Chapter 1 - Emory

I'd been preparing for this moment for years and was still so nervous that my stomach was in knots. I fast-tracked through school to finish early, put in years of 24/7 all-nighters, and garnered a reputation among my peers as the rising star of my graduating class. And still, I was sitting at a bar, trying to calm my nerves with a drink.

A poor coping mechanism, I'm aware.

Flidding with the ring on my right middle finger, I spun it around until the bartender returned with the beer I'd ordered. It seemed like the best choice, considering I needed to be up early—it had lower alcohol content and was easier to sip on .

I was sure Dr. Bailey would have a field day if he knew I was out getting a beer to cope with nerves before seeing my first patients tomorrow. But what the good old proprietor of my practice didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Though I'd probably end up blabbing about it to him anyway, Dr. Bailey made you want to spill your guts whenever you were in the room long enough with him, which I supposed was the earmark of a great psychologist. I just hoped that one day, I would be up to his level.

I was a clinical psychologist starting tomorrow, and it was in my plans to achieve psychiatrist status so that I could prescribe medications for my patients after another two years in practice.

You're fine, Emory. Just breathe. The brain works better when it is oxygen-rich.

It was a familiar mantra, but one that worked thanks to some good old-fashioned conditioning. My father had been the first to start saying it to me, and if it worked for the brain surgeon, it should damn well work for me, right?

"Breathe, Emory. Take in the oxygen and breathe out the rest. You just need to steady yourself. Remember, that's all it takes to get from a tiny house in Milan to America."

Shaking my head, I took a sip of the beer, trying to forget how disappointed my father would be in me if he saw me here in a bar. I mean, hell, he wasn't all that pleased that I'd gone into the mental health profession and not "real medicine" like him and Mom.

Okay, you need to get out of your head. Go put on some tunes and relax.

With one more sip, I stood up from the bar and walked over to the jukebox just to the left of the long stretch of wooden bar. But when I got there, the light that usually illuminated the screen was dark.

I looked over at the bartender, raising a hand to get his attention. "Umm, what's wrong with the machine?"

He glanced over for half a second and gestured at the stage near the opposite end of the room.

"Band's coming on. No jukebox till after."

Raising my brows in understanding, I saw a person on the stage getting things set up. After a few moments, they finished, hurrying off the stage as the band in question rushed on.

Before I could even blink, booming music ripped through the bar, filling it to bursting point with a concussive sound that had my ears ringing. I could feel the bass in my chest, and that desire to just sit and relax was promptly squished.

"Well, fuck."

I couldn't even really hear myself say the words, so I just ambled back over to my seat at the bar, intent on chugging the remainder of my beer and leaving. However, as I sat down and reached for it, a massive hand came down over the mouth of the bottle, pushing it back down to the bartop before it could hit my lips.

"Excuse me. What do you think you're—"

Turning toward the person who stood at my right, I came face to face with quite possibly the largest man I'd ever seen. He stood at least six feet tall, and his broad shoulders blocked out most of the scene behind him.

I was struck momentarily, locked in a fascinated stare, trying to take in everything this imposing figure had to offer. He wore a black leather jacket over top of a black tee, the fabric of which smoothed over a muscled abVladen that would put more pro athletes to shame.

My voice caught in my throat, and I found it exceedingly difficult to swallow as the man's golden brown eyes lasered into me. They were so striking, the color so bright it was almost yellow.

Finally, I found my words as I attempted to take my drink back from the man.

"What are you doing? I can promise you this is my drink."

The man rolled his golden eyes, sighing in a hard grumble that was vaguely unnerving. However, he yanked the bottle away and set it on the other side of the bar.

"Hello?" My temper flared justifiably. "What's your problem?"

I was left hanging for several seconds again. The man who'd taken my beer patted the top of the bar, getting the bartender's attention. When the man walked over, he gestured at the discarded beer bottle, shaking his head as he pointed with his thumb in a distinct "get it out of here" move.

Before I could speak again, the man held up a finger, ordering another one for me. I was utterly confused at this point, and when the drink thief turned back to me, he held up a hand for me to wait.

Wait for what? I wasn't sure.

But then he pulled out his phone and started typing on the screen before flicking the thing around to face me.

"It's loud as hell in here. So, phone. And I didn't steal your beer. I saw someone put something in it. Scared the guy off, but I didn't want you to drink it."

My mouth fell open as I read the screen. When I flicked my eyes back to him, the man cocked his head, his brows raised in a silent expression of "that." It took me two full seconds to snap into action again before I reached inside my purse for my cell.

As I typed up a message, impressed by the guy's quick thinking considering it was damn near impossible to hear in here, he appeared to wait patiently. When I was finished, I turned over my phone, holding it out to him.

"Thank you. I'm so sorry that I snapped at you. I'm truly grateful that you stopped me from drinking it. And there's no need to buy me another one. It was probably a sign that I should go home anyway. It was just supposed to be one drink and done."

The guy returned my phone and shrugged. The bartender dropped off my new drink, and the man slid it toward me, holding up his own glass of what looked like whiskey, indicating a toast.

I rolled my eyes, waggling my head around before I grabbed the beer and clinked it against his glass.

"Oh, all right."

We each took a sip, and when the guy finished, he set his glass down and pulled up his phone again. I waited while he typed another message, doing my best not to fidget.

"Well, you didn't really have your one, did you? I'm happy to pay for it. It's not a big deal. Consider it a tax for my gender being full of assholes. And it's Nikolai."

I laughed. Apparently, Nikolai had a good sense of humor, and it was nice of him to realize that many guys could be jerks. Lifting my drink, I clinked the tip of the bottle against his glass again and took another sip.

"Emory," I offered, but Nikolai furrowed his brow, putting a hand to his ear. Shit, it really is too loud in here.

Snagging his phone this time because I'd already tucked mine away, I hit enter on the note app and started my response on the following line.

"Emory. And thank you. Again. I was here to settle my nerves, and I'll admit that having my beer spiked was not very good for my stress levels."

Nikolai tilted the phone toward himself and read over the message, his fingers quickly flying over the keyboard in response.

"Yeah, I get that. Why are you stressed?"

I read it and entered my answer on the line beneath his again. "Big day at work tomorrow. I can't get into it because of confidentiality rules, but I'll just say I need to be on my game. It's a new job. I just want to do well."

"Ooh, confidentiality reasons? Are you a spy? Lol. I'm sure you'll do great. Especially now that you won't be reeling from GHB poisoning."

I'd waited for Nikolai's response immediately after I left mine, and reading over it had made me laugh out loud. The guy really was funny, and I'd forgotten how much I like that in a man.

Hell, it had been ages since I'd even considered dating with my busy clinical schedule. Even if I wasn't going into "real medicine," psychiatry seemed as demanding and isolating as pursuing a career as a surgeon or ER doctor, despite what my parents wanted to believe.

Laughing, I shook the ever-present concerns over my parents' opinions of me and typed up my reply.

"I am not nearly cool enough to be a spy, but I'm flattered. And thank you for the vote of confidence. I'm sure the GHB would have certainly made for an interesting first impression. I'm glad I won't have to see that reality."

Nikolai read over the text, and even though it was still ridiculously loud in here, all I could really hear was our conversation flowing easily back and forth. For as awkward as I thought the phone might be at first, it was nice getting to think about what I was going to say before I said it.

Or typed it.

"You're very welcome. I couldn't exactly sit by and let you get drugged, now could I?"

I scoffed, knowing that the reality of the situation was actually quite different for a lot of people. Women were assaulted like this, "date raped," far too often, and it was precisely people sitting by and doing nothing that made it hard to stop the perpetrators—who were literally the scum of the earth.

Taking his phone, I entered my reply.

"Actually, you could have. I didn't see anyone else rushing up to keep me from drinking the beer. And a moral code didn't stop the guy who was trying to drug me."

Nikolai frowned as he read over the words, then quickly replied. "True. Which fucking sucks, really. I don't like seeing people be messed with, especially when they can't stick up for themselves."

Looking up at him after reading the message, I smiled gently. There was something about Nikolai's expression that was so open. It was so different from most of the patients that I'd sat in with. As much as I knew that quite a bit was still locked up behind his golden eyes, Nikolai was being abundantly honest about not enjoying the suffering of others. And I could make an informed guess that it was because he'd suffered himself.

If the tall, dark, and handsome hadn't already sold him to me, the genuine, tortured part most certainly did.

Goddamn, I have such a type.

Time flew by for the rest of the evening, filled with humorous exchanges that left both of us in stitches. Nikolai was funny and intelligent, and we were getting along so much better than I ever would have imagined.

Finishing off my last beer, I sat the bottle back on the bar and smiled at Nikolai. As I took his phone to send one more message, my fingers sloppy for the buzz flowing in my veins, I was a little at a loss for what I wanted to do next. We'd had a blast hanging out over the past two hours, but where exactly were we supposed to go from here?

As I paused with his phone, Nikolai reached for it, typing up his own message before I could. I waited as he wrote, my heart pounding too hard and my head a little fuzzy.

When he cleared his throat and got my attention again, I looked up at him to see Nikolai extending the phone. The look on his face was something else—penetrating and dark. It took me a moment to flick my stare down to the screen and read over what he'd typed.

"I don't want this to stop. But I don't want to stay at this bar. Will you come with me? For the night?"

I swallowed hard. There it was. But damn, this was a much more attractive version of "wanna get out of here." I wasn't shitfaced by any means, and it had been a long time since anyone had paid this kind of attention to me.

A different kind of nervous energy zinged through me. I looked between the phone and Nikolai, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard to deliver my answer.

You only live once, Emory. And it's about time you actually enjoy yourself a little.

It took half a second to answer him, and I slid over Nikolai's phone as I stood up from my stool, snagging my purse.

"Yes."