Flash Marriage To The Ruthless Surgeon

Jaimie ended the call and threw her phone onto the couch like it was burning her skin. The screen lit up the dark living room, a harsh reminder of Gerry Brady's voice still ringing in her ears.

A personal injury lawsuit. He was actually going to do it. He was going to sue her, and worse, he was going to drag her father into it.

She pressed her palms against her temples, trying to physically push the panic back down her throat. Outside, the rain lashed against the windowpanes, the wind howling like a living thing trying to break in. Thunder rolled, shaking the floorboards of her small apartment.

Her phone buzzed again. A text from her dad. Just checking in, sweetheart. Everything okay?

A bitter taste flooded her mouth. Everything was a disaster. Her PhD was hanging by a thread, her savings were wiped out, and now Gerry was threatening to destroy her father's career over a shove that he had provoked.

The sharp, intrusive chime of her doorbell cut through the sound of the storm.

Jaimie froze. Nobody rang her doorbell at eleven o'clock at night in a thunderstorm. She walked slowly toward the door, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. She leaned in and peered through the peephole.

A tall, dark shadow filled the frame. She couldn't make out a face, just the broad outline of a man standing in the pouring rain.

"Who is it?" she called out, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound tough.

"It's Graham."

That single word sent a jolt of electricity through her system. Graham. Graham Lawson. The boy from next door. The boy she hadn't spoken to in a decade.

She fumbled with the locks, her fingers clumsy, and pulled the door open just an inch. A gust of freezing, rain-soaked air hit her face.

He stood there, completely drenched. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, water dripping down the sharp line of his jaw. His white t-shirt was translucent, clinging to the muscles of his chest, and his jeans were heavy with rain. He looked like a stray dog that had been caught in a hurricane, but his eyes-those dark, piercing eyes-were completely dry and unnervingly steady.

"Graham?" she breathed, her mind going completely blank. "What are you-"

"Jaimie, marry me."

The words hit her like a physical blow. She stared at him, waiting for the punchline, waiting for the lightning to crack and reveal this was some bizarre hallucination brought on by stress.

"What?" she finally managed.

"Marry me," he repeated, his voice low and rough, cutting through the noise of the storm. "Tonight."

"You're insane." She grabbed the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut. "You show up at my door in the middle of a hurricane after ten years and ask me to marry you? Are you drunk?"

Before she could close it, his hand shot out. His palm pressed flat against the wood, the strength in his arm unyielding.