Page 11 of Saving Love (Pulse Medical #2)

EMILY

“ U h-uh. Absolutely not,” Tessa said, walking into the bedroom.

Emily, who was standing in front of her full-length mirror, frowning at the outfit she’d thrown on a minute ago, didn’t even turn around when she huffed, “What now?”

“I’m sorry, but there’s no way in hell you’re wearing that outfit to the hospital gala.

” Tessa made a face. “It’s perfectly fine if you’re going to work at a bank.

” She strolled to the bed and flopped back onto it.

“Or I don’t know, a funeral home. But no way is it good enough for the Oakridge Foundation Gala. ”

Emily glanced at her reflection. The dress wasn’t bad.

It was just…boring. A navy-blue sheath dress that hit just below the knees.

The neckline was modest, and the sleeves skimmed the elbow.

Paired with simple black pumps and a thin silver bracelet on her wrist, it was exactly what Emily was going for—safe.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” Emily said, smoothing her palms over the fabric. “It’s just a gala.”

“Not even Bette Bridge, your physical therapist?” Tessa asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Because last I checked, you can’t stop talking about her.

” She put on a voice that Emily assumed was supposed to imitate her—it did not.

“ Bette hiked the last leg of the Pacific Crest Trail just for fun. Bette can tape a shoulder without even looking. Oh wait, I forgot the best one—Bette caught a falling weight the other day and went right back to work like it was nothing?—”

“Just stop,” Emily huffed, cutting her off.

It wasn’t true. Or maybe it was. Maybe Emily had spoken a little too much about Bette over the last two weeks.

She’d gone for three more therapy sessions since the team-building event, arriving on time for each and doing exactly as she was told.

Everything had gone smoothly and easily.

Not a single hiccup, not a single kinky thought had come barreling into her head again.

Yet, every time Emily felt Bette’s eyes on her—those warm brown ones that seemed to look straight through her, almost like she could see all of Emily’s mess, the self-doubt, the scars, the everything—it made her question herself.

Maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding things as she thought.

Maybe Bette did see more than she was letting on.

Then there was the matter of Bette’s ring finger

Emily had only noticed it during their last session—the faint tan line, just a ghost of where a ring had once sat.

Or maybe it was still sitting there, and she was just taking it off during treatment sessions.

Now that Emily had seen it, she couldn’t unsee it.

What did it mean? Was Bette married? Divorced?

Widowed? She had wanted so badly to ask her during their last session, but couldn’t get herself to utter the words out loud.

Before Emily could dwell on it too much, Tessa sighed dramatically and launched herself off the bed.

“I refuse to let you leave this apartment with that outfit.” She was already at Emily’s closet, yanking the doors open before Emily could open her mouth to protest. “Do you own anything that doesn’t make you look like a secretary?

” Tessa muttered, tossing rejected items over her shoulder.

“I mean, what the hell is this?” she pulled out a perfectly decent gray cardigan.

“Please tell me this was your grandmother’s and the only reason it’s hanging in your closet is because she died in it, and you want to keep a piece of her with you. ”

Emily folded her arms over her chest and frowned. “It was actually quite expensive for your information.”

Tessa didn’t dignify that with a response, instead, she spun back and continued rifling through Emily’s clothes like she was a raccoon in a trashcan.

A few more seconds passed and Emily, who was feeling increasingly more violated, was just about to kick her best friend out of her bedroom when Tessa squealed and spun around, holding up a sleek, emerald green dress.

Emily had bought that dress months ago on some impulsive whim when she’d spotted it in a boutique window while grabbing coffee.

It was the neckline that had done it. A dangerous plunge that had whispered, “Buy Me.” Which she had, and then promptly shoved it to the back of her closet, because where the hell was she ever going to wear something like that?

Tessa grinned, lifting the hanger higher. “This is the one. This. Is. The. One.”

“No,” Emily said quickly. “No way. That’s too formal. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

Tessa shook her head, her blonde plumes bouncing.

“It’s a gala, Em. Rich people need an excuse to throw money at things, and nothing opens wallets faster than expensive outfits and tiny hors d’oeuvres.

Consider this dress your contribution to hospital funding.

You’ll look so hot, they’ll donate more.

” She sauntered over, the dress swishing as she held it out in front of Emily.

“Honestly, Em. It’s kind of criminal that you’ve never worn this dress before.

The color? With your skin tone? Absolutely criminal. ”

Emily scowled, but her fingers betrayed her. She reached out to brush them over the fabric. It was soft, silky, and draped in a way that was both elegant and undeniably sexy. Perfect for an evening gala. Perfect to impress someone.

Tessa waggled her eyebrows. “This is it, babe. You’re wearing it to the gala. No questions asked.”

The Azure Ballroom at the Vesper Cove Hotel was as extravagant as Emily expected—if not more.

Crystal chandeliers threw golden light across the glossy parquet floors and reflected off the high, arched windows that framed the view of the darkened ocean beyond.

White-clothed tables were arranged around the perimeter, each set with fine china and gleaming silverware.

In the center of the room was a towering floral arrangement of white roses and calla lilies and a small stage had been set up near the back, where a string quartet played something light.

Emily exhaled slowly, tugging at the neckline of her dress. The silk felt too smooth against her skin, too luxurious, and the fitted bodice made her hyper-aware of every breath she took. Dammit. She should’ve just gone with the boring blue dress. This was too much.

She had half a mind to turn around and leave—sitting on the couch in her pajamas with a tub of ice cream watching Princess Diaries was a hell of a lot better than this—when a familiar voice interrupted her.

“Doctor Sharp. You’re looking exquisite this evening.”

Emily barely had time to flick on a fake smile before Dr. James Caldwell appeared at her side, wearing his usual smarmy grin. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, his dark brown hair slicked back and the way he looked her up and down made her stomach turn.

“Thank you,” she replied softly, forcing that smile. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

He chuckled, his voice grating her skin for a reason she wasn’t entirely sure about.

It wasn’t like James had ever done anything inappropriate but something about him just felt like a mosquito buzzing in her ear, annoying enough to make her want to swat him away.

“This is just another Friday evening for me,” he said, with the self-assuredness of a man who believed he was a gift to the world. “You know how it is. Same old, same old.”

Emily bit back a sigh and wanted to say, No James, I do not know how it is and I’m quite sure I wouldn’t want to either , but instead nodded politely.

“Just last week I was in New York—flying first class, of course—attending a gala where there were not one but two champagne towers. Can you believe that? I mean seriously? I know tonight’s not going to compare. Oakridge isn’t exactly Lenox Hill Hospital…”

Emily was trying to listen, except her attention had already drifted past him. She was scanning the ballroom for someone else, her eyes drifting from one well-dressed figure to the next, hoping for a glimpse of someone. Someone in particular.

But she didn’t see the one face she was hoping for.

No salt-and-pepper head in sight. No sign of Bette, and Emily couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

She tried to fight off the feeling, tried to refocus, but then James said something about a horse he once saw at a charity event in Tuscany and Emily realized that Bette was probably not attending the event.

Maybe she had better things to do. Or maybe Bette was against charity galas and was at home, enjoying a quiet evening, free from all this glimmer and forced pleasantries.

Well, if Bette wasn’t going to be there, did Emily even want to stay?

Did she have to? Was there some sort of unwritten rule about how long you had to suffer through these things before it was acceptable to make a quiet exit?

Emily’s mind was just about to spiral into a hundred questions when she caught a flicker of movement near the entrance.

There, at the door, stood Bette Bridge.

There was no spotlight, no sudden swell of music in the background, but when Bette entered, it felt like the world subtly shifted.

She wore a perfectly tailored black suit that should’ve looked rigid but somehow managed to be soft and flattering, hugging her frame in all the right ways.

The short sleeves, cut at the shoulder, showed off her strong, toned arms—arms that Emily hadn’t expected at all.

The woman’s scrubs did nothing to flatter her body.

Emily blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the sudden heat spreading through her. She was definitely not staring, definitely not letting her eyes linger on Bette as she waltzed into the room.