Room Twenty-Nine: Vitamin D x3 Read online

  VITAMIN DX3

  CLUB SIN NEW ORLEANS SESSION 1

  LAYNE DANIELS

  © 2023, Layne Daniels

  Vitamin Dx3

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Brynn Paulin

  Cover by Booking’ It Designs

  CONTENTS

  Before you begin

  Pirate Problems

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  15. Series Info

  Also by Layne Daniels

  About the Author

  BEFORE YOU BEGIN

  Dear Reader,

  “Life isn’t easy, it’s contingent.” - unknown

  Remy, the female main character of this story knows the truth of that quote to her bones. Life is unpredictable and pends on the choices we make at every intersection. Guarding her heart has always been Remy’s own obligation by virtue of having parents who love her, but care more about their careers than anything else.

  Don’t judge her too harshly. Like all Layne Daniels leading ladies, she’s imperfect and learning day by day. Just like I am. Just like most of us are.

  XoXo,

  Layne

  Pirates on the page are awesome. In real life, not so much. If you obtained this book legally, either through purchase on Amazon, reading through the Kindle Unlimited program, or as part of the author’s ARC team, thank you! If you’ve downloaded it anywhere else, you’re reading a stolen copy which puts the author’s ability to publish on Amazon at risk. Shitty move.

  Stealing ebooks isn’t a victimless crime, and if you’re downloading this book from anywhere but Amazon or my ARC team, you’re an asshole. Knock it off.

  PROLOGUE

  2 months ago

  Dr. Cason Collins

  “You fucked up. Royally. Now, we’re all in the doghouse, and kid, I gotta tell you, the process of cleaning the egg off our faces won’t be easy.” Dr. Michael, Mick, Granger glares at me across his desk in the office of the sports medicine clinic where I work.

  He’s technically my boss, or at least, his word is law around here.

  “I stand by my decision. Megan Broussard is a menace. I don’t care who her daddy is or what she wants. I won’t be her chew toy just to please Charles. He should have retired five years ago. Shit, he’s as much of a menace as she is. And he wields a scalpel.”

  Megan’s one of the middle daughters of the chief of the neurology department, and while technically, the sports clinic isn’t part of his division, head injuries make up a lot of our caseload. So we have to interact with Charles Broussard a lot.

  The guy’s a real piece of work and exactly the type of guy who gives doctors a bad reputation as being players. He’s got four ex-wives and who can even guess how many mistresses.

  Since he has a preference for shitting where he eats, most of them still work here at the same hospital long after he’s moved on to the next naïve target.

  Too bad Megan’s not the Broussard I’m interested in.

  I’ve been in lust with her older sister, Remy, since the day the woman gave me my new hire paperwork in the human resources office here. Remy’s the polar opposite of her sister.

  Where Megan’s obsessed with following in her dad’s footsteps, especially when it comes to playing the field around the hospital campus, Remy has, from what I hear, an iron-clad no-MDs policy.

  Gossip around the building is that Remy’s mom has racked up nearly as many failed marriages and busted up romances as Charles has. Since her mom’s the chief of obstetrics at Jefferson Regional, their feuds are the stuff of urban legend around here.

  From what I know, the two have been divorced since Remy was an infant, but the way they’re constantly at one another’s throats keeps us all on edge. The only time Charles and Renate aren’t battling is when it comes to protecting the reputation of this place and caring for their daughter, Remy.

  “Just consider yourself lucky it’s not carnival season. A few years ago, a resident pissed off one of the younger ones and wound up having to “volunteer” as a dancer for her dance school’s float. Poor bastard had to transfer out to finish his residency to escape everyone posting pictures of him in tights that put his junk on display.”

  Mick’s not wrong. There are worse punishments to endure to get back on Charles’s good side than the one he’s demanding of me.

  For a hound with the ladies, the guy sure does try to be father of the year to all the daughters he’s managed to have with a handful of the women he’s married.

  Yes, I said daughters. The man has six daughters. Four from inside various marriages he’s been in, and two born to women he was merely hooking up with. Daytime soap operas have nothing on Jefferson Regional.

  “Spit it out then. What do I have to do to kiss his ass and keep him from blocking approval for the new positron emission tomography scanner we’ve been waiting six months for?” Do I hate having to kiss Charles’s ass just to keep the peace around here? Shit, yes, I do.

  Will I do whatever is necessary to make our sports medicine clinic a place people from everywhere come to for the best treatment available.

  “Too bad it’s not just you stuck in the doghouse with his lordship. You got Graham and me sucked into the vortex of bullshit. We’re all to join the planning committee for the annual neuroscience department fundraiser and provide whatever assistance Remy Broussard expected from Megan.”

  “Because Megan can’t do it?” It’s important to play this off just right.

  If Mick realizes how much of a punishment spending time with Remy isn’t, he’ll have my balls in a vise faster than Charles would. Everybody knows Mick’s known the girl since she was barely more than a teenager and been protective of her for just as long.

  For all Charles is a selfish playboy and Renate is a career-focused ice queen, Remy is caring and filled with optimism. Tp guys like Mick, who have been working here their whole careers, Charles’s daughters are practically little sisters. I think so anyway.

  Sometimes, I catch Mick looking a little too long at Remy when she’s in the cafeteria at the same time we are. Then again, a guy would nearly have to be dead and buried not to stare at her when she’s around.

  “Meggie’s off to the spa to recover from the, and I quote, absolutely humiliating way you rejected her simple attempt at being friendly.” Mick rolls his eyes, because he was there at the onsite coffeeshop where Megan made her move last week.

  It felt as if the whole damn hospital was there when she sauntered her ass over to me and cupped my junk right there in front of everyone. Then, when she loudly sneered at me for not having a boner, the whole place heard that, too.

  Honestly, it’s absolute bullshit that I’m the one who has to pay penance, when I’m the one who was assaulted.

  Anywhere else, and her behavior would have landed her in legal hot water. But here? At Jefferson Regional in the heart of New Orleans, with Dr. Charles Broussard for her daddy?

  Guess I really should just thank my lucky stars I’m getting an excuse to help out Remy. It wouldn’t have shocked anyone if Charles had demanded I make an honest woman out of his wayward daughter, Megan.

  And that would have been criminally tragic.

  1

  Today

  Remy Broussard

  I’ve spent the last six months of my life obsessively planning to ensure this year’s annual neurology department fundraiser would be the best one yet. The gala I organized for the obstetrics department doubled the prior year’s donations, so the bar was set super high.

  The downside to working in the human resources office of a hospital, where my eternally feuding parents head up different departments, is my dad’s been subtly pressuring me to earn his neurology clinic just as much as my mom’s obstetrics department raised.

  He's even gone so far as to rope actual doctors from his team into help me. For the last two months, I haven’t been able to turn around without bumping into one of them.

  Cason, Mick, and Graham, the hotshot medicos who run the sports and athletics clinic here, somehow found themselves enlisted as helpers for the event.

  I’m under no illusion that they volunteered, which means my dad has something on them. My old man’s the king of leverage. That whole wing of the hospital seems to dance to whatever tune he plays.

  I kind of understand it, having been on the cold side of his disapproval when he found out I wasn’t following the parental footsteps and going to med school. It’s not a good feeling, and he makes his displeasure known.

  I look around the empty ballroom and almost feel the tension and strain of these past months melt away. Sure, the mess will take hours to clean up, but that’s why the janitorial sta
ff is coming in.

  The silent auction and ball were a success. I feel it in my bones. My dead tired, overworked bones. I’m pretty sure tonight raised enough to make Dad happy and Mom cranky.

  Even if all three of the dreamboat doctors club had flatly refused to let me put dates with them on the auction block, I’m pretty sure we’ve raised more money than ever.

  Not that I would have bid on any of them. I’ve had a “no doctors” rule since I was too young to be thinking about men old enough to be doctors, but those three surely tempt me to forget it.

  So far I’ve held strong, but if tonight hadn’t been the event, I’m not sure how much longer I’d have lasted. I’ve seen enough doctors like my father, who think those framed diplomas entitle them to whatever they want in life. My mom’s not much different.

  It’s ironic that both of my parents work as healers when neither of them has a clue how to build or repair relationships. They’re more like transplant surgeons, excising all the love and affection they have for one person and putting it into the next when things get challenging.

  Their toxic patterns aren’t even uncommon from what I’ve seen growing up around this place. From my office in the human resources division, I see all the beneficiary-change paperwork that gets generated when doctors use the courts to cure them of their marriage afflictions.

  “Need us to stick around for cleanup? We can supervise the crew, so you can get home and put your feet up. I’m no podiatrist, but I’m positive those heels are terrible for your spine.” Dr. Graham Bhatt spends more time worrying about the shoes I wear than is healthy.

  I get it. His specialty is spinal cord injuries, and I wear a lot of sky high heels. Given that I’m just barely over five feet and cursed with a baby face, heels are a necessity.

  Together with my power suits, my red bottom heels send the message I’m an adult. At twenty-six and counting, I’ll take whatever edge is necessary to convince people to stop treating me like I’m still a teenager.

  “Graham, you startled me! I thought you left with that redhead from patient accounts.” I think her name’s Vanessa something or other.

  Not that I pay attention to who Graham gives his attention to. It’s no business of mine who flirts with him. Even if part of me desperately wants to be the woman he flirts back with.

  No doctors. Seriously no doctors. No means none. The mental reminder is getting harder to call to mind now that I know him.

  Cason and Mick, too. I’ve never really heard any gossip about the three of them, and in the time they’ve been helping me plan the event, I never heard them share any of the braggy stuff I’m used to overhearing in the cafeteria.

  “Vanessa? Nah, darlin’, she’s Cason’s little cousin. She’s working here while she goes to uni and staying with Case and me. Her folks asked him to look out for her here in the big city.” He smirks at me like a squirrel perched on a birdfeeder full of seeds.

  I shouldn’t have let my tongue get away from me like that. My jealousy—and I don’t kid myself that it’s anything less than jealousy—lights up between us like a neon beacon.

  Here I am, the girl who can’t pretend she isn’t battling the green-eyed monster at the idea of Graham with another woman.

  “What can we do to help shut down for the night?” Graham’s offer, refusing to let me ignore his attempt at helping, isn’t entirely unexpected.

  A couple months ago, before I got to know him, it would definitely have been a surprise. In my experience, doctors, especially male ones, aren’t quick to offer to help with tasks they consider too plebeian for their time.

  In nearly every respect, Graham’s the opposite from what I expect doctors to be like. All three of them are. Don’t get me wrong; they all have the innate arrogance that comes from being capable of saving lives. They’re also humble and kind. Protective and willing to lend their hands to whatever tasks I set for them.

  That joke about doctors writing in illegible chicken scratch? No one would expect it, but Mick’s a master of calligraphy. He didn’t even blink that first week when I sat him down with a VIP guest list and envelopes to hand address for invitations. Usually, my hands are gnarled up cramped knots for days after the task, which my father always insists must be done by hand to preserve the prestigiousness.

  Cason throws himself into everything with the same focus I’ve heard he brings to crafting physical therapy regimens for his patients. Graham is one of the most respected and sought after spinal cord injury specialists in the nation. He’s also the first one to rush to fetch and carry boxes filled with binders of event-planning notes.

  When the three of them barged into my office two months ago to “help plan” the event that I’d already been planning for six months, I knew they were there at may father’s command. Even without knowing what they did to land themselves on his shit list, it was obvious none of them had any experience with organizing an event of this magnitude.

  “There’s nothing left to be done that the catering staff and janitorial crew won’t get to. You should go home and get some rest.” I can’t help but take stock of the exhaustion in his eyes.

  The three of them put in a full day of healing before rushing over here to help me hold together everything tonight. One of the nursing staff even let it slip that Graham had performed a tricky laminectomy on a world-famous golfer yesterday. Supposedly, it had taken an extra four hours when there was more compression on the spinal canal than imaging had revealed.

  “At least, allow me to take you home. It’s late, and I’d be the worst sort of ass if I didn’t ensure you’re safe and sound for the night. I especially don’t think you should be walking home in the dark in those death traps you have strapped to your feet.”

  “Aw, you don’t like these shoes, either, Dr. Bhatt? Have you approved of a single pair I’ve worn in the entire time we’ve worked together?” I do a little twirl on my toes, the arch tightening and lengthening my legs even more than usual.

  Graham’s fussing over my shoes has become a running joke between the two of us. I don’t miss the flash of heat in his eyes as he watches me spin, and the naughty urge to tease him rides me hard.

  2

  Dr. Graham Bhatt

  I poke my tongue against the back of my teeth to keep words from tumbling out in the wake of Remy’s sexy little twirl. The last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable around me, but truth is truth.

  If I approved of those shoes any more thoroughly, there’d be a mess in my pants. Probably a sexual harassment lawsuit, too. I’d never want to put Remy in that position, either. Not just because it would be a costly career risk, but because she’s too important to me to hurt.

  These last two months of being her helper have turned my attraction to Remy for the past few years into a daily itch that grows every day. It’s one I’m positive isn’t the sort to be scratched and forgotten.

  Everything I learn about her makes me fall harder for her and makes me more determined to breach her no-doctors rule. I mean, I’ve met her mom and dad, so I get it. I just won’t let it stop me.

  “You know how I feel about the heels you wear, little girl. Now, stop twirling before you tip over and hurt yourself. The last thing I need is your dad pissed at me for letting you get injured on my watch.”

  The admonition is out of my mouth before I can censor myself, and the gruff order blasts the sassy smile right off her face. My stomach drops to my feet at the hurt look in her eyes, and I want to kick my own ass for the thoughtless comment.

  Remy’s got a tough outer shell, she has to with parents like hers, but after working alongside her on this fundraiser all these weeks, I’ve been slowly convincing her she can trust me.