Her Russian Billionaire (A BWWM Russian Oligarch Interracial Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page A

yesterday,” he began after an awkward few moments.
    “About what, exactly?” I asked, hoping that he didn’t think I could cut it as a doctor in his hospital.
    “What you said, specifically, about me not having gone to medical school—not having a medical degree.”
    “Oh,” I replied, recalling how—angry and more than a little buzzed the night before—I’d let my mouth ramble. What could I say to him now?
    “You see,” Makarov continued, the smile still on his face, “operating table fatalities are a sort of… interest of mine, you could say. This hospital doesn’t see many of them, but I like to look over each one personally.”
    “Aren’t there people hired specifically to do that?” I asked, knowing I should keep my mouth shut but finding myself unable to do so. “People with medical degrees?”
    “Well… yes. But I like to do it as well—just for my own peace of mind. However, you are right, I’m not a doctor.” He smiled even bigger than before as he continued. “That’s why you’re going to help me.”
    “What?” I sat forward, not even sure what he meant.
    Makarov rose from his chair and picked up a box from the floor by his desk, placing it right in front of me.
    “This is every operating table fatality in the last few years. I’ve already gone over them, of course. But I thought, since I didn’t have a medical degree, you could see if you noticed anything out of the ordinary—anything we could improve upon to prevent a recurrence.”
    “I don’t think I would be able to take time off from the ER,” I replied, trying to find a way out of working with him any more than I’d had to already.
    “Of course not,” he agreed. “I’ve already assured Viola Grimes that this would be done in your own time, outside of your regular shifts.”
    “Outside of my twelve-hour shifts?” I tried not to sound as angry as I was. When would I be expected to sleep, I wonder?
    “Yes, of course. Surely you could look over a few files each week. We could meet once a week to go over your findings. Dr. Grimes has already been informed. She explained that you would be more than capable and would jump at the chance to learn a new experience.”
    “But why me? I’m just a lowly intern in the Emergency Department, not even a surgery resident.” I was grabbing at straws now, and I hated that I probably came off as lacking confidence. I was sure of my achievements, my background, but the shy anxious Michelle still came through now and again. It was probably the uncertainty of the whole dynamic between me and the CEO of the hospital that brought these negative thoughts out.
    “I chose you because I was impressed with how you held your own during the M&M conference. You were accosted by all these experienced attendings, even before I began questioning you. And you just stood there, so poised and elegant,” he cleared his voice and looked away, as if regretting saying something he shouldn’t have.
    His confidence in me was almost soothing. Not very many people felt that way about me, even after all of my achievements—getting into med school on the first try, graduating at the top of my class, landing a very coveted internship position. Even my parents still downplayed my success, always hinting that I could stand to lose a few pounds (“since you have so much determination, Michelle!”). They were both in their fifties and very slim and toned, thanks to their twice weekly tennis sessions. Having such critically inclined parents was probably what drove me to succeed in life in the first place, and despite not being too close with them, I was glad their attitude helped propel me to where I was today.
    I didn’t know what to say to Makarov. He’d already cleared the project with Dr. Grimes. There was no way I would be getting out of it, so eventually I just nodded my head in defeat.
    “Okay,” I said.
    “Great!” he replied, opening the box and handing me a stack of files. “Here, start with