His Games, Her Rules

♪I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter♪

♪Dancing through the fire♪

♪'Cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar♪

With my earbuds plugged into my ears, I sing along to Katy Perry Roar. I might be a bad singer, and maybe bad at every other social thing, but I just can't ignore Katy Perry's Roar each time I play it or hear it. It's my ringtone. I listen to it every morning before I get ready to come to work. It's a motivation for me. Listening to this beautiful song. It reminds me every time I listen to it that I am no longer the woman from years ago. I'm no longer the quiet girl her parents can just toss around. They've pushed me past my breaking point and made me realize I've got a choice. So here I am in New York working in this amazing hospital as a practical Nurse and I've never been happier.

I sing along, loudly to be precise, as I use the thermometer as my microphone. I dance around in this small room without a care in this world. Some people may call me weird, mostly my female colleagues because they have a thing or two against me, but this is me being my best self. They don't know what I've been through.

"Robyn?" A loud voice makes me stop singing as I spin around at once, startled.

"Shit." I curse under my breath, quickly taking out my earbuds from my ears as I stare at this strange man in a doctor's coat. I've never seen him before.

He looks at me from my head to my toes as he gives me a quick once over.

What the hell is his problem?

"I've never heard anyone sing with so much energy." The strange man says, giving me another once over. I smile in response.

It's rare to receive positive compliments about my voice. I know I'm a terrible singer, I just hate to be reminded.

"Thanks," I say to Mr. Stranger in a doctor’s coat.

"It’s not a compliment, Robyn. I mean you're a bad singer." He says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"Oh," I mutter. Yeah, well, fuck you, motherfucker.

I’ve heard so much negative feedback about my singing and they all hurt. Every one of them.

"Yes. And I don't mean it in a wrong way, I just mean your singing gives me a headache. I've been standing here for over 12 minutes as I watched your bad performance."

Wow. Ladies and gentlemen, we've got the mayor of Doucheville.

"Right. I may not be good at singing, but trust me I'm good at other things…" I say, with my arms crossed.

Mr stranger raises his eyebrows in confusion, then he slowly smirks as he looks me in the eye.

Ew, gross. You fucking perv.

"It's not the things you're already imagining. I mean… I'm pretty good at other stuff. Stuff that has to do with my job. Not everyone has perfect voices." I pause and stare at this stranger. "You know what I'm talking about, right?" I ask, with my arms still crossed. He gives me a weird look.

Fuck, he doesn't know.

I clear my throat. "Sorry, um… who are you? What are you doing here?" I ask, taking my time to stare at the man in front of me.

He has short blonde hair and green eyes, he’s pretty tall and well built, and he looks to be in his early thirties. He looks fine. Like, damn fine. I would have tapped that if he didn’t have a loose mouth.

"I'm Doctor Richard Sanders. But you can call me Doctor Sanders." He says.

Doctor? Interesting.

"Oh. I'm Robyn. Robyn Denver. I’m a practical nurse here."

"Yeah, I know you. I called your name like three times while I watched your sad performance." He says as he stares at me.

What the hell is his problem?

"You're pretty popular around here. The clumsy nurse."

"I'm not clumsy," I mutter.

"Right." He mutters, arrogance laced in his tone. "Well, I'll be taking over from Doctor Ricci, so you're working under me from now henceforth."

"What happened to Doctor Ricci?"

"Oh, he got transferred. I'm in charge now."

"And he's left?"

"Are you two dating?" Dr. Sanders asks, his gaze scrutinizing. I try not to roll my eyes. Over my dead body will I date that dog. Also, relationships are the last thing I want right now.

"No! What?" I scoff and drop the thermometer on a tray. "Do you need assistance?"

"Yes, I do. I need you to take a patient's blood sample for me and please be careful when you do that. Doctor Ricci told me about your work here. When I asked for a nurse who could help me with a nutcase patient, he recommended you. He said and I quote, 'If you're looking for the best nurse for this job, you should find Robyn. She should be in one of these little wards singing into a thermometer and dancing like a psycho. She's good at handling insane patients.' Hilarious, isn't it?"

What? I've always rooted for Doctor Ricci. He was my favorite Doctor in this hospital for a while until he fucked things up. He was pretty hot, and I knew for a fact he was a man slut, but he was great. He was good-looking and attractive, almost all the female nurses and a few doctors found him insanely attractive. He was cherished by everyone, including the president of this hospital. But behind the charisma and the admiration lies an arrogant pervert.

I can’t believe he would say such things about me to people all because I didn’t let him have his way with me.

Fucking disgusting.

I cross my arms and glare at Sanders. "He said that?"

"He sure did. Come on, the patient's blood is waiting." Sanders says as he turns to leave the room.

I follow him.

"Also, you can't address stubborn patients as nutcases or insane. It's inappropriate. This isn't a penitentiary. This is a hospital." I say to Sanders.

"Stop talking, Rob." He says.

"Um… hold on. The name is Robyn. Only my close friends call me Rob. You're not there yet, okay? We're not even friends. And I really hate it when people call me Rob. It’s Robyn, not Rob or Robbie." I say.

Doctor Sanders stops walking to stare at me. I cross my arms and look up at him. He's pretty tall. Probably 6’3 inches tall.

"Okay, Robyn."

"Thank you." I flash him a fake smile.

As I assist Sanders with the blood sample I took earlier, I hum to Katy Perry's Roar. It's like a stress-free song. Each time I'm stressed, I find myself humming to Roar. Doctor Sanders isn't all that bad. He's like Doctor Ricci, the difference is that Doctor Sanders doesn't flirt like Ricci. Which is nice. When Doctor Ricci still worked here, he would constantly flirt with the nurses and residents, and oftentimes he would touch them inappropriately. I fucking despised him. The only good quality about him is that he was a good doctor. A surgeon, actually, and everyone adored him to the point they turned a blind eye to every one of his filthy habits.

In the few hours I've worked with Doctor Sanders today, he was always quiet. We barely had any discussion or conversation. And I liked that for a change. Doctor Ricci was arrogant and he talked a lot to the point he always talked out of point.

"Robyn, can you stop?" Doctor Sanders asks.

"What?"

"Can you please stop humming to that song and tapping your feet on the floor like an old person? That’s not attractive at all." Okay, who cares?

"I hum to Roar when I'm stressed." I say.

Doctor Sanders sighs as he rubs his temple. That's exactly what I've been doing this past hour, annoying the shit out of Doctor Sanders. I'm sure he's thinking about resigning already.

"Are you okay?" I ask, with mockery in my tone.

"Please, stop humming. I can't concentrate on that loud annoying humming. It's like the whistling of a kettle." He says, with his extra, heavy Scottish accent.

I roll my eyes.

"Sure thing, Sandals." I mutter, purposefully calling him sandals.

"Sanders." He corrects my wrong pronunciation of his name. "It's Doctor Sanders for you. Not Sanders."

"Okay. Doctor Sandals." I say with a sly smirk. I'm never calling him Doctor Sanders anytime soon.

Doctor Sanders groans as he shakes his head and goes back to work. He's quitting tomorrow. I can tell already.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Robyn?" Doctor Sanders asks me after a long silence.

I sigh and bite the inside of my cheeks.

"No. Why?"

"Nothing. I'm just wondering how anyone can keep up with your loud humming and bad singing. I've only known you for a few hours and I feel like quitting medicine entirely."

"What?" I chuckle. I shake my head and roll my eyes.

"I'm a fun person. I just try to stay positive and it seems it annoys a lot of people." I roll my eyes.

"Yeah. A lot of the nurses here don't like you. They think you pretend to be too optimistic. You know, see the good in every bad situation." Doctor Sanders says and I roll my eyes. "And also, you're probably the most beautiful nurse in this hospital. They’re just jealous.” Oh, damn. He’s really got his way with words, huh?

I don’t care much about flirty words from men and I don’t let it affect my sense of thinking. Men would say anything to get into a woman’s pants.

"Don't flatter yourself, Ms Denver. I'm not flirting with you. I am a professional man and I like to leave it that way." Huh-huh.

"Yeah, whatever," I mutter as I get back to my work.

In my peripheral vision, I see Doctor Sanders staring at me for a brief moment.

"I feel like we'll be good friends. You might even turn out to be my favorite nurse. So far you're not bad. Except for your annoying humming." He says with a sigh.

"Thank you, Doctor Sandals." I grin at him.

He groans loudly and says, "I take everything I said back." I roll my eyes and chuckle.

I've always loved my profession as a nurse because I've always loved helping people. I might not be a registered nurse yet, but it's my dream to help people. To assist them and take care of them when they feel like they are not going to make it out alive.

I went to high school in the UK after spending a few years in Italy and graduated from Middle School. I graduated from Stanford University with a business degree, one of the best schools in the United States. Throughout my years at Stanford, I was tempted to quit, to run away. But I knew better than anyone to try and do something like that. But during my sophomore year, I knew I had to try and get away. I didn’t know how, but I had to start from somewhere. I had to make plans so that I didn’t leave any trail behind for my family to follow.

Before I moved to New York, I lived in Italy with my family. Everything about my life and that of my siblings was planned by my parents. I came from a family with a long line of wealth. My parents are billionaires, with the police, the cops, the entire state in their pockets. They control everything just like they control the lives of my siblings and me. I couldn’t get out, I just knew it even though I hadn't tried it then. I did things that I wasn’t proud of. We were puppets to my parents and they were the ones pulling the strings. Whatever we were told to do by my parents, is what we do. And that includes our education, the things we wear, what we eat, and our relationships.

My father wanted us to be in the family business and he made sure of it. I was his assistant, handling everything that concerned the family business.

The day I left Italy was four years ago. I’d been living in a shell and I couldn’t breathe anymore. I had made up my mind that I wouldn’t let my parents have power over me. I had to get out, far away to a place they could never find me. I had to leave the abuse, the hate, the control, and every negative thing that attached itself to my family. I had had enough. I didn’t have control over anything anymore. My life was being controlled for me and I wanted to leave. To go someplace to start afresh, with my past and my secrets locked far away.

And I did just that. I entered my car one Sunday morning with nothing but my handbag and a bag full of cash as I drove out of the city without taking a second glance at the place I've always called home. Before I made that move, I had withdrawn little money from my account over six months so my parents wouldn’t suspect anything. I made it look like I was spending it on clothes. I created two offshore accounts with a different identity and deposited some of the money I earned from my parents as payment for working with them and my upkeep money during my sophomore year. I got a safe deposit in New York during the span of when I was schooling at Stanford. Everything was well planned out.

I threw away my phone, my credit cards, and my identity card the minute I drove out of my family’s estate and I never looked back.

The minute I stepped foot in New York City, I told myself I would be better. That I had escaped hell and I was going to live my best life. Freedom. I had just taken a bold step and there was no going back. I'm stronger now and independent.

It didn't take me a week to get an apartment and get into nursing school. My roommate, Monique, is my best friend. She's the best thing that has happened to me in a long time and till today I'm happy I met her in New York. She doesn't know who I am or the family I'm from. I made sure of that. I wanted to start afresh and I didn't need anything that would remind me of my past, especially since I was in hiding.

Today's Monique's birthday and I'm supposed to pick up her cake from her favorite bakery after my shift at the hospital. I quickly changed out of my scrubs and got dressed in my proper clothes. Cream-colored sweater, black jeans, and white sneakers. I tie my hair up in a loose ponytail as I grab my handbag and rush out of the hospital, not before waving to Tiwa, she's my friend too, and a nurse, goodbye.

I slip inside my car and drive out of the parking lot. I drive straight to the bakery and pick up Monique's cake. I pay the bakery owner and hurry out of her bakery with Monique's cake. My last stop is the mall. I need to pick up Monique's birthday present that I'm supposed to give to her once I get home.

I get out of my car with my handbag as I walk inside the mall. I walk toward the jewelry store. The salesgirl greets me as I pick up the customized, diamond necklace I planned on gifting Monique. She saw it online and she liked it and always wanted to get it for herself. But Monique couldn't afford it because it was kind of expensive, (her words), and also, according to Monique, there are better things to do with money. I pay for it, collect the receipt, and leave the mall.

I unlock my car and slip inside as I toss my handbag on the passenger's seat. I place Monique’s birthday present close to her cake as I start the engine and try to back out of my parking spot. The loud bang and the alarm of a car make me step on the break at once.

Oh, shit, did I hit something?

"Oh, God. What have you done, Robyn?"

I step on the gas pedal to quickly escape out of here before the owner of the car sees me and maybe something bad might happen after, but instead, I hit the car from behind again. I look down, frowning at my feet on the clutch pedal.

"Fuck." I curse, shaking my head.

How the hell did I pass my driving lessons? Oh, right. I didn’t. My father didn’t take any of his children to driving school. He just bought us cars and told us to “figure shit out”.

I groan and look up at the rearview mirror as someone steps out of the backseat of a car.

Oh, shit. Not the Royce, not the freakin’ Rolls Royce. It’s the freakin’ Rolls Royce. It’s a black Rolls Royce. The new model. The expensive model. Compared to my 2010 Toyota Camry, I just hit an expensive and luxurious car that obviously belongs to someone rich.

When I left Italy, I didn’t drive straight to New York. I sold my Ferrari halfway, took a train, a bus, and another train, just to make sure I wasn’t being followed. Then I got a new car in New York. A car that doesn’t scream class, but also doesn’t scream “I’m broke as fuck.” It wasn’t really cheap, but also it wasn’t a luxurious car.

The first thing I see before the person steps out of the car is the expensive dress shoes. It's a man. A very tall man, I can tell by his legs. He shuts the car door and buttons his suit jacket while glaring at me through my side mirror.

"Oh, shit." I sink into my car seat with my hands on the steering wheel, gripping onto it for dear life.

The man stops outside my driver's window as he glares at me. Like, damn, how is he this handsome?

I try to hide how perplexed I am at how attractive this man is as I stare at him as he stands outside my driver's window. He’s tall, with golden skin, and his hair is a shade of dark brown that’s perfectly styled and slicked back. His face is that of a model, without blemishes, and his nose, how the hell is it that straight? His lips are a dark shade of red and his eyes are the most beautiful pair of blue I’ve ever seen. I almost got lost in his ocean-blue eyes.

I gulp.

He knocks at my window calmly as he glares at me. With his dark brooding stare. The one you give your whining child who wants a lot of attention from you.

"Roll down the window, will you?" I read his lips. I stare at him and slowly shake my head no.

I don't know this man or who he is, but I know one thing for sure. He's powerful and rich. I can literally smell the dominance and wealth from where I’m sitting in my car. He's intimidating, the kind of people I don't want to get involved with because they remind me of home. Of my family in Italy.

He looks like he's in haste as he knocks on my window again. Harder this time.

"Roll down the fucking window, will you?" I read his lips again. His eyebrows are knitted and he looks like he wants to break my car window and pull me out.

Okay. Time to get out of here, Robyn.

I step on my accelerator as I speedily drive out of the parking lot. Far away from that hot stranger.