Page 8 of Dr. Stone (Billionaires’ Club #9)

EIGHT

Jace

I figured work was the only thing that could bring me down from the high I continued to ride ever since that golden goddess rocked my world.

A woman rarely entered my mind every day for a solid week after I had my way with her.

Come to think of it, I never really thought of women again after I hooked up with them.

So, why was I still thinking about this one?

Because the sex was out of this world, that’s why.

I’d never had a woman be so controlling with me, but she wasn’t just a taker.

No, she was a giver, too. Our sexual chemistry didn’t need words; every move, every reaction, was in perfect sync.

It was like she’d been custom made for me.

At this point, however, I did need to get this woman out of my mind. Today was a huge day for Jake and me. We’d finally gotten word that a donor heart was a match for Jake’s patient, Ruth Alberta, and we were able to schedule transplant surgery, which was no small undertaking.

Ruth was a sweet woman, only fifty-two years old, with a beautiful life ahead of her if all went well.

And it would. Jake and I were both performing her transplant today, and our transplant team was made up of some of the most capable cardiologists in the country.

She was in the most capable hands, and I expected a positive outcome.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Jake said through his rolled-down passenger window before he parked way too close to my car as he always did whenever he had the chance.

“You know, when we’re done with the long, arduous day we’re about to have, I will not be in the mood to climb through my passenger’s seat to get into my car so I can go home.”

Jake chuckled, stepping out of his Bugatti, removing his wire-framed Ray Bans, and walking over to examine his parking skill .

“Damn, I’m good,” he said, then clapped me on my shoulder. “And today won’t be just a long day, my good man. It will be a stupendous one. We’re about to give Ruth her life back, and for that, we’ll be celebrating over drinks at Darcy’s tonight.”

I smiled. “Damn straight,” I confirmed. “I assume you’ve got me trapped like this to slow me down, so I don’t beat you there after we’re off?”

Jake shouldered his leather briefcase as we began walking toward the cardiac entrance of our hospital. “Nah, man. It’s to teach your ignorant ass a lesson.”

“Well, you are my chief, which means lesson teaching is your job, so I’d love to hear it. Please explain what the lesson is in parking so damn close to my car that I can’t even open the door.”

“Simple,” he said. “If you had the proper vehicle, one that fits the way you drive, you wouldn’t have a hard time getting into it when dipfuckers such as myself park like assholes next to you.”

“That fits the way I drive?” I laughed. “Dude, I’ve gotten two speeding tickets in that Aston in the last two weeks. I think the car I have fits the way I drive perfectly.”

“No,” he said. “Your ass needs to be in a crossover, learning to obey laws and not driving recklessly and risking lives out on the road. The cops would leave your cocky ass alone, and everyone out on the road would be safer for it.”

“You want me to drive the car of a soccer mom?” I said with a laugh. “Not quite my style. Maybe for the future wife, though.”

“You’d look fucking adorable driving a Subaru, too,” he said dramatically.

“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes.

If there was one thing I knew about Jake and Collin Brooks, it was that they always started talking nonsense when they were working an angle to dig up dirt.

I knew exactly what Jake was after, and this motherfucker was never going to stop badgering me for details about what happened between Andie and me on his yacht.

"I know it’s a depressing subject for you, but it is what it is," he said as we stepped into the elevator and he pressed the button for the seventh floor, where the cardiac operating rooms were. “Some of us are amazing in bed and have no problem landing the ladies. And some of us,” he gave me a pointed look, “couldn’t score the perfect soccer mom even if she was drunk at the country club.”

“I’m sorry that never happened to you, buddy,” I said. “Must be tough living with that kind of failure.”

Jake snorted. “Ha, my wife is beyond that, and you know it. You, however, are a cautionary tale in the making. You’ll be a lonely, white-haired old man yelling at neighborhood kids from your balcony, wondering why no one visits.”

“Really? Soccer moms are your way of trying to find out about my night with Andie?” I asked.

“Well, neither you nor Andie are coughing it up, and it’s driving me up the fucking wall,” he said like this was the only secret in the world that had ever been kept from him and he was determined to crack it.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I watched Jake’s mood shift instantly as he zeroed in on his patient, Ruth, and the ticking time bomb in her chest.

I nudged his arm as we walked past the nurses’ station, where nurses moved in and out and heart monitors beeped in steady rhythm. “I’ll give you this,” I said. “Andie’s pretty cool not to be telling anyone, especially your sneaky ass.”

Jake smirked in response with a slow, reluctant smile that made him look less like the untouchable chief surgeon and more like the guy I’d known for years. “I’ll find out. I’ve already bet Ash I would get you to break before she got Andie to break.”

“We’re going to fixate on that night? I’ve moved past it already. You’ve got to let this one go. I’m sorry it’s depressing for you, but you know I’m not committing to a relationship.”

“It’s what you say now, pretty boy,” he said. Then he turned toward his office, where he’d change into his scrubs, gather charts, and prep himself to speak with Mrs. Alberta’s family before the surgery.

He glanced at his watch, and when his eyes returned to mine, he was laser-focused. “Let’s get Ruth prepped. The heart will be arriving in thirty minutes?—”

“I thought they notified us it would be here at seven?”

“I got a call this morning saying the chopper would be here at six,” he said, “so the faster we get things moving, the faster we can get that failing heart out of her.”

“Amen to that,” I said, my nerves and mind following Jake’s lead, intently focused on a surgery that would give this beautiful soul a longer life.

“I’ll meet you in the surgical room after I speak with the family,” he said before we parted ways and focused on the extreme task ahead.

If everything went well with the transplant, and Ruth’s immune system didn’t argue with us, the procedure from start to finish would mean close to eight hours in surgery, and we’d be finished early afternoon.

The OR lights were blinding, reflecting off every surface—the scalpel in Jake’s hand, the steel instruments arranged in neat rows, and the exposed ribcage of Ruth Alberta.

Everything about my current state was steady and completely cool.

This is where I thrived, and Jake knew it.

We worked so well together because he was the same way.

Jake Mitchell was a machine—calm, composed, unflinching. The guy was a goddamn legend in the OR, and I was privileged to be at his side as his second set of hands. We were both badass surgeons wired the same way. Confident. Controlled. Relentless.

“Vitals?” Jake’s voice was low and calm, in the commanding way that always made people listen.

“Stable,” Brianna Lopez, the surgical tech, answered, her eyes darting between the monitor and Ruth’s ashen face. “BP’s low but holding.”

The sounds of the ventilator filled the room—a rhythmic whoosh that kept everyone grounded, focused, and moving forward with intense calculation. It was the only sound besides the hum of the OR lights and the constant beep of Ruth’s failing heart.

Our surgical nurse, Lisa Tran, stepped forward and handed Jake the sternal saw. “Ready when you are, doctor.”

“Thank you,” Jake said, taking the saw while his eyes locked on Ruth’s chest.

He never once looked at me, and he didn’t need to. We’d been here before, through countless surgeries, hearts, and patients hanging on by a thread, all relying on both of us to work flawlessly together to be successful.

I watched Jake make the first cut, the saw biting through bone with a sickening crunch. Neither of us flinched as progress continued, and we worked toward getting this diseased heart out of Ruth.

I shifted closer, my eyes trained on Mrs. Alberta’s heart.

It was shrunken and struggling, each beat weaker than the last. Paul Martin was the perfusionist assisting our surgical team with this transplant.

He stood ready and waiting by the heart and lung machine, where his fingers were twitching like he was waiting for a green light.

Across from me, Dr. Reyes, the cardiologist assisting us on our carefully selected surgical team, watched Jake with a flash of intensity beneath his mask. Reyes was the only other guy in this room who could keep up with us, as sharp, fast, and confident as they came.

He was usually the one provoking Jake with random, half-ass jokes, always being a smartass and saying something that kept everyone loose. But not today. Today he followed the mood and tone Jake had set the moment he walked into the surgical room.

This case was close to all of us. We adored the woman for her bright outlook on life.

She remained so positive until her kidneys started failing and she could no longer walk or do anything without assisted care.

Her entire life was ebbing away, so we all joined forces, determined to do whatever we could to make this happen for her.

Jake finished the cut and handed the saw back to Lisa without a word. “Retractor.”

Lisa didn’t skip a beat, and I stepped in closer, my hands poised and ready.

“Think she’s going to dance again?” Reyes asked in a low voice.