Page 1 of High Stakes (The Morrison Brothers #2)

I stare at the doctor's lips as they move, but I can't focus on the words coming out of his mouth.

Something about stress levels. Blood pressure. Taking time off. My mind refuses to process it all because I don't have time for this. I have three mergers in progress, a board meeting next week, and quarterly projections due.

"Mr. Morrison? Are you listening?" The doctor’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Of course," I lie, straightening in the uncomfortable examination chair. The paper beneath me crinkles. "Something about taking it easy."

The doctor sighs, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Mr. Morrison, this isn't a suggestion. Your blood pressure is dangerously high. You're showing early warning signs of heart issues that could become permanent if you don't address them now."

I check my watch. I've already been here forty-five minutes longer than scheduled. Elena has had to reschedule two conference calls.

"Just give me some medication," I say, reaching for my suit jacket. "I'll take whatever pills you prescribe."

"Medicine is only part of the solution." The doctor’s voice hardens.

"Your body is telling you something, and you're refusing to listen.

You need rest. Actual rest. Not working from home instead of the office.

" He scribbles something on his prescription pad.

"I'm ordering one week of complete disconnection.

No phone calls, no emails, no work of any kind. "

I laugh. Actually laugh out loud. "That's impossible."

"It's necessary." He tears off the prescription and hands it to me. "One week, Mr. Morrison. Somewhere relaxing. The Caribbean, perhaps. Beautiful this time of year."

"Doctor, with all due respect, I run a multi-billion-dollar corporation. I can't just disappear for a week."

"With all due respect, Mr. Morrison," he counters, "if you don't, you might not have a functioning heart to run that corporation much longer."

The bluntness of his statement silences me. I'm not used to people talking to me this way. Most people tiptoe around me, afraid of my reputation or my wealth or both. Even my brothers know better than to push me when I use this tone.

"One week," he repeats. "Starting immediately. Or I'll be forced to contact the board about your medical unfitness to serve as CEO."

My jaw tightens. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." His eyes tell me he's not bluffing. "Doctor-patient confidentiality has limits when someone's life might be at risk."

I take the prescription, folding it and sliding it into my pocket. "Fine."

Twenty minutes later, I storm into my office, the glass door nearly shattering as it slams against the wall. Elena looks up from her desk, her blue eyes widening behind those wire-rimmed glasses I find unreasonably attractive.

"I take it the appointment didn't go well?" she asks, rising from her chair.

"Clear my schedule," I growl, marching past her into my private office. "Apparently, I'm going on vacation."

She follows me, tablet in hand. "Vacation? You? Are you feeling alright?"

"Doctor's orders. One week, complete rest, no work." I loosen my tie, feeling suddenly constricted. "It's ridiculous."

Elena leans against the doorframe, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I think it sounds wonderful. When was the last time you took a vacation?"

I glare at her. "Never."

"Exactly." She taps something on her tablet. "Where are you going?"

"He suggested the Caribbean."

"Perfect. I'll make arrangements." She turns to leave.

"Wait." I hesitate, an idea forming. "You're coming with me."

Her pen freezes mid-tap. "Excuse me?"

"I need someone to handle emergencies, reroute critical calls, keep things running smoothly while I'm forced into this... relaxation." I wave my hand dismissively. "It makes sense."

"You want me to come to the Caribbean with you?" Her cheeks flush pink. "That seems... inappropriate."

"It's business," I insist, though even I can hear how unconvincing I sound. The truth is, the thought of a week alone on a beach holds no appeal. But a week with Elena... that's different. "We'll get separate rooms, of course."

She raises an eyebrow. "Of course."

"Besides," I continue, moving to my desk and shuffling papers I'm not actually reading, "the doctor said no work. Someone needs to make sure the company doesn't fall apart while I'm playing beach bum."

"And that someone is me?" She crosses her arms. "The same person who's been telling you for months that you work too hard?"

I look up at her, our eyes meeting. For six months, we've danced around this undeniable tension between us. Professional lines drawn in sand, neither of us willing to cross them. But away from the office, on an island somewhere...

"Please," I say, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. I don't say please. I don't ask. I demand, I instruct, I command. But with Elena, things have always been different. "I need you there."

Her expression softens. "You need me to help you work during a vacation your doctor specifically ordered you to take for your health?"

"No." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my inability to articulate what I mean without saying too much. "I need you to... to help me relax."

A smile spreads across her face, slow and knowing. "Michael Morrison, are you admitting you don't know how to relax without assistance?"

"I'm admitting I don't know how to relax, period." I sink into my chair. "If I'm going to be forced into this, I'd rather not do it alone."

I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. "I'll come on one condition."

"Name it."

"You actually rest. No sneaking work calls, no checking emails, no secret business meetings." She steps closer to my desk. "I will confiscate your phone and laptop if I have to."

I smirk. "I'd like to see you try."

"Try me." She mirrors my smirk with one of her own.

She's the only person besides my brothers who stands up to me, who sees through the armor I've spent decades building. It's terrifying. It's exhilarating.

"Fine," I concede. "One week. No work."

"I'll make the arrangements." She turns to leave, then pauses at the door. "Pack swimwear. And sunscreen. You're so pale I'm afraid you'll burst into flames in Caribbean sunlight."

I chuckle despite myself. "Yes, yes."

As she walks away, I find myself staring at the door long after she's gone. One week in paradise with the woman I've been fighting my attraction to for six months. No work to distract me. No office setting to maintain professional boundaries.

What could possibly go wrong?