Dr. Perfect: A Contemporary Romance Bundle

by Oliver, J. P.

  A plan was slowly devised.

  I sat by while they carefully began to coordinate each move, interjecting where I felt it was needed. This was, after all, because I had called them here; I needed to have a say in the matter.

  Pins were stripped from the map, leaving only the one at the compound and the one that represented my mansion. They weren’t far from one another. Perhaps a two-hour drive out. With highlighters in hand, they traced several potential routes over the spiderweb of the map, planning detours and alternate ways of getting in and out of the compound. Hassan respected each option brought to the table by his team, incorporated the good ideas and stripped away the bad. He was firm, but fair; he lead his team well, I thought.

  It was sort of sexy.

  But I didn’t need to be thinking about that now. Those were thoughts for later when a potentially life-or-death situation wasn’t being literally planned out right in front of me. Hassan made phone calls while Mikhail and Jackson devised what cars would be taken and what supplies were brought along. They were concerned about the structure of the compound, the logistics of what would happen once they arrived. Doc scrolled through spreadsheets of what weapons they had on hand; I was surprised by the breadth of it.

  “Okay, I’ll be having someone scout out the compound,” Hassan said, three phone calls in. He sat himself on the desk beside me. “The area is a valley, so there are plenty of vantage points. We’ll have more intel by tomorrow.”

  “Right.” Jackson stretched his arms over his head, glancing at his watch. “Well, if that’s as far as we’re getting tonight, then I am going to go stuff my face. I skipped breakfast and lunch and the old dump truck is startin’ to get hungry.”

  “I could use a burger,” Mikhail muttered, standing to follow Jackson on a raid of my kitchen.

  As if sensing something, Doc rose too, pointing to the both of us. “Either of you want something?”

  Hassan shook his head; I thanked Doc, but told him I wasn’t hungry. Which wasn’t entirely true. I just wanted a chance to be alone with Hassan.

  Once the door was safely shut, the air felt a little tense. I turned in the desk chair to face him where he leaned against the desk. His arms crossed, face silently scrutinizing mine.

  I deflated. “What?”

  “You’ve had this look on your face.” He pointed to his own eyes. “You’ve looked too focused. Like you’re thinking of something.”

  “I’m trying to be focused. We’re planning a god damn raid, so forgive me,” I kept my voice lighter, teasing. “If I want to pay attention.”

  Hassan sighed. “You look like you had something you wanted to say, which can only mean trouble.”

  I glanced up at him. He followed the action but kept his strict facade, waiting for me to admit he was right. “I was thinking,” I said, the words coming slowly. “I’m going with you. When you go the compound—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Hassan—”

  “No.” He held up a hand. “Fred, I will gladly deal with your bullshit and your need to control everything any other day, but not for this. It’s going to be dangerous.”

  “I need to see this through, Hassan.”

  He shrugged. “Do you even know how to fire a gun?”

  “Yes.” I waited a moment, brows knitting. “I mean, I haven’t fired one in years, but. Yeah.”

  “Fred. You need to listen to me. For once.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to go?” I asked and he looked away. I’d caught him in a halfway-decent counter argument and he knew it. I slid my chair closer, stopping between his legs. “Hassan, please look at me.”

  Slowly, he did.

  “If you were the one being stalked… if it was your life this guy had been messing up… wouldn’t you want to be there? To see it through right to the end?” My hand rested gently on his knee.

  He considered it a moment, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Remember what you were saying last night?” he asked, arms unfolding. A hand rested on either arm of the desk chair and I leaned back as he effectively caged me in with his body, hovering over mine. “When you were worried about me getting hurt or dying?”

  “...Yeah.”

  “That goes both ways.” He looked me up and down, the cold of his eyes traveling over my body. “What if you got separated from me in the compound? What if someone attacked you? You’ve got no ammunition, no gun. You’re going to be up against someone more prepared than you. Someone who has trained to fight off attackers, looters, the government….”

  What he was saying was true; there was a real danger to their plan and if I was going to tag along, I needed to be prepared. It was hard to focus on the seriousness of it though, with him looming over me like that.

  “Maybe you should show me a few moves,” I said, voice low. Suggestive.

  Hassan exhaled, an amused huff. He shook his head, rising slowly to stand. “Alright. Get up, then.”

  I pushed out of the chair, nudging it out of the way so we had more space to do… whatever it was we were about to do. Sparring or something.

  “I’ll have you know that I did a lot of fight choreography back in my soap opera days,” I hummed, grinning. It was no substitute for real combat and I knew that.

  “Impressive.” His grin was lopsided. “I did gymnastics up through high school. Martial arts, too.” He plucked a pen out of a cup on his desk. He held it in his hand like a knife. “Alternative sports.”

  “You must have been quite the heartbreaker back then.”

  He shot me a wry look. “Okay, smart ass. What do you do if someone’s running at you with a knife?”

  I thought a moment. He held up the pen, bringing it down in a stabbing motion. I went to push his arm out of the way. The pen poked into my side.

  “Dead,” he said.

  We went through it several times and each time he pointed out a flaw, offering an alternative. I had a lot to learn apparently in the way of self-defense, but I was successful in knocking the pen from his hand at least once. It clattered to the floor and I laughed in my victory—

  —only for him to grab my wrist suddenly. In one fluid motion, he spun behind me, trapping my arms behind my back and with a harsh amount of force, he bent me over the side of his desk. My cheek stuck firmly to the wood of it.

  Arousal shot through me, as did a bit of frustration at my lack of victory. I breathed a little harder, laughing at the turn of events.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice was a teasing pur. He pressed himself against my back, leaning over me, cock pressing against my ass.

  “You like having me bent over like this?” I asked, pushing my ass out against him in a short, sharp grind.

  Hassan laughed quietly in my ear, breath hot over my neck. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “So I hear.”

  He let his weight off of me, releasing my wrists; I stood and sat myself on the edge of the desk. Our eyes met. A familiar warmth spread in my chest. It felt different now; Hassan knew how I felt about him and that interest had been reciprocated the night before, in some capacity. I didn’t know if he loved me—hell, I wasn’t even sure if I loved him myself—but there was something there. I didn’t have to hide the fact that I wanted him to fuck me and that was something.

  “We’ll have to pick this back up some other time.” I grinned, running a hand through my hair.

  “Yeah. When we’re less occupied.”

  “With a little more privacy.”

  He watched me a moment and his eyes still held that tiredness, more emotional than physical. I suspected it wasn’t from working so much. As I opened my mouth to ask, he dove in for a quick kiss. We had enough time to spare for one, Hassan’s hand soft on the side of my face as he drew me in, before the door was opening and we broke quickly apart. The others returned with their plates of food, chattering enough that I was sure they might not have noticed. Hassan made himself look busy. I made myself look innocent. I think they believed us.

  We
ll, everyone except Doc, who was annoyingly perceptive.

  We shared a look; he smiled knowingly before turning back to his dinner.

  17

  Fred

  I had a nice evening with the boys, eventually parting ways when it was clear there was no more headway to be made. We would regroup tomorrow, Hassan had promised, though he remained behind in the office while I met with Teresa and Juan for dinner.

  They were quiet still, but less than the day before. They had a lot to talk about, thanks to Lorna’s tour. Teresa seemed very interested in the swimming pool and asked multiple times if we could go in sometime; Juan talked at great length about the many cars in the garage and I explained to him that when he was sixteen, he was free to try driving any one of them (except the ones that belonged to Hassan and his team, of course, as Jackson was very protective), but until then, he could only look or be chauffeured in one.

  We glossed over topics like school and where they would go, about things like shopping or taking a day trip into downtown Los Angeles. They ate their dinners and then seconds, and I told them they could have dessert later on. They cleaned up their plates without my asking, unspoiled even when surrounded by caretakers, before rushing off to watch movies in the small theater I kept. I was happy to have them use it; it was only ever used when there were private screenings or small, important parties for investors.

  Once they were safely tucked away in the cushy theater seats with popcorn for the both of them, I took a moment to myself on the back porch.

  I looked over the blue light of the pool, relaxed against the railing as I smelled the valley flora and the light scent of chlorine. I felt I had so much to be grateful for—Hassan, his team, all of them working so diligently and now two children who I could give a better life to. Of course, I was no substitute for their mother, but I felt as if things were starting to get onto the right track—

  I heard the sound of footsteps too late.

  The sound of them was soft, small, like women’s feet, the bottoms of her shoes scrapping lightly on the concrete of my patio. I turned quickly to it, gasping as her form registered.

  She looked eerie, like a vengeful spirit, half-bathed in the blue light. Her hair hung dark and thick around her gaunt face. I held tight to the railing, my eyes falling to the glinting tip of her knife.

  “Abella.”

  She was breathing heavily. I wondered many things—how she had snuck around the security system and cameras, why she was here in the first place—but all that came out was, “Are you all right?”

  “No.” Her voice was worn, cut. Her eyes were wet with tears and she shook her head quickly. “No, I am not all right, not without my—my children.”

  The knife stuck out farther and as she took a step towards me, I took a step back. I wondered if it would be smart to shout for help but I remembered Hassan’s insistence regarding punishment and harsh handling. This wasn’t about me, it was about her children, I realized. This didn’t need to be punitive.

  I held up my hands to show I meant no harm. “Abella, they’re here and they’re safe, all right?”

  “Where?” The knife shook in her hand. Another step forward, another step back.

  “Inside, inside.” I took a long breath, trying to remain calm. “They’re watching movies.”

  “Bring me to them.”

  I eyed the knife in her hands. “Where did you come from, Abella?”

  “I want to see them—.”

  “You will, you will.” I assured her. She drew closer, but I didn’t move this time. I could hear her sniffling. “You will. I just want to talk to you a minute. Is that all right? Can we talk.”

  Abella considered it a moment before nodding, the movement jerky. “T-two minutes. And, then I want to see them.”

  “How did you get back here?”

  She nodded towards the far backyard. “Through the treeline. There is no fence all the way back.”

  “Okay.” I lowered my hands slowly; it startled her and she re-brandished her knife. “Sorry. I’ll keep them up, okay?” When she said nothing, I continued. “I was looking for you. I wanted to apologize to you—”

  “For what?”

  “For how things went down when I let you go.” A slight breeze picked up, it pushed her hair around her face. “It wasn’t fair and I wanted to fix it. When I was looking for you though, I could only find your children—”

  “So you took them from me, you kidnapped them—!”

  “No! No, I swear. That wasn’t my intent.”

  Abella stepped forward, clutching the knife with both hands. I took a stumbling step back. “You brought them here to lure me in? My children are not bait—”

  “I swear to you.” My breath was shaking in my chest. I had never been in real danger like this. Suddenly, I wished very much that Hassan had given me a proper self-defense lesson. “It was never my intent to use them against you. I only saw where they were in foster care and I thought I could make it right by taking them out of there and try to give them a better life until I could find you.”

  Abella was silent. She stood still and one could had confused her for a statue if she weren’t shaking so much. She looked thin in her dress.

  Quietly I asked, “Where have you been? I couldn’t find you.”

  Her face twisted at the question. “Rehab. I was there until two days ago. When I went to pick up my children, they weren’t there and I thought….” She seemed to deflate slightly. “I thought you had done something to them. Hurt them.”

  “Abella, I promise you, I would never.”

  A long moment passed between us before either of us said anything. She thought hard on all of this new information; it was easy to read, she had a dark but expressive face.

  “Abella,” I said slowly, like a person approaching a frightened animal, “I want to take you to them….” I eyed the weapon in her hand. “But you have to leave the knife behind.”

  My arms were getting tired from keeping them raised. I think she was getting tired too, her hands shook with the adrenaline, the tension, the possibility of seeing her children again. Finally, the knife was lowered and she took a sharp breath, almost like a sob. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay.”

  I held my hand out for the knife.

  She threw it over the railing and it landed with a hearty splash in the pool.

  “I’m sorry,” I said slowly because I was unsure what else to say. I was sorry, for the things that had happened to her, for scaring her, for taking her children away.

  Abella sniffled, taking my outstretched hand as I led her inside.

  Her hand was small and familiar.

  Abella sat in my living room, glancing around at everything quickly. There was a lot to take in—the fireplace, the rugs, the art, the many colors and the large windows—and she seemed so distracted by it that she startled when Lorna offered a glass of water.

  “Oh.” Her voice was small, as if she were embarrassed of what had just happened on the porch. She avoided my eye, I think, for that very reason. “Thank you.”

  Lorna, in all her warmth, smiled and Abella smiled shyly back.

  “Where, um… where are they?” she asked me quietly.

  “Lorna is going to get them and bring them here.” I set my own glass down. We sat far apart from one another on the sofa. “Do you mind if I ask you a few things? Before the children show up?”

  Her eyes fell to her lap and she nodded slowly.

  “What were you in rehab for?” It was a highly personal question.

  “Um… it had to do with alcohol.” She seemed ashamed of it. “I was drinking too much. So much so that… that I wasn’t able to take care of my children….” Her voice cut off, crackling as an old sadness welled up in her chest.

  I rose from the sofa and sat down beside her, my hand on her shoulder. “It isn’t something to be ashamed of,” I told her, though I was empathetic to it. “It’s hard to reach out for help. To know that there’s a problem and to take the steps to fix it is a
brave thing, Abella.”

  Her shoulder was so small under my hand. I felt like I would break if I touched her too firmly. “I didn’t… I didn’t do it for myself, though—I did it for them.” She shook her head. “I missed them so much, I had to.”

  “That’s fine, that’s fine.” I kept my voice gentle, private. When she looked at me, I smiled. “Whatever the reason… as long as you confront the problem and become healthy—that is the important part.”

  Abella nodded slowly and I could feel her relax slowly under my hand—until we heard the pitter patter of children’s feet on the marble.

  She shot up, standing, her hands clutching at her chest and a sob erupted from her as Juan and Teresa rounded the corner, their faces lighting up at the sight of their mother.

  “Mom!” they shouted in unison, laughing as she crouched to their height, gathering them into a long hug.

  “You’ve gotten so big, baby, oh my God!” Abella cried fully, though she smiled through it, tears of joy flavoring the kisses she pressed to each of her children’s cheeks.

  In that moment of happiness, I thought of my own mother, now deceased. I thought of hugging her again. I thought of being a child and having my sister beside me. A clenching, prickling feeling bloomed in my chest, threatening to make tears spill from my eyes. It was a touching reunion and what I had wanted most of all, I think: for them to be together, to be safe, and to be happy. Here in my home, they were all three.

  There in the doorway behind them was a shadow. I looked up quickly and Hassan’s light eyes stared back. Even with the sweet scene in front of him, he watched me instead; it was clear he was concerned, on edge. He had questions.

  I cleared my throat, standing, sure to blink away the wetness in my eyes. “Abella?”

  “Yes?” she asked, quick to wipe away the tears on her face. When she stood, her hand in each of her children’s hands, she was smiling and this time it wasn’t shy or nervous. It was relieved.