Chapter 61
Adam's POV:
If she were my daughter?
My head snapped toward her so fast I nearly pulled a muscle.
What the fuck was she asking?
Then it clicked.
Amy was Maya's niece. Living with her like a daughter. If Maya and I got back together—when we got back together—Amy would be part of the package. She'd live with us. Be ours.
Maya was testing me. Asking if I could treat a kid who wasn't biologically mine like my own flesh and blood.
Something warm and fierce exploded in my chest.
"Of course." The words came out rougher than I meant them to. I cleared my throat. "I'd be good to her. Amy's... she's incredible, Maya. Smart, funny, sweet as hell. How could I not—"
"If we..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "If we had kids of our own someday, I'd treat them the same. No difference. Amy would be mine just as much as any biological kid."
Maya's breath hitched. Her hands trembled on the wheel.
I leaned closer, dropping my voice. "I mean it, Maya. You don't have to worry about that. Amy's already—"
Mine. The word sat on my tongue, heavy and possessive.
"Adam—"
Maya finally looked at me. Those dark eyes were swimming with something I couldn't name. Fear? Hope? "Amy... she's..."
The ringtone blared through the car speakers. Maya flinched.
"Shit." I grabbed my phone.
Then I heard it.
Sobbing.
The kind of crying that meant something was actually wrong.
"Adam—" Claire voice broke. "Please. I can't—my stomach—"
I put the call on speaker. "Claire, what's wrong?"
"It hurts." More sobbing. Hyperventilating. "I think I'm dying. Please, you have to—"
"Where are you?"
She rattled off an address in the South End. Maya's jaw clenched. Her eyes were back on the road, expression blank.
"Call 911," I said flatly.
"No! No hospitals, I just need—Adam, please, just—"
"Claire." My voice came out colder than I intended. "I can't come right now. I'll call an ambulance."
"I don't want strangers!" Her voice pitched into a wail. "You owe me, Adam! I saved your life, and now you won't even—"
Jesus Christ.
She was really going to play that card. The Rochester incident. Five years ago, when a malfunctioning space heater in my shitty temporary housing had nearly killed me with carbon monoxide, and Claire—who'd been crashing at a friend's place nearby—had dragged my unconscious ass outside and called 911.
I'd thanked her. Paid her medical school debt. Got her connections for every internship she'd wanted.
But apparently, that wasn't enough.
"I'll send someone," I said. "A doctor. Private. Discreet."
"I need you—"
"Someone will be there in ten minutes. If it's serious, they'll take you to MGH." I paused. "Take care of yourself."
I ended the call.
The car was silent except for the soft jazz still playing from earlier.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "That was—"
"It's fine." Her voice was flat. Empty. "You should go check on her."
"No."
"Adam—"
"I said no." I pulled up my contacts, found my family's concierge doctor. "Dr. Morrison? Yeah, I need you to do a house call. South End. Woman in her late twenties, possible gastric distress..."
I finished the call and turned back to Maya. She was staring straight ahead, expression unreadable.
"You were saying something," I said. "About Amy. Before the call."
"It was nothing."
"Maya—"
"It was nothing, Adam. Thank you for today. Amy had a great time."
She lifted Amy out, grabbed their bag. Amy stirred, mumbling something about dinosaurs.
"Your car should be ready tomorrow," I said. "I'll text you the shop address."
"Great. I'll pick it up."
"I can bring it to you—"
She was already walking toward the building. "Goodnight."
I stood there like an idiot, watching them disappear through the door.
What the hell just happened?
---
I should've gone home.
Instead, I drove to Claire's address.
"Come in!" Her voice was weak.
I pushed open the door.
She was on the bed, pale and drawn, wearing an oversized Harvard Medical sweatshirt. Her blonde hair was tangled. No makeup. She actually looked sick.
"Hey." She tried to smile. Failed. "You came."
"Dr. Morrison should be here soon." I stayed by the door. "How bad is it?"
"Better now that you're here." She reached out, fingers grasping at my sleeve. "I was so scared, Adam. I thought—"
"Claire." I stepped back, extracting my jacket from her grip. "It's probably just gastroenteritis. You'll be fine in a few days. I'll have someone from the project management team approve your sick leave."
Her eyes filled with tears. Real ones, this time. "You don't have to do that. I can work from home. I don't want people thinking I'm... using you. Our relationship."
I stayed exactly two minutes. Long enough to confirm she wasn't dying. Then I stood.
"I should go."
"Adam—" Her hand shot out, grabbed mine. Desperate. "Don't leave. Please. Stay with me. Just for a little while. I'm so lonely here, and I—"
"Claire." I pulled my hand free, harder than necessary. She swayed forward, nearly fell. I didn't reach out to steady her. "You need to stop."
"I love you." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I've loved you since the moment I saw you in Rochester. I followed you to Boston. I went to London for that fellowship so I could be the kind of woman you'd want. I've done everything to prove I'm worthy of you, and you won't even—"
"You're crossing a line."
"Please." She was crying now, mascara-free tears streaming down her face. "Just give me a chance."
"I have a girlfriend."
Claire's face crumpled. "She's not good enough for you."
The words detonated something cold and vicious in my chest.
"She's perfect," I said quietly. Lethally. "And you will never—never—speak about her like that again."
Claire stared at me, mouth open.
"This is your last warning, Claire. I value what you did for me in Rochester. I'll always be grateful. But that doesn't give you the right to disrespect Maya or make demands on my time. If you can't maintain professional boundaries, I'll have HR reassign you."
"You wouldn't—"
"Try me."
Silence.
Then she whispered, "I thought you cared about me."
"I do. As a colleague. Maybe a friend, if you can accept that's all we'll ever be." I moved toward the door. "Dr. Morrison will be here soon. Take care of yourself, Claire."