Chapter 4 Reluctant Promises
Sloane
The emergency room at New York Presbyterian worked with practiced efficiency as they wheeled Eleanor through the sliding doors. I trailed behind the gurney, rattling off medical details to the attending physician while Graham handled the paperwork, his voice a controlled baritone that betrayed no panic.
"Possible cardiac event, patient is seventy-four, history of mild hypertension controlled with medication. Pulse was weak and irregular at the scene, but stabilized in transit."
The ER doctor—Dr. Williams according to his badge—nodded, his eyes flicking between me and the patient. "You're a physician?"
"Cardiothoracic at this hospital," I confirmed, pulling out my ID badge. "Dr. Sloane Bennett."
"The patient is my grandmother," Graham added, materializing beside me. His shoulder brushed against mine, a rare physical proximity that felt foreign after months of careful distance.
"We'll take good care of her, Dr. Bennett, Mr. Harrington," Dr. Williams assured us as they wheeled Eleanor through a set of double doors.
Hours crawled by. Tests were ordered. Specialists consulted. I answered questions on Eleanor's medical history while Graham paced the private waiting area, alternating between terse phone calls and staring out the window at the Manhattan skyline.
By midnight, Eleanor had been stabilized and moved to a VIP suite. The diagnosis: a minor heart attack complicated by arrhythmia, requiring observation and possibly an adjustment to her medications.
I sat quietly on a chair outside her room, mentally reviewing Eleanor's prognosis. A shadow fell across me. I looked up to find Graham standing there, his fingers absently twisting the Harrington signet ring.
"Sloane." His voice was low, controlled. "The doctors say she's stable."
I nodded. "The arrhythmia is concerning, but manageable with medication. They'll monitor her for at least 48 hours."
Graham's jaw tightened. "I spoke with Dr. Winters. He mentioned the stress could have triggered this episode." His eyes, cold and assessing, bore into mine. "Apparently my grandmother was quite upset about our... situation."
I met his gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. "I didn't tell her about the divorce papers, Graham."
"It doesn't matter." He looked away, toward the closed door of Eleanor's room. "Sloane, you've achieved what you wanted. For my grandmother's health, I won't proceed with the divorce—for now. But don't think this means I'll bail out Bennett Investment. Your family's Wall Street troubles are not my concern."
His words stung, though I should have expected them. I remained silent, looking up at him with eyes I knew were betraying my hurt.
Something flickered in his expression as he noticed the tears I was fighting to contain. His hand moved as if to reach for me before he caught himself, then stepped back.
"I'll be in the waiting room making calls," he said, voice distant once more.
I composed myself before entering Eleanor's room. The elderly woman looked small against the hospital sheets. This marriage was a mistake from the beginning, I thought. I'll still need to leave—just not today.
I stayed until Eleanor fell asleep, making small adjustments to her IV rate before quietly slipping out. Graham was still in the hallway, clutching a cup of cold Starbucks Reserve. Our eyes met briefly.
"Your grandmother is sleeping," I said quietly. "You should go home. I'll stay and monitor her."
"I've arranged for 24-hour professional nursing care," he replied. "I'll drive you home."
I wanted to refuse, to maintain the emotional distance between us, but exhaustion won out. The faint scent of Tom Ford cologne drifted past as Graham walked ahead of me toward the elevator.
The ride home was silent. When we reached our Park Avenue apartment, I stepped out quickly without waiting for him, my heels clicking against the marble floor of the lobby as I hurried toward the elevator. I could feel Graham's eyes on my back but didn't turn around.
"Drive to the office," I heard him instruct the driver before the car door closed.
I watched the Bentley disappear into Manhattan traffic, not bothering to ask him to stay. Instead, I mentally rehearsed what I would tell Celeste about finding another solution for Bennett Investment's liquidity crisis.
My hand drifted unconsciously to my stomach as the elevator ascended. The secret growing inside me would only make this complicated marriage more complex.
Morning arrived with clinical brightness. I selected a crisp Carolina Herrera shirt and pencil skirt—armor for the day ahead. The hospital's familiar sterility welcomed me as I swiped my badge at the cardiothoracic floor.
"Dr. Bennett," the charge nurse greeted me, "you look tired. Everything okay?"
"Just a long night," I replied, scanning the patient board. "I'm fine."
"Don't forget you have the valve consultation at three," she reminded me. "Dr. Thompson specifically requested your opinion."
I nodded, already reviewing the first patient's chart when a familiar name on the appointment list stopped me cold: Reynolds, Tessa. Scheduled for a cardiac consultation at 10 AM.
When Tessa walked into my examination room two hours later, I kept my expression neutral despite the shock.
"Dr. Bennett," she greeted me with a polite smile, her voice carrying a slight French accent. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. Have we met before? You look familiar—were you at Columbia by any chance?"
I maintained my professional demeanor. "Yes, I was. Biological sciences. Small world."
"It is! I studied art history," she replied, seemingly pleased with the connection. "New York is surprisingly tiny sometimes."
"Ms. Reynolds, what brings you in today?"
"Heart palpitations. They started after I returned from Paris last month. I've just transferred from Lambert's headquarters to the New York office."
I conducted a thorough examination, ordered an ECG, and reviewed her history. The results showed a minor arrhythmia—nothing immediately life-threatening, but definitely requiring follow-up.
"According to hospital policy," I explained, looking at her test results, "I need you to contact a family member. I'd prefer to discuss treatment options with someone else present."
Tessa nodded, pulling out her phone. "I understand." She dialed a number and spoke softly: "Graham? Yes, I'm at New York Presbyterian, cardiothoracic department. The doctor wants to discuss my heart condition with family present... Yes, now if possible."
The bitter irony wasn't lost on me. I was about to discuss my husband’s ex-girlfriend’s medical condition with him.
Twenty minutes later, Graham walked through my office door and froze when he saw me behind the desk.
"Dr. Bennett," he said formally, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Mr. Harrington," I replied with professional detachment. "Thank you for coming. Ms. Reynolds has a cardiac arrhythmia that requires a minimally invasive procedure. I've been explaining the options."
"I want Dr. Bennett to perform the procedure," Tessa interjected. "I only trust Dr. Bennett."
I shook my head. "My surgical schedule is fully booked. The hospital has more appropriate specialists—Dr. Thompson is the authority on this particular condition."
"Sloane," Graham's voice cut through the room, quiet but commanding. "This is my request."