The fish-eye view of my hallway comes into focus, and my heart slams against my ribs with enough force that I actually gasp.
Because Sebastian Walker stands on the other side of my door.
Chapter 8
Sebastian
I've been standing outside Mia's apartment door for seven minutes. I know this because I've checked my watch exactly four times since I got here, each glance confirming what I already know—this is a mistake. The paper in my hand feels heavier than it should, the test results I could have easily shared tomorrow morning at the hospital burning a hole through my palm. Professional boundaries exist for a reason, and here I am, demolishing them one by one.
I pace three steps to the left, three steps to the right, my hand clenching and unclenching around the folded paper. This could have waited until morning. Should have waited.
The trip here wasn't planned. After leaving the hospital, I drove home with every intention of reviewing case files over a glass of Macallan and going to bed early. Instead, I sat in my car in the parking garage, staring at the test results I'd run for Marcus Ellis. Guillain-Barré syndrome, just like she suspected. She'd been right, and something about that fact had propelled me out of the garage and onto the road, my car seeming to drive itself to her address.
The address I pulled from her personnel file before leaving the hospital like some part of me knew this would happen.
What the hell am I doing here? I'm her supervisor. I don't make house calls to fellows with test results that could easily wait twelve hours. This is a violation of every professional boundary I've established over the years. Distance. Control. Objectivity. The pillars I've built my career on. Coming here undermines all of that, and for what? To see her face light up with vindication? To prove that I'm not the cold, protocol-obsessed doctor she thinks I am?
"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. I need to leave. Now. Before she answers the door, before I do something else I'll regret. I turn on my heel, shoving the test results into my pocket, when I hear movement inside her apartment.
I freeze, caught in the act of retreat like a teenager about to bolt from a girl's front porch. For a wild moment, I consider actually running, but my feet remain rooted to the worn hallway carpet as I hear the unmistakable sound of a lock turning over.
The door swings open, and all the air leaves my lungs in a silent rush.
Mia stands in the doorway, her expression a mixture of confusion and something else I can't decipher. Her red curls are piled high on top of her head. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, and a constellation of freckles are visible across the bridge of her nose that I've never noticed before. But it's what she's wearing that makes my mouth go dry.
A faded Johns Hopkins t-shirt hangs loose on her frame, the fabric worn thin enough that I can make out the shadow of her breasts beneath it. The neckline dips to reveal her collarbone, a delicate structure I want to trace with my fingertips. The shirt just about reaches her hips, leaving miles of pale, freckled leg exposed below. Her sleep shorts—if they can even be called that—are barely visible beneath the hem of her shirt, a glimpse ofsoft cotton that makes my hands itch to discover exactly where fabric ends and Mia begins.
I force my eyes back to her face, but that's no safer. Her lips are slightly parted in surprise, pink and full and utterly fucking kissable.
"Dr. Walker?" she says, and I realize I've been staring far too long without speaking. "Is everything okay? Did something happen at the hospital?"
I open my mouth to respond, but my brain seems to have disconnected from my vocal cords. She shifts her weight from one bare foot to the other, and I helplessly track the movement, my eyes drawn down her legs again before I can stop myself.
"I'm sorry for the intrusion," I finally manage, voice rough. "I know it's late. This was—" Impulsive. Inappropriate. "—unprofessional of me."
"Okay..." she draws out the word, clearly waiting for me to explain myself. But I remain rooted in place, unable to step forward into her apartment or retreat down the hallway.
"Are you going to tell me why you're here?" she prompts, shoving a stray curl behind her ear in a gesture that somehow manages to be both innocent and the most erotic thing I've seen in months.
My jaw clenches involuntarily, my pulse kicking up as I try to remember why I thought this was a good idea.
"I have something for you," I say, my voice dropping lower despite my best efforts to maintain some semblance of professional distance. "Something that couldn't wait until morning."
Her eyebrows lift slightly, those green eyes widening with curiosity. She leans against the doorframe, and the movement pulls her shirt tighter across her chest, revealing the outline of her nipples against the thin fabric. My hands tighten into fists atmy sides, nails digging into my palms as I fight to keep my gaze on her face.
"Must be important if you're here at ten o'clock on a work night."
I should just hand her the results and leave. That was the plan. Give her the vindication she deserves and go before I do something unprofessional. But standing here, looking at her in the dim light of her apartment doorway, all my carefully constructed walls feel like they're crumbling at my feet.
"It is," I say, and I'm not sure anymore if I'm talking about the test results or something else entirely.
"Well, since you're here, you might as well come in." Mia steps back from the doorway, a half-smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Otherwise Mrs. Gonzalez down the hall will have you starring in her morning gossip rotation. The last guy who visited made it into her prayer circle announcements. Apparently, he was my drug dealer."
I hesitate, one foot hovering between the hallway and the threshold of her apartment. Stepping inside feels dangerously significant, like crossing some invisible line I can’t uncross.
A soft click from down the hall makes the decision for me. A door cracks open, and I catch sight of an elderly woman's curious face peering through the narrow gap.
"Speak of the devil," Mia mutters, then raises her voice. "Evening, Mrs. Gonzalez. Just a colleague dropping by."
