Page 25 of Bad Blood

9:37 a.m.

I try to remind myself that he doesn’t know what a shitty morning it’s been.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets as he leans against the edge of the counter, closing the distance between us.

The smell of aftershave and mint fills my nostrils, and I struggle with his proximity.

I don’t have time for this.

“I got your messages—all of them.” I offer him a pacifying smile despite my mild annoyance and suck in a steadying breath. “I had a meeting. Sorry I wasn’t able to get back to you. It’s been an eventful day.”

“It’s only a little after nine.” The look I get from him screams that I’ve said too much.

And it hits me—he’s the guy from the waiting room.

I don’t know what he knows, but I’m sure he noticed the welcoming party of news vans.

I attempt to play it off and reorganize Liam’s file. I turn and take a seat on the rolling stool, feeling his eyes heavy on me as I roll away from him and his distracting scent. I’m not sure what he’d think if he knew I’m named in the malpractice. I force the mental disconnect and offer a reflective smile.

Visible tension leaves his body. I get a reserved grin as he pulls his ball cap over his face, shielding his unreadable blue eyes.

I don’t have time for pretty boys and their charm.

I roughly prepared myself for this conversation and went over the entirety of Liam’s chart. I know the ins and outs of the protocol necessary for his treatment and how to deliver it. But nothing prepared me for Dax and the look of desperation I’m getting.

A smile sneaks across his full lips before they press into a scowl.

Pay attention. Read the room. Evaluate my next move.

A human can go through roughly twenty-seven emotions at once—I read this in the newspaper this morning, along with the information about the pending litigation—I plan on avoiding twenty-six of the emotions threatening to surface as I allow Dax to distract from my shitshow of a life.

Why don’t days like this come with a warning?

“Where would you like to start?” I ask, pushing aside my desire to hunt for more information to help with my case. I open Liam’s chart to the referral from Dr. Gibbons and offer it to Dax. “We only have a few minutes.” I try not to appear pushy.

His eyes glaze over as they scan the page, and he drops back into his seat.

He won’t understand the jargon and terminology describing the findings and what we will do with them, but I need a second to compartmentalize the other facets of my life. My mind is one hundred percent elsewhere.

What is Kline trying to do?

I sneak a peek and find Dax watching me. He fights a smile but loses the battle as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth and relaxes against the wall.

It’s unnerving.

“Scans? Blood work? Treatment?” I cross my arms over my chest and mimic his posture. “After all the phone calls, nothing?”

I wait for his response, trying to hide my irritation. I have things to do and people to see.

His eyes drop to the chart, and I allow myself a moment to take in all six feet of him. He’s quite the distraction. A collection of tattoos winds up his right arm and disappears under the sleeve of his fitted black tee. A cherub, roses, a couple of butterflies.

Interesting.

A trace of stubble covers his chiseled jaw, and a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. My eyes fly to his, and I feel a heat rush up my neck the second I realize I’m caught.

“Is this why he needs you?” His tone is a little rude and to the point. He leans forward, positioning the file in front of me as he points at the page, concern and confusion wrinkling his brow. He pulls his full lower lip between his teeth and stares at me as he waits for my response.

His question pulls me from my assessment of him, and I grimace. What is wrong with me? Blood drains from my face. I can’t believe I’m not paying attention. “I’m sorry, what?” My words come out more apprehensive than I intended. I grab hold of the edge of the counter, trying to steady the tremor in my hands. Coffee on an empty stomach—that’s what I’ll blame.

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