felt fear rush through her as she waited what seemed an interminably long time for Asha to speak again.

“I need you, Thania! I need you to come home!”

“Of course! We will come home immediately!” Thania was really in a panic now; she jumped out of bed and began gathering her things with one hand. Asha never asked anyone for anything.

“I need help, Thania!” Asha said, and Thania heard her crying.

Thania had never, in all of their years of being friends, ever seen Asha cry. She was momentarily stunned.

“What happened?” Thania yelled, trying to be heard over the clinks and clanks of the phone. Now the connection was so bad, that Asha’s voice was coming in and out.

“He…me…need…can’t…don’t…”

It was all garbled, and she held the phone away from her ear and pressed speaker so that Vlad could listen also. Maybe if they both listened, they would be able to make out what she was saying. At that moment, the line became crystal clear, and Asha’s crying voice came through the phone as if she was standing in the room with them.

“It’s David!” she cried. “David’s hurt me again.”

W
hile Imani is writing
her next book, would you like a sneak peek into her first ever Russian Billionaire novel? This is
not
from the same series as Thania, Asha, and Daya’s stories, but it inspired Imani to write the new books. Shh, here it is…

“
C
ome on Michelle
,” I muttered to myself. “Get it together.”

Leaning against the wall of the employee bathroom, I took what felt like my first breath in half an hour. I rubbed my freshly-scrubbed hands across my face, trying to pull myself together. I’d always been high-strung. But it was that very personality trait that had allowed me to graduate from medical school at the top of my class and procure a great internship at a very competitive hospital in Miami. At the moment, however, my nervous disposition seemed to be acting against me.

As an Emergency Medicine intern, I had very little experience with operating room procedures—at least not practical experience. Sure, I’d observed a number of surgeries during medical school and a few emergency surgeries in the ER since I’d been here. But I’d never seen anyone die on the operating table before today.

I had only been there to hold the retractors. Half of the surgical staff at Miami General had come down with a massive stomach virus, and I had been loaned out from the Emergency Room at the end of my night shift to act as another set of hands during a routine surgery. At the time, I’d jumped at the opportunity—when would I ever get to see a cardiac bypass surgery?

Thinking about that fact now, I cringed. I definitely did not need that experience at the cost of my nerves.

Hazarding a look in the mirror, I couldn’t help but cringe again. My normally pretty face was ashen, and there were dark circles underneath my now-glassy golden brown eyes. My already kinky hair was frizzier than ever from spending the last few hours under a surgical cap. And, of course, there was blood all over my light blue scrubs. That was the final straw, and another wave of panic washed through my body.

Obviously, I had no problem with blood in and of itself—I would have no place in the medical field if I did. It was the memory of the death I’d just witnessed that had me trembling. I’d seen quite a few dead bodies over the years, but I’d never seen someone die right in front of me—while I was, at least partially, responsible for that person’s wellbeing. I had always known that death was something I would need to get used to as an ER doctor, but this, as my very first experience, had been jarring.

I knew that I should at least change, if not shower, before heading home. Right now though, I was just trying to focus on standing without shaking, which didn’t seem like a feat I could handle at the moment.

I heard the door of the bathroom open, and a cute girl with gorgeous seemingly pore-less caramel skin and short curly hair walked in. I recognized her as a resident in the surgery department, though I hadn’t actually talked to her before. I was glad to see that I wasn’t the only resident who weighed over one hundred and fifty pounds. It seemed that most doctors dealt with stress by not eating, while I was always known to turn to food to help me forget about the day’s problems.

The girl smiled at me as she washed her hands. “You must be the emergency room intern who helped out with the triple bypass,” she stated.

“Yeah,” I answered, trying to keep my hand from trembling as I reached out to shake hers. “Michelle Carter.”

“I’m Lori,” she said with a smile. “Lori Hughes. I’m a surgical resident here.”

“I know,” I replied. “I’ve seen you around. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

I cringed, realizing how fast news must have spread. I guess it was hard to miss the hustle and the alarms when someone stopped breathing on the operating table.

“Was that the first time you’ve seen someone die during an operation?” Lori asked when I didn’t reply.

“Yeah,” I whispered with a shaky breath, not trusting myself to say anything else.

Lori put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Last year at about this time, I was in your same position. It gets easier. I mean, it still sucks, but it gets… less shocking, I guess.”

“It was really unexpected.”

“Yeah. It usually is. But from what I heard, he was old, and the triple-bypass was a little risky anyway.”

I nodded, trying to focus on what she was saying.

“I would think you saw more death down in the ER than we see up here.”

“I’ve been here less than a month,” I explained with a shrug. “It hasn’t happened yet during my shifts.”

“Well,” Lori said, squeezing my arm a little harder, “just remember that it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could do. Go home and try to relax. It will get easier, I promise!”

“Thanks,” I replied as Lori turned away. “It was good to meet you.”

“You too,” Lori said over her shoulder, with the most genuine smile I’d seen since I’d moved here. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

After Lori left, I took another minute to collect myself before heading downstairs to shower and change in the ER locker room.

I had completed an entire shift in the ER before volunteering to help out on the surgery, so I was physically and mentally exhausted by the time I finally dragged myself through the door of my tiny apartment.

Curling up on the sofa, I wrapped in one of my grandmother’s quilts, with a bowl of ice cream serving as dinner (even though it was technically breakfast time) and a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of me. The doctor inside me cringed at the nutritional content of my food, but I really couldn’t garner the strength to feel too guilty about my choices for sustenance right now.

Unfortunately, food had become a coping mechanism for me in the recent months. During my final year at med school in Chicago, my boyfriend dumped me because he believed that I wasn’t “committed enough” to our relationship. I had completely rearranged by life to suit him, but I hadn’t been willing to sacrifice my grades, which is what, in the end, Scott had deemed a “lack of commitment.” Plus, as he never ceased to emphasize, he felt like I wasn’t “committed to staying fit, healthy, and attractive.” He had maliciously pointed out that I’d gained some extra weight since we’d started dating. Yes, I’d gained some weight… but I spent all of my free time with him – had even sacrificed sleep to keep our relationship strong. Between school and Scott, I hadn’t had time to exercise or worry about what I ate.

The positive side of Scott dumping me was that I had even more time to focus on school. I was already near the top of my class, but with more time to study I quickly rose to number one. This allowed me the pick of many desirable internship positions. And, without Scott, I also had the freedom to choose a residency program anywhere in the country, not having to worry about staying close to my boyfriend. Plus, my mom hated that I was dating a white guy anyway. But she hated everyone I’ve ever dated. That was one of the reasons why I ended up in Miami. I’d been here once, on a spring break of my junior year at college, and I just fell in love with the culture and energy of the people here. Getting away from my super-controlling mom was a definite bonus.

It seemed like a great change at the time, but now I found myself so far away from everyone I knew and loved, truly alone for the first time in my life. I hadn’t quite clicked with the rest of my cohort of interns, and today’s shock had shaken my confidence in the one thing I was still sure of—my ability to be a good doctor.

“I’m not going to cry,” I told myself aloud, willing that statement to be true. Instead of giving in to tears, I took a large, rich bite of Rocky Road, savoring the taste of chocolate and marshmallows and washing it down with a sip of Malbec. Once I was finished with the ice cream, I set the bowl on the table and I wrapped myself fully in the quilt. Finally, I allowed the tears to flow freely down my face, promising myself that tomorrow would be another day.