Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” I murmur, taking a long sip of water.
The same employee returns with a bottle of wine, which I politely decline. Sergei watches me curiously.
“I don’t want to drink on the job,” I say. “In case Liliya needs me during the night.”
He studies me with unsettling intensity, as though he can read my mind. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it makes my skin buzz.
Just as I’m trying to think of something to say to break the tension, two more servers appear carrying the main course. A plate of grilled salmon with risotto and microgreens is placed in front of each of us. To my surprise, it smells amazing and doesn’t immediately turn my stomach. I just hope I can keep it down.
“This is lovely,” I tell him. “All of it. Your mom is the best patient, and I’ve really enjoyed your home so far. I’m not used to so much grandeur.”
He leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed but still commanding.
“You’ll get used to it sooner than you’d expect,” he says with a smirk.
“Which will make it that much harder when your mom’s better and I have to leave.” I sigh wistfully, only half-joking.
“Well, while you’re here, you should take advantage of every opportunity,” he tells me, his words loaded with a double meaning.
Is he flirting with me? It feels so similar to our date, I’m having a strange sense of déjà vu. But he’s my boss now, and he’s probably just being kind.
I need to navigate us back to safer waters, and fast.
“My best friend Mia would love this place,” I tell him. “She’d probably lock herself in the wine cellar for a few days and wreak havoc on your collection.”
Sergei chuckles, and the air between us eases slightly. “How did you meet her?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.
“I met her on my very first shift at the hospital. I was having a bit of a meltdown in a supply closet, and she brought me tissues and told me that crying on the first day was basically an initiation ritual. We’ve been best friends ever since.”
“What does Mia think of you working here?” he asks directly, surprising me.
“She’s been very supportive,” I answer truthfully. “She trusts me to follow my intuition. But she will kill you if you hurt me.”
My tone is only half serious, but I hope my sarcasm lands. I doubt a man like him would be intimidated by her five-foot-nothing stature.
He nods slowly, then lifts his wine glass. “To protective friends.”
I lift my water glass, tapping it against his, and we both sip in silence.
As the meal continues, we ease into a more comfortable rhythm. Sergei asks a million questions, but they feel much more like a job interview than a date, further confusing my read on this situation.
“Why did you want to become a nurse?” he asks.
“I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help people,” I say softly, nudging a piece of salmon around my plate.
“You do,” he says. “But was there an inciting incident? Was there a single moment when you thought, ‘This is the thing I want to do for the rest of my life?’”
Again, he catches me off guard. I hadn’t expected such a thoughtful question.
“I guess it was when my grandma was dying,” I reminisce, remembering those horrible days when I was a child, watching my grandmother fade into nothing. “She and my mom were very close, and she lived with us for a few years. When she got sick and went to the hospital, the nurses were so good to her. And then she went into a nursing home until her death a few months later. They became friends with her and were always kind to me. I wanted to provide another family that same level of care.”
“And here you are.” He smiles, gesturing to the house.
“I think in this case the family is giving me far more care,” I joke. “None of my friends have a setup like this. Most work in underfunded hospitals, juggling too many patients.”
“Have you ever thought of working for a private practice? Or working at a more lucrative hospital?” he asks.
“I actually like the controlled chaos at my hospital. I’d probably be bored in private practice.” I blush, aware I might sound ungrateful. “Not that caring for your mother is boring. She’s a delight.”
“It’s only day one,” he quips. “In a week, you may feel differently. She can be very stubborn.”
“I wondered where you got it from,” I shoot back. “You really love her, don’t you?”
“She’s my whole world,” he answers, his body relaxing. “My whole family is, really, but as the matriarch, she’s the most important. I watched her sacrifice her own dreams for years to raise Sasha and me.”
“My parents are the same,” I tell him. “It was just me, but we never had a lot of money, so I watched them work hard and scrimp and save my whole life. I never went without anything I needed, and often I had what I wanted. Well, except a sibling.”