Aimee whipped her head around. Hamilton Reed stood in the doorway, wearing a dark, bespoke suit, his chest heaving slightly, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
Dr. Thorne jumped up from his chair. He looked terrified of the man who was the clinic's largest financial donor. "Mr. Reed, I wasn't expecting..."
Hamilton ignored the doctor completely. His predatory gaze locked onto the manila envelope in Aimee's hands.
He crossed the room in two massive strides. Before Aimee could react, his long arm shot out and snatched the envelope right out of her grip.
"Hey!" Aimee snapped, reaching up to grab it back.
Hamilton used his height advantage, holding the envelope high above his head out of her reach. He didn't even look at it. He turned his cold eyes to Dr. Thorne. "Get out."
Dr. Thorne wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked at Aimee with pity, but the threat to his funding was too great. He hurried past Hamilton and practically ran out of the office, pulling the door shut behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, Hamilton ripped the thick envelope in half. He tore it again, then shoved the pieces into the heavy-duty paper shredder sitting next to the desk.
The machine roared to life, the metal blades grinding the paper into confetti.
Aimee watched the destruction with dead eyes. "I can print a hundred more of those," she said, her voice completely devoid of emotion.
Her coldness seemed to snap something inside him. Hamilton stepped forward, backing Aimee up until her shoulder blades hit the wall. He slammed both his hands flat against the drywall on either side of her head, caging her in.
"How long are you going to keep up this tantrum?" Hamilton demanded, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "Are you trying to see how far you can push my patience?"
Aimee turned her face away, disgusted by the familiar scent of mint and expensive tobacco on his breath. "I am simply finalizing our breakup."
Hamilton reached down and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. "You quit this fellowship, and what? You go back to working brutal shifts in some filthy public ER? You'll ruin your career."
Aimee slapped his hand away. Her eyes blazed with sudden fire. "Working in an ER saves lives. It's a hell of a lot more honorable than being a lying, manipulative parasite."
Hamilton let out a harsh breath. "You think you can just walk into another job? Without my recommendation, you won't get an interview in this city."
Aimee felt her chest tighten with rage. "I saw Celeste's medical chart on the front desk ten minutes ago, Hamilton. Twelve weeks. The fetus is developing perfectly."
Hamilton's pupils blew wide open. All the color drained from his face. The rigid tension in his arms collapsed, and his hands dropped uselessly to his sides.
"Aimee..." he stammered, his arrogant mask completely destroyed. "That... I was drunk. It was a mistake. But the board demands an heir. It doesn't change what we have."
Aimee's stomach violently heaved. She shoved both her hands against his chest, pushing his shocked body away from her. She broke out of his cage.
She grabbed a pen and a yellow sticky note from Dr. Thorne's desk. She scribbled a single sentence on it and slapped it down on the mahogany wood.
"That is my handwritten resignation," Aimee said, pointing a shaking finger at the note. "It is legally binding. I am not spending another second in this building."
Hamilton snapped out of his shock. His humiliation rapidly morphed into rage. He lunged forward and grabbed her upper arm, his grip painfully tight. He yanked her toward the door.
"Let go of me!" Aimee hissed, struggling to dig her heels into the carpet.
Hamilton ignored her. He dragged her out of the office, across the hallway, and shoved her into a small, dark medical supply closet.
He slammed the door shut and locked it. The tiny space smelled overwhelmingly of bleach and sterile gauze. They were standing so close their chests were almost touching.
Hamilton was breathing hard. His tone suddenly shifted, dropping into a desperate, pleading register. "If you stay, I'll buy you that house in Long Island. The one with the greenhouse you liked. Just stay."
Aimee stared up at the man trying to buy her dignity with real estate. Her anger vanished, replaced by a crushing, absolute pity.
"I wanted a partner who respected me," Aimee said softly. "You don't even know what that word means."
Hamilton's pride flared, ugly and vicious. "You walk out that door, you have nothing," he spat. "You'll live like trash."
Aimee didn't blink. "I would rather dig through the trash than spend another day as your pet bird."
As she spoke, the closet door rattled. Someone was trying to open it from the outside. Then a smooth, feminine voice floated through the gap: "Hamilton, darling? Are you in there? The board is asking for you." It was Celeste. And she was holding the key.
