Page 57 of The Bossy Billionaire

“Miss Bloomer, this way,” she says, obviously notified of my arrival as she shuffles me past the waiting room and straight into a consultation room. “The doctor will be with you shortly.” Her voice is soft and relaxes me a little, so I take a seat and pull in a breath. The nerves crawl across my skin as I curl my hands together and try to get my fear under control. I am fine. I am safe. It is just a consult, I tell myself as the familiar disinfectant smell curls up my nostrils.

Less than a minute later, the door opens quickly, and I jump out of my seat.

“Dr. Ward?” I question, as if it would be anyone else.

“Lucy, great to meet you. Hudson has forwarded me your file and spoken to me about your situation, and I would be happy to help,” he says, taking a seat and smiling. I feel at ease immediately. He is young, energetic, and in complete contrast to any other doctor I have seen. We talk for the next twenty minutes about my leg and what can be achieved. Like Hudson, he also seems to think it is an open and shut case. Easy. In and out. He can tell I am anxious, so he explains the process thoroughly and offers to take me to the smaller, more private hospital on the other side of town that will offer me more security and privacy. At least being the sister of a presidential candidate gives me some benefits.

“I understand that this is a big week for you and your calendar is probably busy, but if you want to get this done, I can fit you in within the next few weeks.” I wonder if he has ever been in one of those toothpaste commercials, because his teeth are large, straight, and blindingly white.

I purse my lips and push my fears aside. I want less pain. I want to walk without a limp. I want to be whole again. I look at him and swallow before I nod slowly. “Let’s do it,” I tell him, deciding then and there to commit. It is time. I have had a lot of surgeries and treatments so it can’t get any worse.

“Good. I know this is the right course for you. You will wonder why you didn’t do it earlier.” He scribbles a few things down. “I just need to get you to sign some forms. I will run a few basic tests here now, and then you can go, and I will get the office to call you later this week to discuss time and day.”

After another thirty minutes of signing forms and getting some tests done, I walk out of the consultation room, feeling just as scared but also grateful to have a way forward.

“Luce.” Huxley’s voice is abrupt, and my head flicks up in surprise as I see him strutting toward me with fire in his eyes.

“Huxley?” I say, startled and confused. My eyes widen as I drink him in, wearing his business suit, concern etched into his features. He continues straight for me, then his hands circle my waist. Dr. Ward clears his throat and nods toward an open door behind us, and Huxley drags me back into the empty consultation room, closing the door on the outside world.

“What are you doing here?” I am surprised that he is here and not in New York where I thought he was. My heart pounds now for entirely a different reason.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here today?” he demands, not looking happy as his hand comes to my face and pushes back a loose hair before he cups my cheek, caressing my skin with his thumb.

“Who told you I was here?” I ask, still in shock at his arrival. Although given my brothers were the only people I told, I assume it was one of them who told him.

“I know everything. Again, why didn’t you tell me you were here?” he asks, his voice a little calmer. His eyes roam my face, looking me over. The warmth from his body being close almost makes me lean into him.

“Who told you?” I ask again as my hands find my hips, trying to act angry when secretly I am delighted to see him.

“Eddie…” he says, like he knows what I am thinking.

“Well, he should have kept his mouth shut.”

“You should have told me. I could have driven you.” His eyes search mine.

“I don’t need you to,” I state, immediately feeling bad that I pulled him away from work. I also need to make clear that he doesn’t need to be my caretaker. He has multimillion-dollar empires to manage. Running after me and all my appointments would leave him little time for anything else.

“But I want to,” he says, confirming his stance right in front of me. He looks solid, dependable, and I look up at him, seeing him ready to take on the world.

“I am not a charity case.” While I have progressed a lot in the last few weeks, I still hate being a burden. I hate feeling like I am pitiful.

“No, you’re not a charity case, but you are my fucking girlfriend,” he grits out, his nostrils flaring.

“What?” I say, shocked, my eyes bugging from my head.

“Girlfriend. Mine. Whatever you want to label it. Whispers meant something to me. I want you. I am all in. You and me,” he says, his anger subsiding to arousal as his nose skirts across my cheek. I can barely breathe as I think about his words.

Girlfriend. Huxley Hamilton is committing to me.

“Are you sure that is what you want?” I ask him quietly.

“I have been in New York for a week without you, and I am struggling. Struggling not seeing you, touching you, being with you. I can barely sleep, wondering if you are safe. I come home to an empty apartment every night. I can barely focus on work. New York feels cold, heartless. It isn’t what I want anymore. You are what I want,” he says with conviction, and I look up at him, a little lost for words. I bite my bottom lip and try to collect my thoughts. “Fuck, Luce… tell me you’re mine…” he groans, because I know biting my lip does something to him.

“I feel the same. I don’t like being without you. I don’t like crawling into an empty bed at night. I miss you all the time,” I say quickly, relief filling the anxious void that was starting to build inside of me. “I’m yours.” I’m not able to stop the smile on my face. He grips my ass hard and squeezes me to him, dropping a chaste kiss to my lips before pulling back with a matching smile.

“Now, let me pay for this little visit, and when we get into the car, I want your mouth on me. I haven’t seen you for almost a week, and I am getting calluses on my hand from fucking it too much thinking about you.”

Bossy Huxley is my favorite.

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