Mary Anne Wilson - Home To The Doctor

“And I’m here.” He waved a hand around the room. “Stuck here.”

That annoyance was there again. “If you don’t like it here, why come?”

“I’m a good patient,” he said with a smile that was more like a grimace. “I’m doing what the doctor suggested—take it easy, stay off my foot and definitely not do what I usually do.”

“Which is?”

“Work, in a thirty-floor building, take meetings all day, travel on a moment’s notice and generally keep things at the office going.”

Sensing the road for the conversation was heading right where she wanted it to, she helped it along. “So, is the business collapsing right now because you’re here and you aren’t wherever it is you prefer to be?”

He threw up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know, I’m not indispensable. Dr. Perry has told me that more than once, and James never lets me forget it.”

Before she could ask who James was, the front door opened and the man who, based on Sharon’s description, dropped off the check last night, strode into the room with a huge covered tray. “Here you go,” he said, and came to put the tray on the table halfway between the two of them.

He didn’t look over at her until he removed the cover and was straightening. Then he smiled. “You’re the doctor?”

“Yes, Morgan Kelly,” she said.

“Dr. Morgan Kelly,” he repeated. “I’m James Evans.” He lifted an eyebrow and said, “I heard you tucked him into bed last night.”

“I helped him get to the bed,” she said.

“Well, I’m grateful, and if there’s anything you need, just call on me.”

“James,” Ethan said, and the man took his time turning from Morgan to his boss. “Where’s dinner?”

“Coming. You just ordered it.”

Morgan thought that the relationship between the two men had to be more than boss and employee. James didn’t seem the least bit fazed by Ethan’s commanding tone, not even when he spoke again. “Make sure there’s fresh shrimp with it.”

“Oh, sure, boss. Fresh shrimp. I’ll make a note,” he murmured, giving Morgan another grin. “Nice to see you, Doctor.”

With that, he left and shut the door behind him. She looked over at Ethan, who was reaching for one of two decanters on the tray. He picked up the one that was steaming and full of rich amber liquid, the mulled cider. The other held brandy. He poured cider into a mug on the tray, and offered it to her. “Your cider,” he said. “How about a cinnamon stick?”

Leaning over the table, she plucked a cinnamon stick off the tray and took the cider from Ethan. “Thanks,” she replied and resumed her seat.

He ignored the cider for himself and poured a splash of brandy in a snifter before he sat back and looked at her. “Cider ceased being appealing when I was a kid,” he said, then smiled. “But brandy? That’s different.”

“Before dinner?”

“Anytime at all,” he murmured.

She cradled the warm mug between both hands, but didn’t drink any. Ethan, on the other hand, sipped his brandy, closed his eyes with a sigh and rested the snifter on his thigh. “I needed that,” he said. She wasn’t aware she’d been frowning at him until he spoke again. “Why are you looking at me as if you’re waiting for me to walk off a cliff or, to be more appropriate, to walk the plank?”

“I was wondering if you’d taken any medication today.”

He lifted the snifter toward the fireplace and stared at the rich liquid that reflected the flames in the hearth. “Why?”

“Mixing alcohol with those pills could be pretty risky.”

He held the glass a moment longer, then put it back down on his thigh. “I took aspirin today. Does that put me at risk?”

She knew her cheeks colored a bit. “Of course not. It’s the prescription medication you’re taking I’m concerned about—it’s very strong.”

His dark eyes met hers. “Tell me, could it make a person hallucinate?”

She blinked at the question. “I suppose it could.”

“Oh,” was all he said before taking another sip of brandy.

She had some of her cider, then settled back in the cushions a bit. She wasn’t sure if they’d be alone at dinner, not after James had made his appearance and seemed to do whatever he wanted around Ethan. She’d been ready to get to the point of her visit when the other man had intruded and tried to regroup. “Did Dr. Perry suggest you come here to recuperate?”

“That about sums it up,” he muttered.

She bet no one made him do anything he didn’t want to do. “They forced you on the ferry and sent you over here into exile?” That brought a crooked grin that transformed his almost harsh face into something that bordered on being boyishly cute. Now that was an odd word to use for a man like Ethan Grace. Cute. She quickly covered the smile that twitched on her lips.

“I came by helicopter and no one held a gun to my head, but this does have the flavor of being in exile.”

“Then why come?”

“I had other things going on and it made sense.”

She didn’t push for further details; she wasn’t here to learn about his personal or even his business life. She wanted to know about only one thing. “You’re the CEO of your company?”

“CEO, COB and any other combination of initials you want to come up with. A real alphabet man.”

“Basically you own it.”

“The investors and I do.”

“But what you say goes?”

“To a point.”

“Who do you answer to?”

“The board.”

“I mean, do you have an actual boss?”

He frowned at her. “Boss? No, I guess not.”

“Then you have the final say on everything your company does?”

He took a drink, then sighed. “In some sense, I guess that’s right.”

This was it! The opportunity she’d been waiting for. But just as she was about to ask him about the lease, James was back, yelling, “Room service” and crossing the room with another huge tray in his hands. A young woman Morgan thought she’d seen before brought up the rear and headed toward a table by the windows. She cast a sideways glance at Morgan, smiled and kept going. While James came to where they sat, the woman got busy setting the table with linen and crystal. “Just as you asked, boss,” James said as he went to the table.

In a matter of minutes everything was laid out. “Dinner is served and the shrimp is exquisitely fresh,” James announced.

He didn’t have a napkin over his arm, and he didn’t bow, but he was as close to being a manservant at that point as anyone could be, except for the obvious sarcasm in his voice. “Thanks,” Ethan said and pushed to get up.

James moved quickly, taking Ethan by the arm and helping him off the couch. He let him go when Ethan drew back, clearly wanting to cross to the table himself. Morgan took the chair James held out for her and settled in front of a plate filled with meat and vegetables and a side dish of shrimp all on a pewter charger. The woman poured wine into fine-stemmed goblets, then laid a basket of bread in the middle of the table.

Ethan settled with James hovering over him. “Anything else, sir?”

Ethan looked up and shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough,” he said with a touch of sarcasm, too.

James barked out a laugh, then nodded to Morgan. “Enjoy,” he said, then left with the woman and other tray in tow.

Ethan looked at Morgan. “Sorry about that.”

“Who is he?” she asked.

He exhaled in a rush. “That’s a good question. An assistant, a friend, a thorn in my side and someone I rely on completely and have for the past ten years.” He reached for his wine goblet and lifted it in her direction. “Here’s to a nice dinner and good conversation….” He glanced over at the closed door before looking back at Morgan. “And to James forgetting his way to the guest house.”