Page 7 of Fixation

Her bright brown eyes met his before her expression shuttered and her lips flattened. “It’s been four days.”

“So, I’ve been unconscious for four fucking days!” He shook his head. “I cannot be unconscious again,da? I need to be on my feet soon.”

She didn’t reply. She continued to work around him, shining a torch in his eyes one by one and asking him various questions. How did he feel? How severe was his pain? Did anything else hurt? He replied to all her queries, but throughout it all, she didn’t look him in the eye even once.

He observed her as she checked his temperature and studied his vitals on the monitors connected to his body. She was dressed in a plain blue t-shirt and black leggings over which she’d worn a white lab coat. Her eyes beneath the monstrous glasses were bright, a deep brown shade. Her complexion was fair, and she had clear, glowing skin. Her nails, he noticed, were clean, devoid of nail paint. Despite the tight bun at her nape, she looked young. Very young, in fact. Fuck. What had Mihir been thinking when he’d hired some fresh, straight out of med school doctor to care for him? Was she even capable?

Her eyes sharpened to slits as they met his. “Oh, I assure you Mr. Oshnov, I’m more than capable.”

Bloody hell. What was wrong with him? Since when did he articulate his thoughts out loud?

Clearly, he’d managed to infuriate her because now her lips had tightened, and once again, she refused to look at him. She captured his wrist to check his pulse, and something foreign shot through him as her cool hand touched his warm skin. He shrugged it off as one of the many aches and pains he felt in his bruised and battered body.

Watching her ignore him irritated him further.

“Can you explain my injuries to me?” he asked.

She gave him a detailed explanation. Apart from a broken rib, one gunshot wound to his chest and one to his thigh, he’d been running a fever, which had finally come down on the third day. He had no other broken bones, but his injuries were delicate and would take time to heal.

Bloody fucking hell. He hated being incapacitated. He thought through everything, watching her work around him.

“Like I said earlier, I cannot be unconscious again,da?” he repeated. “I need you to get me on my feet soon.”

Her deep brown eyes latched on him. “You will be on your feet soon, as long as you diligently follow the treatment plan I’ve drawn out for you.”

With that vague explanation, she turned to move away from him. He caught her wrist. Something electric passed through his skin. It was nothing, he told himself, denying the nudge of familiarity he felt in his gut.

She faced him, cheeks flushed and eyes flaring. “Release my hand.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You and I both know that you are weak, injured, and in tremendous pain. So do us both a favour and stop being difficult for the heck of it. I’m here to help you recover, but I can only do that if you allow me to do my job. So, I’m going to ask you again, release my hand.”

She tried to shrug out of his hold. He held firm, though the effort to do even that much strained his chest, making it throb with pain. She didn’t miss his reaction. But he held her wrist firm. Fuck, he hated being sick and weak.

She gave him a pointed look that irked him further. Her dislike for him was written all over her face. To think of it, she’d seemed annoyed that first day he’d woken up briefly as well. Too bad. Mihir must have paid her and her team a truckloadof money to care for him. The least she could do was behave amiably and do whatever he expected from her.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She tipped her chin to the name tag on her pocket.

“Dr. Singh, I don’t like tablets, syrups, needles, or medication of any sort. I’ve hated them since I was a child. Hence, I never fall sick. But now that I am sick and unwell, I need you to get me on my feet with minimum use of the above. Am I clear?”

Her eyes flared. “How arrogant of you to believe you were never sick becauseyoudidn’t want to be? Are you so special to never get a headache or a stomach bug?”

His jaw clenched at her audacious words and tone. But before he could say anything, she continued, “I’m your doctor, not your servant, so don’t order me around. You should also know that you were a few minutes away from dying when you came to me.”

He hadn’t known that.

She read his expression, because she said, “Yes, I saved you. But if you want to continue to stay alive, then you will follow the treatment procedure that I’ve set in place for you, which means there will be medicines administered via IV drips and there will be injections. Once I determine you are improving, we will switch to tablets and syrups that youwilltake as per schedule as long as you are in my care. Apart from that, there is a whole physiotherapy program that I have planned for you, which we will begin once your pain is under control. So, now, if I have answered your queries, can you leave my hand and let me do the job I’ve been paid to do?”

Still, his grip held firm. What was wrong with him? Why was he irking her like this?

The door opened and Tyrion entered. He stopped short, shocked to see Vedant awake.

Vedant released her hand reluctantly. Reluctantly? What the hell was that? Clearly, he’d hit his head hard when he’d been attacked because he was behaving extremely unlike himself. He was the cool brother, the controlled one, the one who got shit done. He had no business behaving out of the ordinary, now more than ever, what with Ivan on the loose.

Tyrion stopped at the foot of his bed while his doctor scribbled some notes on a clipboard.

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