Page 45 of A Billionaire Gentleman

Twenty-Six

Deklin

A tripto the ER was not part of the plan for today’s date.

Sending the woman I liked to the ER didn’t seem like the best way to start a relationship, and I really hoped this wasn’t foreshadowing the way things would keep going between us. Still, her dying from anaphylaxis would’ve been worse.

“Feeling better, Mrs. Stafford?” The ER doctor tugged the privacy curtain around us, and I wondered again if I should even be back here with her.

“Yes.” Sofi’s voice was still a little breathy, but at least she was breathing semi-normally again.

“As I told your husband, you most likely ate something that caused an allergic reaction. He said you don’t have any known food allergies.”

“I said I didn’t know,” I corrected him. “And I’m not her husband. We were on a date, and we were eating our salad when it happened.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the chart. “That explains why we don’t have a lot of medical history here.”

“She couldn’t exactly fill out paperwork while she couldn’t breathe,” I said dryly. “I wrote down what I know.”

“Which included her health insurance information?”

I reminded myself that telling him it was none of his business how I knew her insurance information wouldn’t do any good. Then I realized that he probably thought we were having an affair since he’d called her Mrs.

“We work at the same place, but she just started so she doesn’t have her insurance card yet.”

“But she’s already covered?”

At least they waited untilaftergiving her a shot of epinephrine to start asking these sorts of questions. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I handed the doctor my license.

“I’m Deklin Holden. As in Holden Enterprises. Where she works. She’s covered.” I took my ID back and then handed him a business card. “Put that in her file and make a note that if there are any problems with the insurance company, to have them call me directly. I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. Her face was pink, but I didn’t think it was still from the allergic reaction. She was embarrassed.

Before I could figure out how to tell her not to be embarrassed without actually bringing it up, the doctor started talking again.

“So, Mrs. Stafford, do you have any food allergies?”

“It’s Ms. And, no, none that I know of,” she said, carefully not looking in my direction.

“Was there anything you ate today that you hadn’t eaten before? You’ll want to carry an EpiPen with you, but you should identify what caused the reaction today so as to avoid it in the future.”

“I’m not sure.” She picked at the plastic hospital bracelet on her wrist. “I didn’t see anything I didn’t recognize.”

“What about seasoning? Dressing?”

“I didn’t order any dressing.”

I pulled up my phone and went to the restaurant’s website. After finding the detailed menu information, I handed her my phone.

She handed it back. “I can’t read French.”

I was an idiot. I hadn’t even considered that it might be an issue. Rather than commenting on it, I started reading off the ingredients.

A few items in, she held up a hand. “Truffle oil. It’s the only thing on there I’ve never had before. Isn’t a truffle some sort of mushroom?”

“It is,” the doctor said. “You should avoid it until you speak with your regular doctor about having some allergy tests done. Who do you normally see?”

“I don’t live here.” She glanced at me. “I mean, I’m from Las Vegas, and I only got here yesterday.”

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