Flash Marriage To The Ruthless Surgeon

Jaimie ended the call and threw her phone onto the couch like it was burning her skin. The screen lit up the dark living room, a harsh reminder of Gerry Brady's voice still ringing in her ears.

A personal injury lawsuit. He was actually going to do it. He was going to sue her, and worse, he was going to drag her father into it.

She pressed her palms against her temples, trying to physically push the panic back down her throat. Outside, the rain lashed against the windowpanes, the wind howling like a living thing trying to break in. Thunder rolled, shaking the floorboards of her small apartment.

Her phone buzzed again. A text from her dad. Just checking in, sweetheart. Everything okay?

A bitter taste flooded her mouth. Everything was a disaster. Her PhD was hanging by a thread, her savings were wiped out, and now Gerry was threatening to destroy her father's career over a shove that he had provoked.

The sharp, intrusive chime of her doorbell cut through the sound of the storm.

Jaimie froze. Nobody rang her doorbell at eleven o'clock at night in a thunderstorm. She walked slowly toward the door, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. She leaned in and peered through the peephole.

A tall, dark shadow filled the frame. She couldn't make out a face, just the broad outline of a man standing in the pouring rain.

"Who is it?" she called out, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound tough.

"It's Graham."

That single word sent a jolt of electricity through her system. Graham. Graham Lawson. The boy from next door. The boy she hadn't spoken to in a decade.

She fumbled with the locks, her fingers clumsy, and pulled the door open just an inch. A gust of freezing, rain-soaked air hit her face.

He stood there, completely drenched. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, water dripping down the sharp line of his jaw. His white t-shirt was translucent, clinging to the muscles of his chest, and his jeans were heavy with rain. He looked like a stray dog that had been caught in a hurricane, but his eyes-those dark, piercing eyes-were completely dry and unnervingly steady.

"Graham?" she breathed, her mind going completely blank. "What are you-"

"Jaimie, marry me."

The words hit her like a physical blow. She stared at him, waiting for the punchline, waiting for the lightning to crack and reveal this was some bizarre hallucination brought on by stress.

"What?" she finally managed.

"Marry me," he repeated, his voice low and rough, cutting through the noise of the storm. "Tonight."

"You're insane." She grabbed the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut. "You show up at my door in the middle of a hurricane after ten years and ask me to marry you? Are you drunk?"

Before she could close it, his hand shot out. His palm pressed flat against the wood, the strength in his arm unyielding. The door didn't budge an inch.

"I'm not drunk, Jaimie. Let me in. We need to talk."

"There is nothing to talk about!"

"Let me in," he said again, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Or I'll stand out here until the whole building wakes up and sees me. Is that what you want?"

She hesitated, her heart hammering against her ribs. The fight or flight instinct warred in her chest, but the sheer absurdity of the situation, combined with the desperate exhaustion from Gerry's call, made her step back.

She opened the door.

He stepped inside, bringing a puddle of rainwater with him. He dripped onto her welcome mat, his presence making her small apartment feel suddenly suffocating. A wave of nausea hit her as she watched the dirty water seep into the fibers of the mat. Her skin crawled, and she had to physically restrain herself from shrieking at him to get out. The urge to grab bleach and scrub the entire entryway was overwhelming.

She grabbed a towel from the bathroom and threw it at him. Her hand was already reaching for a sanitizing wipe in the hall closet before he even caught it. He caught it effortlessly, wiping his face and hair without taking his eyes off her.

"Explain," she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "And it better be good."

"My mother had a heart attack," he said, his voice flat. "She just had bypass surgery. She's coming back to East City to recover, and I need to be here to take care of her."

Jaimie felt a flicker of sympathy, but it was quickly swallowed by confusion. "I'm sorry to hear that, Graham, but what does that have to do with me?"

"I need a wife," he said simply. "I need a legal, binding reason to stay in this city indefinitely. I took a leave of absence from my hospital in Washington. My family... it's complicated. They have certain expectations, and they want me back there as soon as possible. A marriage, a local one, gives me the most solid reason to stay and manage my mother's care without their interference. It cuts off their arguments at the source."

"You're a doctor?" She looked him up and down. He hadn't mentioned that in his brief, crazy proposal.

"Orthopedic surgeon. Washington General." He tossed the damp towel onto a chair. "I don't have time for dating, and I don't have time for romance. I need a transaction. You need help. I can provide it."

The sympathy evaporated, replaced by a cold anger. "I don't need your help."

"No?" He took a step closer, his height towering over her. "I heard Gerry Brady is suing you. I heard he's threatening your father's pension. I heard you're about to lose your research position."

Her stomach dropped. "How do you know that?"

"I make it my business to know." His gaze didn't waver. "I can make Gerry Brady go away, Jaimie. I can make all of it go away. All you have to do is sign a piece of paper."

It was a trap. It had to be. But the image of her father's worried text flashed in her mind. The memory of Gerry's sneering voice echoed in her ears.

She looked at Graham, searching for the boy she used to know, but there was only a stranger looking back at her. A desperate, calculating stranger.

"Fine," she said, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "But we sign a prenuptial agreement. No shared assets, no interference in each other's personal lives, and an immediate, no-questions-asked divorce the moment either of us asks for it."

She expected him to argue. She wanted him to argue so she could throw it back in his face.

"Agreed," he said without missing a beat.

She blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Jaimie turned and grabbed her laptop from the coffee table. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up a basic template. She modified it with the legal knowledge she'd picked up from her undergrad minor, her hands shaking slightly as she typed.

Within twenty minutes, she printed it out. Two copies. Black and white, plain as day.

Graham picked up the pen she offered. Before he signed, he read the document, his eyes scanning the lines. Then he pulled the paper toward him, grabbed a pen, and wrote a single line at the bottom of the last page.

This marriage is to remain confidential from all family members until mutually decided otherwise.

He looked up at her. "Add that to yours."

Jaimie stared at the line. Keeping it a secret? From her parents? From his sick mother? It was insane. But then again, nothing about tonight was sane.

She picked up her pen and copied the line, then signed her name with a jagged scrawl right beneath his.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, freezing the moment in stark white light. Graham capped the pen and set it down.

"Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock. I'll pick you up for City Hall."

He didn't wait for her response. He turned, opened the door, and walked back out into the storm. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Jaimie standing alone in her living room, staring at the damp spot on the floor where he had stood.

Her knees gave out. She sank onto the sofa, the signed paper clutched in her hand. The apartment smelled like rain and the faint, clinical scent of antiseptic that had clung to his skin.

A doctor. A crazy, manipulative doctor. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. It was just a piece of paper. It was just a transaction. It was better than being destroyed by Gerry Brady.

It had to be.