Junichi is standing at the table next to ours, smiling and being charming. I can hear everyone swooning and laughing, praising him. I stand from my seat to excuse myself. I can’t face him right now. Not here. Maybe later I’ll send an email or something and apologize? Shit. That’s cowardly. Am I apologizing because I’m genuinely sorry? Because he’s my boss? Or because I need something from him?
D? All of the above?
A waiter directs me toward the bathroom and I’m grateful when no one else is inside. I tuck myself in a stall, lock the door and press my back into it. I close my eyes, just breathing and trying to get this shifty, knotty sensation in my body to subside. It’s so uncomfortable.
It started when I first moved to Japan and began working with Sora. It was a low hum then, like background noise inside me.
Meeting Haruka and Nino made it worse. The hum shifted to a light pulsing, but I could still ignore it. Still manage it. With Junichi… It’s the worst it’s ever been. Like pounding and twisting at the base of my spine and in my stomach. Ever since the night he came to my place it’s flared up at the mere mention of his name. I feel like a teenager with butterflies over a crush, except the butterflies are on fire and fighting each other. I even had a colleague give me a check-up to see if there was something medically wrong, but nothing out of the ordinary turned up.
I’m breathing now, but it isn’t getting any better. In fact, it’s getting worse—things have escalated and the fiery butterflies now have tiny knives. I hear the door to the men’s room swing open as I shift my spine to the left against the stall door, needing some kind of relief. Footfalls echo against the marble, moving toward the center of the bathroom, but then stop. Shifting my spine to the right, I breathe in deep, and that’s when I smell it. Cypress and lavender.
“Doctor Davies.”
My eyes widen. My heart is beating out of control from the stress. I swallow, turn and unlock the stall door. Slowly, I open it and peer out. Junichi is standing with his arms folded, leaning against the counter. His black eyes are staring directly at me, but I can’t read him at all.
Six
Junichi
This is my mistake. When he hadn’t agreed to have dinner with me after two weeks, I should have dropped it. I was adamant because he’s perplexing and smells like something warm, sweet and straight out of an oven.
But damn all that. This ends now. I can’t have the staff at Mom’s hospital running from me and hiding in bathrooms—like I’m a literal monster.
He’s looking at me as if he’s scared of me, peeking his head around the stall door. Why is he so fucking tense all the time? I wait until he’s out of the stall before I start. I’m glad no one else is in here. I speak in formal Japanese since I’m not feeling particularly playful and I want him to know that.
“First—forget about what happened on Friday. That was my error in judgment, so you don’t need to run away from me or feel uncomfortable. I won’t bother you anymore.”
The doctor’s shoulders drop, and he reaches up to scratch the back of his golden ombre hair. How the hell does he get it perfectly highlighted like that? His suit looks like it’s his father’s. It doesn’t fit his square shoulders and lean frame as well as it should. He’s almost swimming in it.
“Second. Sora just told me you might have an idea for a new program in your field of study. I’m not your boss and I don’t oversee the day-to-day operations of the hospital. But all major financial endeavors need to be approved by me, since I’m funding them. When your proposal is ready, contact Risa Suzuki and set up an appointment. She manages my calendar for hospital meetings.”
He’s blinking at me from behind his glasses. After a few seconds, he bows in a quick, polite motion. He follows my lead and speaks in formal Japanese. “Yes. I understand. Thank you.”
Good. I don’t like drama. I get enough of it with my feeding source. Typically, I don’t date while I’m in Japan. I conduct my romantic liaisons abroad and away from my home. Sleeping around within an aristocracy is frowned upon, and it can get serious fast since most ranked vampires want to bond. Humans and low-level vampires are just easier to be with—not nearly as fussy or demanding.
I turn away from him and wash my hands since I’m in here. He steps up beside me and washes his as well. When I put my hands under the dryer, it’s loud, but the doctor turns his head toward me and says something. I pull my hands back, frowning. “What?”
“It’s nice,” he says. “The color. I like your suit.”
He’s speaking in English with that airy, subtle accent. Reluctantly, I follow his lead in my response as I quickly scan him. “Thanks… Your suit is ill fitted.”
The doctor looks down at his plain gray suit, white dress shirt and hideous plaid tie. “Really? How so?”
“It’s too big in the shoulders and cuffs. It looks like something your father owned in the nineties.”
He laughs at this and runs his damp hands into his hair. “It is. I’ve had it since I was eighteen.”
“How old are you now?”
“Thirty-two… thirty-three in March next year.”
God. Tragic. He’s smiling at me now with perfectly white, straight teeth. I think this is the first time he’s been somewhat relaxed in my presence. I don’t get it, and part of my brain is telling me to walk away now. But…
“Why did you act like that?” I ask. “When I came to your house. Did I offend you in some way?”
He shakes his head. “No… I—”
Someone walks into the bathroom. I recognize him, but I can’t think of his name. He sees us standing there, bows politely and walks out. The doctor had turned to look at the new arrival, but he looks at me again. “Truthfully, every experience I’ve had with a vampire… They’ve been pretty direct with what they want. And I am genuinely busy with my schedule, so I just thought—you know…” He shrugs.
I frown. “Had a lot of experiences with vampires, have you?”
“Not a lot. Christ. Some. Never with ranked vampires, though.”
I lean toward him, batting my eyes. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t walk around making sweeping generalizations about vampires, should we?”
He’s looking at me, and I swear his gaze flickers down to my mouth for a split second. “Sorry about that,” he says.
I stand straight, ignoring the quick flash of heat in my groin. “You’re only sorry because you think I’m someone important now.”
“No,” he says sternly, frowning behind his black-framed glasses. “I felt like shit right after you left. But I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Well, if your proposal is flawless, you’ll only need to see me one more time.” I smile. I’m being an asshole, I know. Stepping around him, I walk toward the door. Halfway there, the doctor speaks out from behind me.
“So you weren’t thinking about sleeping with me then? Not at all?”
The brashness of his question surprises me. When I turn to look at him, I don’t show it. “Is sex all you think about, Doctor Davies? It’s starting to seem like that’s what you want from me, and you’ve just been projecting this entire time.”
He pulls his glasses off and breathes a laugh, running his palm down his face. I wait, but he doesn’t deny it.
