When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 100

Amelia

I closed my laptop and rolled my neck, feeling the satisfying pop of tension release. After six straight hours of patient consultations, paperwork, and two successful C-sections, my body was screaming for a break. I slipped off my white coat, hanging it carefully on the hook behind my office door, and changed into a more comfortable cashmere sweater.

"Knock, knock!" Rebecca's cheerful voice pulled me from my thoughts as she appeared in my doorway. Her scrubs were wrinkled from a long shift, but her smile remained bright. "Please tell me you're done for the day too."

"Just finished," I said, grabbing my purse from the bottom drawer. "Why? What's up?"

Rebecca's eyes lit up. "That new Italian place on 5th finally opened! I've been dying to try their truffle pasta for weeks. Want to join me?"

The mention of food made my stomach growl embarrassingly loud. I hadn't eaten since my 6 AM yogurt.

"God, yes. I'm starving. Just give me five minutes to send this last email."

Rebecca nodded and leaned against the doorframe, scrolling through her phone while waiting. Just as I hit send on my email, there was a commotion in the hallway.

"Delivery for Dr. Thompson?" a voice called out.

I looked up, confused. I hadn't ordered anything. A man in an impeccable uniform stood at my door holding several large paper bags emblazoned with the elegant logo of Black Rose Restaurant.

"I didn't order anything," I said firmly, already feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

The delivery man consulted his tablet. "It says here you have a standing order, ma'am. Lunch delivery, Monday through Friday, for the next month. All paid for in advance."

Rebecca's eyes widened as she peeked inside one of the bags. "Oh my God, Amelia. This smells amazing!" She pulled out a container. "Is that... lobster ravioli with truffle cream sauce?"

"There must be some mistake," I insisted, though I knew exactly what was happening.

Rebecca was already accepting the bags from the delivery man. "Well, mistake or not, this is way better than that Italian place. Come on, let's eat in the break room!"

The man smiled politely. "No mistake, Dr. Thompson. Mr. Black was very specific about the order." He handed me a small envelope before departing with a slight bow.

"Wait...Mr. Black?" Rebecca raised her eyebrows as we headed to the break room. "Could the mysterious person who sent the roses really be Ethan Black? Oh my God, Amelia, I thought he was just an ordinary wealthy admirer. I didn't realize it was that Ethan Black! What exactly is your relationship? You know we don't dare to gossip about Ethan freely."

I sighed, fighting the urge to crumple the envelope in my hand. "It's complicated."

"Complicated is code for interesting," Rebecca said, setting the food out on the break room table. The aroma filled the small space, making my mouth water despite my irritation. "I didn't know you knew him."

"I was married to him," I said flatly, watching her jaw drop.

"You were WHAT?" Rebecca nearly dropped the container she was holding. "How did I not know this? How does the entire hospital not know this?"

I shrugged, opening a container of Caesar salad. "It was brief. Three years ago. I don't talk about it."

Rebecca stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Amelia Thompson, you are full of surprises. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your shoes right now? The man owns half of Manhattan!"

"And the other half owns him," I muttered, stabbing a piece of lettuce with unnecessary force. "I have my own career, my own money, my own life. I don't need his interference."

Rebecca studied me for a moment, her expression softening. "He hurt you, didn't he?"

I didn't answer, focusing instead on my food.

"Well," Rebecca continued, changing tactics, "if you're not interested in tall, dark, and filthy rich, there's always Dr. Chen, the new cardiology resident. He's been asking about you."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Subtle, Rebecca. Very subtle."

"Just keeping your options open," she said with a wink.

---

Ethan

I drummed my fingers against the polished mahogany desk, my mind elsewhere despite the stack of reports demanding my attention. The floor-to-ceiling windows of my Black Investment Group office provided a panoramic view of Manhattan, but my eyes were fixed on my silent phone.

The door opened without a knock, and James strode in with his characteristic lack of ceremony.

"You look like shit," James observed, dropping into the chair across from me.

I straightened my tie, keeping my face impassive. "Always a pleasure, James. To what do I owe the honor?"

James leaned forward. "Noah asked me to look into Ashley's accident. He thinks Julian might be involved."

"And?" I raised an eyebrow.

"And I told him I'd look into it," James replied with a shrug. "But I'm more interested in your little lunch delivery strategy. If I were Amelia, I'd be more impressed by a man who showed up in person than one who sends food."

My jaw tightened. "Nobody asked for your romantic advice."

"Yet here I am, offering it anyway." James grinned. "Might want to work on that charming personality of yours. It's a bit rusty after three years of brooding."

Michael entered with a tray of sandwiches, providing a welcome interruption. "Lunch, gentlemen."

"Any update?" I asked, keeping my tone deceptively casual.

Michael nodded. "Dr. Thompson received the delivery. Her colleague seemed quite excited about it. Dr. Thompson herself appeared... less enthusiastic."

James laughed. "Translation: she's pissed. Can't say I blame her."

"She'll get over it," I said, though I felt uncertainty flickering inside me.

"Have you considered, I don't know, apologizing?" James suggested, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Maybe a simple text message? 'Sorry for being an ass' works wonders."

"That's not my style," I replied coldly.

"And how's 'your style' working out for you?" James countered. "Three years searching for her, and now that you've found her, you're sending food instead of facing her. Real brave, Black."

I gave him a glare that could have frozen fire. "Don't you have a bar to run?"

James checked his watch and stood. "As a matter of fact, I do. Think about what I said, Ethan. Sometimes the simplest approach is the most effective."

After James left, Michael cleared his throat. "If I may, sir... Mr. Hayes might have a point."

I stared out the window, seeing my conflicted reflection. Three years of searching, planning, waiting—and now I was hesitating. What James said had struck a nerve. Was I really afraid to face her directly?

"Sir?"

"That will be all, Michael. Thank you."

Alone in my office, I picked up my phone and stared at the blank message screen. After several minutes of internal debate, I typed: [Don't push away my good intentions. I'm not trying anything—just want you to eat well. I'm sorry.]

My thumb hovered over the send button for a long moment before I finally pressed it, feeling strangely vulnerable for a man who controlled billions in assets.

The message showed as delivered, but there was no immediate response. I hadn't expected one, but I couldn't help checking my phone every few minutes anyway.