Page 13 of Fateful Exposure

I sputtered. "Jesus Christ. Must you be so…crude?"

"It's called being blunt," he deadpanned.

"It's called having no manners. You shouldn't talk to a lady like that. Who raised you?"

A shadow flashed across his face. Jaw clenched, his lips set in a hard line. "No lady would scream like a banshee while taking cock like you did. Get over yourself."

Then he stood up and walked out abruptly, leaving me gawking at the silence, wondering what I'd said that had darkened his expression to the point of blatant fury.

And why the hell did I feel like I'd done something wrong whenhewas the one spewing profanities?

I shook my head. Ashton McCall was turning out to be a harder nut to crack than when Turing broke the Enigma machine.

six

Selma

Another wave of nausea hit me, and I sucked in a large gulp of air, leaving my mouth with no space for anything else. The hospital waiting area reeked of antiseptic, bleach, and some other questionable smell of grease and rotten meat. There were more older people than younger ones, and I felt oddly out of place, which was weird because it was a fucking hospital.

The doctor I saw about two hours ago sent me to the lab to conduct a urine and blood test. Now, I was waiting for the test results.

Normally, I would have taken some painkillers and a reasonable amount of rest, but that was exactly the problem—I felt weak butnot sick. Like I needed more than just rest. The dizziness had been inconvenient, at most, but at least it was tolerable. It was the nausea and severe fatigue that worried me.

I roamed my eyes subtly around the waiting area, just in case there were any paparazzi around, hoping for a global shot. I could just imagine the headline: “Estranged fashion designer Selma Volkov, diagnosed with life-threatening sickness.” I would die. Literally.

"Miss Volkov?" A nurse appeared, her eyes searching the crowd.

I raised my hand, getting to my feet. "That's me."

"The doctor will see you now."

Finally.

I thanked her, heading to the room she'd directed me toward. I was so glad to be out of the waiting area that I almost buckled over in surprise when the nausea resurfaced.

Fuck.I sucked in another breath, as I walked down the hallway.

A young, beautiful brunette came in the room after me. It struck me as odd that this doctor was different from the previous one. She smiled a warm smile that instantly calmed me.

Take that, paparazzi. No doctor would smile at me like that if I had a life-threatening disease. I smiled in response, moving closer to her.

"Miss Volkov." She stood, stretching out her hand to me. "My name is Dr. Caroline Spear, and I’ll be your gynecologist today."

I did a double take.Gynecologist?

Regardless, I took her outstretched hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," she said, gesturing to the lone chair before me. “Please take a seat."

I wondered if this was how other people felt when I spoke to them from behind my small table. I did as she asked, placing my bag on my thighs. Then, I focused my attention on her. She had a file in front of her, which her eyes quickly scanned before raising her head to look at me.

"It says here that you've been experiencing dizzy spells and some nausea?” she asked.

I nodded. "Yes, for a few days now."

She suddenly straightened and leaned forward, intertwining her fingers on the table. "Miss Volkov—"

"Call me Selma, please," I interrupted.

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