Baby for Dr. Damaged

Baby for Dr. Damaged An Age Gap Billionaire Dad's Best Friend Romance SUMMER JAMES This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Copyright © 2023 by Summer James All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law Contents 1. Chapter One Jackson 2. Chapter Two Amanda 3. Chapter Three Jackson 4. Chapter Four Amanda 5. Chapter Five Jackson 6. Chapter Six Amanda 7. Chapter Seven Jackson 8. Chapter Eight Amanda 9. Chapter Nine Jackson 10. Chapter Ten Amanda 11. Chapter Eleven Jackson 12. Chapter Twelve Amanda 13. Chapter Thirteen Jackson 14. Chapter Fourteen Amanda 15. Chapter Fifteen Jackson 16. Chapter Sixteen Amanda 17. Chapter Seventeen Jackson 18. Chapter Eighteen Amanda 19. Chapter Nineteen Jackson 20. Chapter Twenty Amanda 21. Chapter Twenty-One Jackson 22. Chapter Twenty-Two Amanda 23. Chapter Twenty-Three Jackson 24. Chapter Twenty-Four Amanda 25. Chapter Twenty-Five Jackson Epilogue Epilogue - Amanda Doctor Enemy - Sneak Peek - Chapter One About the Author Chapter one Jackson “Jackson?” Amanda laughs. “Are you really who I’m going to shadow today, you're my attending physician?” “It looks like it. I didn’t realize that you were starting your residency today.” I can’t help but notice that she looks nervous. Her shoulders bounce in a shrug, almost sheepish. “I know, it took me long enough.” A smile splits her face. She has her blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun. The navy tone of her scrubs brings out the silver hues in her blue eyes. I’ve known Amanda for years. She’s always been a sight to behold. And now, luckily for me, I’ll get to behold her on a daily basis. “I was actually thinking that it hasn’t taken nearly as much time as I would have expected,” I correct, with a huff of laughter. “But considering how determined you’ve always been, I probably shouldn’t be surprised.” I went to college with Amanda’s father. I lost touch with him for a few years, and we met again twenty-four years ago, when Harris, Amanda’s younger brother, was diagnosed with Margur’s disease. Amanda is smart, resourceful, and knows how to handle someone who’s dealing with a chronic health issue. In other words, she has all of the makings of a good doctor. I’m just hoping that she’s not expecting me to take it easy on her just because we already know each other. We only chat for a moment longer before I’m ushering her off to do rounds with me. She’s in luck because the floor is quiet this morning. No one that’s in threat of cardiac failure, nothing infectious, contagious, or otherwise incredibly challenging to deal with. There’s Mark Wilson, who comes in every few months with a new problem that doesn’t actually exist; the man is a clinical hypochondriac. He’s well-behaved, never causes much of a fuss, and is generally quiet enough. Nervous about everything, though. Won’t drink out of the same little plastic cup for more than a half hour before he needs a new one. It drives the nurses crazy. Peter James was brought in after a car accident, out on Pacific Highway. He won’t be in for long; just under observation, due to a nasty head injury. Concussion, and paired with the way he’s been acting—disoriented, struggling to remember things, uncertain about where he is—it was decided that he would be better off staying overnight. A few people that will be gone within the hour, ER cases that were shuffled upstairs either by clerical mistake, or because someone in the fast-track department, as I’ve always called it, got carried away and thought that something minor was really something major. I quiz Amanda at every turn, trying to figure out without any question of a doubt that she’s paying attention and putting her all into it. She doesn’t get every question right. No one in their first year of residency would, no matter who they are or how they were raised. Or how much they’ve studied. But she does answer a lot of them correctly, and she also manages to meet me head-on with a few questions of her own, especially where Peter’s case is concerned. “I’ve never worked with anyone who had a mild case of amnesia before,” says Amanda, as we step away from the man’s bedside. She’s got soft hands and is good with the patients. Her confidence is building the longer that we work, and she no longer seems as hesitant. I hum, “I wouldn’t classify it as amnesia, per se. It’s something else—a severe case of confusion and disorientation. It’s not the most common symptom of a concussion.” “Is it more difficult for the nurses?” “It can be. Peter has already made improvements since he arrived. When he was first brought in, he would be confused every time that he ‘woke up’ —and I mean that in a sense of growing aware of his surroundings, rather than truly sleeping,” I tell her. “He would forget what had already been told to him, was scared about where he was, and the nurses would have to try and calm him down and explain again.” Amanda nods. The corner of my mouth twitches up, just a little bit. “And that’s what’s going to make you different from most of the doctors that you’ll meet.” “What? Thinking about the impact nurses have on the patients? They’re staff here. I would have thought—” I stop and turn to face her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She’s warm under my palm. “You know what it’s like to be afraid.” Amanda stares at me. “You have already seen up close what it’s like when a patient is scared, confused, and is constantly being dismissed. Which means that not only will you never put a patient in that position, but you’re going to be more aware of the