Her Russian Billionaire (A BWWM Russian Oligarch Interracial Romance)

C
opyright
© 2015 by Imani King

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expression permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination. Please note that this work is intended for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or older. Kindle Edition.

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“
I
haven’t met
someone like you in a long time,” he continued. “You have this spirit… I don’t know how to explain it… You seem anxious sometimes, and yet I can tell you have loads of confidence in you abilities too. And you challenge me. You talk back if you feel I’m out of line. I’m not used to that. Usually, people around me fall over themselves to give me what I want. Not you—you won’t take crap from anyone, not just me. I admire that. And I promise I won’t allow anything unprofessional to happen again. I won’t give you any more unwanted attention.”

Something queasy slowly formed at the pit of my stomach as I realized that was the exact opposite of what I was hoping to hear.

“And what if the attention wasn’t unwanted?” I asked, barely able to believe what I’d just said.

“What?” Lex’s head snapped up as he studied me.

“I don’t want you to stop acting on your feelings. I… I feel the same way.” With that simple statement, I dove off the cliff of my doubts and anxiety.

Lex examined me for a minute more, then he was suddenly pressing himself against me, his lips meeting my own. The kiss was rough and sloppy and perfect as his tongue explored my mouth.

“
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.

U
nfortunately
, by the time my shift began the following morning, news of the surgical mishap had traveled down to the Emergency Room. It felt like the other two of the other ER interns, Kyle Martin and Julia Gimbal, took turns snickering about it over the course of the day. I tried to remind myself that they were probably jealous that I’d been chosen to help out in the surgery and were treating me accordingly.

“Look on the bright side,” Julia said at one point with a fake smile, “you’ll probably never have to help out in surgery again.”

We both knew that Julia would’ve killed for the opportunity to help in surgery, knowing how ambitious she was, but I chose not to point out that fact. Instead, I took comfort from the knowledge that she was obviously threatened by me.

“We both know I had nothing to do with what happened,” I replied with a smile, channeling confidence I didn’t actually feel. “Dr. Taylor actually commended me on my performance.”

With that, I turned and walked away, pretending like Julia and Kyle’s attitudes didn’t bother me. I watched them later, chatting casually with each other, and couldn’t help the pang of loneliness I felt.

This has nothing to do with me personally
, I kept repeating to myself. It’s not that I wanted to be included in their snarky little group, but having a friend would be nice. I couldn’t help but wish that Lori had been a member of my intern group — how different things could have turned out if she had been. I made a mental note to ask her out for coffee soon.

Things were getting back to normal by the end of the week — as normal as they could be in any Emergency Room, that is. The gossip had died down and, though I still wasn’t getting along great with the other interns, they were no longer being outright snarky to me.

I’d also begun to accept the death I’d witnessed in the operating room as a learning experience — just part of the job. Theoretically, I had always known that patients sometimes died during surgeries, but now that knowledge was a little more first-hand. I decided to stop thinking about it and move on.

That all changed, however, when I was called into the Department Chair’s office on Friday afternoon.

“Michelle, welcome,” Dr. Viola Grimes said as she ushered me into her office and motioned for me to sit.

Dr. Grimes was in her mid-forties, with short greying hair and wire-rimmed glasses. She had always been nice to me, yet I couldn’t help but find her intimidating. As the only African American female physician on staff of the Emergency Room, she kind of took me under her wing from the start. She’d been at Miami General for decades and was one of the most respected doctors in the hospital—and in the field. Being able to work under her guidance was one of the other reason I chose this hospital for my internship. Hesitantly, I took a seat across from her.

“So, Michelle, why don’t you tell me about your experience helping out in surgery the other day,” Dr. Grimes said once I was comfortable.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I wasn’t sure what to say. Surely, I wasn’t in trouble, right?

“I… I was there just to help. There isn’t much I can tell you, the other doctors would probably have more details. I was just holding the retractors. Then, when the patient began to crash, I switched positions with another attending, who helped attempt to get the situation under control.”

“That’s what it says in the file here,” Dr. Grimes pushed the folder across her desk towards me.

I wasn’t sure what to do, so I remained quiet.

“The reason I’ve asked you here,” Dr. Grimes continued, “is because this case has been chosen for presentation at the next month’s Morbidity and Mortality conference. Are you familiar with what that is?”

“Yes,” I replied, relieved to finally discuss something I was comfortable with. “An M&M conference is a regular review of complications and errors made during the patient’s hospital stay. Cases are reviewed, system errors are identified, and ways of improving patient care are discussed.”

“Well,” Dr. Grimes said with a smile, “you sure have the textbook definition down. But that’s basically it.” She paused. “And you have been chosen to present this case at the next month’s conference.”

“What?” I sat forward, confused. “Surely, there are people with far more experience than I have that could present the case.”

“Yes,” Dr. Grimes replied with a knowing smile. “Unfortunately, none of them want the added chore. This is the kind of thing that often gets pushed off to the lowest person on the totem pole. And for this particular case, that person is you.”

Dr. Grimes motioned for me to take the file sitting in front of me on her desk. Tentatively, I picked it up.

“Don’t look so mortified,” she said with a chuckle. “It really isn’t that bad. No one is going to blame you for anything that happened. You are just there to present the facts and answer the questions. M&M presentation experience is great for any intern. It’s a good skill to have.”

I perked up a little at that. I always leapt at the chance to learn new things. Which, I reminded myself, is what got me into this in the first place.

“Okay,” I said, nodding, finally able to offer her a real smile. “I can do this!”

“Sure you can. All you need to do is familiarize yourself with the details of the case and be prepared to answer questions. There may be a little more scrutiny than normal for this case in particular, as the man who died, Charles McDaniel, was our senator’s brother-in-law. We want to make sure all of our bases are covered in the event of any litigation.”

My eyebrows went up at the word
litigation
, but I didn’t want to ask. Instead I just nodded some more. Dr. Grimes rose and slowly walked towards the door, signifying the end of our meeting.

“If you need help or have questions,” Dr. Grimes said as I exited her office, “there are a few residents who have presented cases in the past and can give you pointers. I’m sure you can find someone willing to help.”

Nodding, I made my way back to the Emergency Room.

“What was that about?” Julia asked, obviously alerted to my meeting with Dr. Grimes. I couldn’t help but wonder how her and Kyle were always so well informed. “Did you get in trouble?”

“No,” I replied with a smile, trying not to let her see how nervous I was. “I was asked to present the case of that operating room fatality at the next month’s M&M conference.”

I could see the jealousy in Julia’s eyes, so I turned and left before she could start badgering me about it. Instead, I headed up to surgery to see if I could find Lori again.

As luck would have it, Lori was in the surgeons’ lounge, reviewing a file with a few other people.

“Michelle, right?” she asked with a smile when she noticed me. I nodded.“How are you doing?”

“Much better,” I replied with a smile of my own. “I was wondering… and it’s okay if you don’t have time to help, but… have you ever had to present a case at an M&M conference?”

“Oh yeah,” Lori replied with a laugh. “We all have.” Lori motioned to the other two people sitting with her. They nodded in agreement. “Those are usually pushed off on an intern or resident. None of the doctors ever want to do them.”

“Glad I’m not alone,” I said. “I really don’t know where to start. Is there any way I could pick your brain at some point?”

“Sure,” Lori replied, looking at her watch. “My shift is about to end and I’ll have a few minutes before I have to get home to relieve my babysitter. Have a seat.”

Feeling much more encouraged than I had been only moments earlier, I sat down next to Lori and her friends and began reviewing the case.