Page 22 of Unbind

‘Not necessary,’ Dr Dyson, who may be my new best friend, says. ‘I’ll fill you in later where I think it’s pertinent. Otherwise, I’d like to offer this young lady a little privacy. After all, it sounds like she’s had quite an evening, so far.’

I swallow a smirk as Adam mutters a hostilefineand backs away from us.

Thank goodness someone can stand up to him.

13

NATALIE

Dr Dyson’s examination is as efficient as it is thorough. He persuades me to take off my heels, and I relax into an armchair while he puts me on an IV drip with a cocktail of vitamins and electrolytes that he swears will help me recover my energy. He monitors my glucose levels, takes my blood pressure, my heart rate and my oxygen levels and draws some blood that he says will go straight to an overnight lab for testing.

He also replaces my CGM and examines my pump, just for good measure.

And while we wait for the IV bag to empty, he asks me endless probing questions about my medical history, the last time I had my eyes and kidneys checked, my diet, my day-to-day job and general stress levels, and the events leading up to today’s hypo.

‘I was really worked up,’ I confess. ‘I was stressed about the mee—a meeting I was having, and I just couldn’t get enough food down me. My stomach was in knots. I thought I’d have time after the meeting to eat my dinner. I miscalculated.’

He frowns. ‘There are other ways to compensate if you’re going to miss a meal. They’re not ideal, but they’re better than what happened. Gummies, gels.’

I nod, chastened, because this is basic stuff, and I don’t need him to tell me I fucked up. Even if his disapproval is far easier to stomach than Adam’s.

When the bag is emptied, and I’m sporting a little round plaster on each arm from the drip and the blood tests, he leaves me to go find Adam. I slump back in the armchair and survey my surroundings. I’m beyond exhausted, and the idea of a long, wet journey home in four-inch heels on tubes and buses is the last thing I feel like, but it’ll be good to get home, and it’ll feel even better to get out of this dress and these holdups and into my pyjamas.

I just wish I hadn’t left my flats tucked under the lectern at Alchemy.

And I wish this armchair wasn’t quite so obscenely comfortable, or this fire so warming, or this room so indulgent. I allow myself another cube of ridiculously good herb-infused cheese from the platter the butler, Toby, brought in a few minutes into my checkup.

Dr Dyson returns with Adam a couple of minutes later, both men talking in low voices. As they come around to stand by the fire, I can’t help but gape.

Because clearly Adam has used his banishment as an opportunity to shower and change.

Holy shit.

He’s in grey jogging bottoms and a form-fitting white t-shirt under an unzipped navy hoodie bearing the Wright Holdings logo on the chest. His hair is damp, his curls raked sleekly off his face and his feet encased in moccasin-style slippers.

He’s fully dressed, of course—there’s almost no part ofhis body left uncovered save for his hands and neck—but it’s still… confronting. I’m well aware by now that the man wears the heck out of a custom-made suit, but the sight of casual Adam, dressed so informally in his own home, feels illicit, somehow. Wrong.

I glance down at my legs and hurriedly straighten up in my chair to hide the glimpse of lace I’m flashing. What’s appropriate for Alchemy is definitely not appropriate for here.

Before I can say anything, Dr Dyson chimes in smoothly. ‘Adam here was suggesting you stay the night, and I have to say I agree. I understand you live somewhere in north London?’

I push myself out of my chair and smooth down my dress. Excellent. He and his doctor are in cahoots to keep me trapped here. ‘Yes, but it’s fine. Staying here’s not an option. I’m going to make a move now. Thank you so much for… everything.’

Flustered, I bend to grab my tote bag, but Adam stops me with a hand on my arm. I jolt away.

‘Natalie,’ he says in a voice that brooks no argument. ‘Listen to me. I’m sure you’re anxious to get home, but it’s not a good idea. You’re very welcome here. I can feed you, and you can get some sleep, and then tomorrow morning I’ll get my nutritionist over to run through some ideas, too. I’ve already texted her.’

Oh, for the love of God. This is bloody ridiculous.

‘I have to work tomorrow morning,’ I tell him, trying to keep my tone positive. ‘And I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done this evening, honestly I am, but there’s no need for any of that. I’ll be absolutely fine.’

‘I’d feel far happier if you stayed,’ Dr Dyson says firmly. ‘The last thing you need right now is a long trek acrossLondon. Have some food, go take a long bath in one of Wright’s many tubs, get an early night, and his nutritionist can give you some advice in the morning. It sounds like you’re out and about a lot with your job. He or she can help you work out a plan for keeping your glucose levels stable when you’re on the go.’

I glare at him. This definitely feels like a conspiracy to imprison me here. And his suggestion of a bath—and a sound sleep—almost made me laugh. There’s no way I’d ever feel comfortable enough in Adam Wright’s house to get naked and bathe, let alone catch a wink of sleep.

I play my trump card. ‘I don’t have a change of clothes. I don’t even have a toothbrush! I can’t turn up at work tomorrow looking like this.’

‘There’s a load of stuff upstairs for you,’ Adam says evenly. ‘I’ve had some things biked over from Selfridges. Toiletries, nightwear, some stuff for tomorrow. It’s no big deal, but hopefully it’ll cover everything you need for one night. I really hope you’ll be able to make yourself at home.’

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