Page 27 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

My cheeks burn. “No, that's not?—“

“Oh, I understand,” June cuts me off, nodding sympathetically. “It must be hard, wanting to keep things private. But honestly, you two are adorable together. No need to be shy.”

Panic threatens to consume me. “There's nothing to be shy about,” I insist, my voice rising in frustration. “We met in New York eighteen months ago, and?—“

“See?” Damon claps. “I told you they'd been dating for at least a year!”

“Eighteen months?” June exclaims, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God, Emma, that's amazing!”

They’re determined I’m hiding something and are not going to believe we’re not in a relationship. No one would believe Emma Cole would kiss a random stranger she’s not seriously dating—in public, at that. Liam’s thoughtless action yesterday puts me in a serious bind.

I smile and excuse myself from the table, grabbing a jacket. He made this mess, and he should clean it up. I’m going straight to him to tell him right now.

My head throbs like a volcano about to erupt with fury. I can feel blistering anger scorching my insides. “Stupid, stupid Liam!” I spit under my breath, slamming my car door shut a little too hard.

I drive madly to the hospital, hurriedly parking my car and jumping out. The walk from the parking lot to the hospital entrance feels like an eternity. My legs pump with frantic energy. Bursting through the automatic doors, I scan the reception area, my gaze darting over the waiting patients. There, smack dab in the middle of the hall, stands Liam.

He's talking to a woman with a prominent belly, her hand resting protectively on it. Agatha, the perpetually gossiping baker from down the street. From the way she's eyeing me, I wouldn't be surprised if she's secretly hoping we give her some drama worth talking about.

Across from them, an old lady with a shock of white hair peers at us with an unnaturally keen interest. Everyone here would be thrilled to be firsthand witnesses to some juicy drama. Any stupid action here adds fuel to the fire of this absurd rumor, and that feeds my rage further.

This isn't the place to unleash it, though. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I force myself to calm down. Shouting at Liam in the middle of the hospital wouldn't exactly dispel the rumors, would it?

With a cold composure, I march toward him. “Liam,” I say, my voice clipped and formal.

He turns, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Emma? What are you doing here?”

I scan the crowded hallway. People of all ages and ailments sit scattered throughout the waiting area, casting curious glances in our direction. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid—more fodder for the rumor mill.

“Can we talk?” I hiss, my voice barely above a whisper. “Somewhere private…and soon.”

His jaw clenches for a moment, and I brace myself for some snarky retort. Instead, he surprises me again. “Sure,” he says after a beat. “I'll be free in about an hour. Do you want to wait here, or should I find you?”

There's a hint of concern in his voice, overshadowed by a layer of annoyance I can't quite place. “Whatever,” I mumble, frustration bubbling back up.

He shakes his head, a low grumble escaping his lips. He brushes past me, the scent of his cologne—a warm, woodsy fragrance—momentarily filling my senses. That was the first thing I noticed about him that night in New York, a catalyst that pushed me to throw caution to the wind and have a fun, carefree night with this intriguing stranger. Well, that and the fact that we'd both been embarrassingly drunk.

A young woman attendant approaches me, holding a steaming cup of coffee. “Dr. Miller asked me to give this to you,” she chirps pleasantly.

“Thank you,” I mumble, taking the cup from her outstretched hand. The warmth seeps through the paper, a small comfort in the face of my swirling emotions.

I watch Liam navigate the crowded hall, and every interaction with his patients leaves me speechless. He speaks to them with a gentle kindness I haven’t seen from him before, his demeanor far from the arrogant jerk I've gotten used to. He listens patiently, his brow furrowed in concern, and even cracks a few jokes that elicit genuine laughter.

This compassionate, caring side of him is completely unexpected.

Maybe there’s more to Liam Miller than I initially thought, but that doesn't change the tangled mess he'd gotten us both into. The clock on the wall seems to tick excruciatingly slow as I wait, the hot coffee growing lukewarm in my hand, mirroring the cooling of my initial anger but not the underlying frustration.

The initial inferno of anger that propelled me to the hospital is starting to simmer down, replaced by a simmering frustration. Every tick of the clock feels like a deliberate jab, each glance from a passing nurse another piece of fuel for my annoyance. An hour has crawled by, and Liam is nowhere to be seen.

Finally, I can't take it anymore. I flag down the attendant who'd given me the lukewarm coffee earlier. “Excuse me,” I say, my voice clipped. “Could you please tell Dr. Miller that Emma Jones is still waiting?”

The moment the words leave my lips, a familiar figure emerges from behind the curtained entrance to a patient's room. Dr. Miller, senior—Liam's father.

“Emma! There you are,” he booms, his voice carrying an undercurrent of surprise. “Liam told me you were here. Here, have some tea. It'll help you wait.”

He gestures toward a paper cup resting on a nearby table, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. Embarrassment floods my cheeks. I mentally curse myself for wanting so badly to cut him some slack. I should have known Liam is not capable of being considerate.

“Oh, thank you, Dr. Miller,” I stammer, taking the cup from him.

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