Free Doctor's Orders: The Complete Series by Chloe Cox

was on the intercom system. My eyes fly open, and I do my best to look accusatory. Incredibly, I’m feeling like I somehow have a right to be pissed.
    The man closing the door behind him is dressed in surprisingly casual fare, though it’s more rich-guy-pretending-to-be-working-class than anything else. He has a pea coat, like he works on the docks or something, and jeans. But they fit too well, and are artfully distressed. They probably cost a fortune. He has an even stubble over his admittedly chiseled chin, like he has an electric shaver set to “five o’clock shadow.” The care that I suspect he puts into his appearance is confirmed by his hair – blonde, carefully tussled. There’s product in there. He’s got rakish good looks. And he’s grinning at me.
    This can’t possibly be good.
    I just remind myself: the Doctor does not make mistakes. Maybe Cedric does, but not the Doctor. There must be a purpose to this.
    “Yes, I’m Claire,” I say, casually dropping the letter back onto the desk, and rising to my best nonchalant lean-against-a-desk pose. I just want to distract him – whoever this sandy-haired man is – from what I was doing. “And who are you?”
    I try to arch an eyebrow, but I can tell it hasn’t quite worked. He still looks amused.
    “Whoever I am, I have a right to be here. I don’t think you do, Claire.”
    He strolls over to the desk, and plants a hip on the corner, close to me. He leans in, startling me, and I get a whiff of his cologne. It reminds me of sea salt; it goes with the overall maritime theme. He pulls his hand back, deliberately slow, prolonging his nearness, and I can see he’s picked up a silver letter opener. He tosses it lightly in the air, catching it with ease, and arches his own eyebrow.
    So he noticed the letter, then.
    “My name is Gerald.”
    Now he’s drawing little patterns on the desk with the tip of the letter opener. It gives me something to concentrate on other than him and my obvious, obvious guilt. I’m grateful, in a small, desperate way.
    “I know what you’ve been doing in here, you know.”
    I bite my lip, and wish, not for the last time, that I was a practiced liar. I can’t think of anything to say, so I just silently beg the universe to have this somehow work out in my favor.
    “There’s only so many reasons to go through a guy’s private things, Claire. To go through his letters. Are those Julia’s letters?” he asks, as though suddenly realizing that this might be even worse than it seems, and grabs the one I’d held in my hot little hand. The eyebrow goes up again. “Jesus.”
    “Look, I didn’t mean –”
    “Of course you did. You’re poking around because you want to know more about him, because you think you’re close. You don’t think you’re the first, do you?”
    I’m humiliated to realize that I did. I did think I was the first to get close to him, or to want to, or...I did. I thought I was special, even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to.
    Gerald, the rich faux-mariner, plants his large hand on the desk, and leans in close, closer than before. His solid body is only inches from mine, his breath hot on my neck. I’m ashamed to feel the adrenaline that’s pumping in my blood begin to pool in a tight, burning knot around my pussy, but I do not move. Still like a prey animal, I am preternaturally still.
    “Let me give you some advice, Claire,” he whispers. And his voice sounds kind, somehow, so close to my earlobe. “Do not pry. Do not get attached just because you think he’s a challenge. If you push at him, if you tell him it’s more than just the treatment...”
    My whole body flinches, and I wonder how much Gerald knows about my particular treatment. I can hear him smile.
    “He’s the most guarded man in the world, Claire. He’s my best friend, and he’s shut off. If you push, he’ll push back. You’ll be out, gone, done. Finito.”
    He pulls back slightly, enough to look into my eyes, but still in my