Page 40 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
Thanks, Brooke.
The coffee hadn’t brewed, but I didn’t need it. I was running on instinct, muscle memory from a hundred hard conversations.
I didn’t look up when Liam walked in. Just raised a finger for him to wait as I scribbled some notes on the pad.
“Yes, that sounds promising. I’ll email over her records right away, and you can let me know if she can fit Maeve in this week. Please let me know if Dr. Alston has any questions. Thank you.”
I clicked off the call and exhaled. Then, I finally looked up.
Liam stood near the counter.
Barefoot. Shirtless. Hair still sleep-creased.
Oh boy.
I took a deep breath and tried very hard to focus on my screen. Maybe this view was too good.
“You look tired,” I said, not looking up again.
What can I write down? Brooke, I'm going to kill you.
Okay, that made me feel better.
“Yeah,” Liam said on a low exhale. “I haven’t been sleeping great lately.” He headed toward the coffeemaker, stretching one arm up to the cupboard like it was a slow-motion ad for muscle tone.
And then he paused, his hand brushing across his chest like he’d only just noticed he was half-dressed.
My eyes snapped back to my laptop screen, cheeks warming. Yep. Too good.
Without a word, he pivoted and disappeared down the hall.
I adjusted the brightness on my screen, like that might help recalibrate my brain.
A minute later, he was back. T-shirt on, jaw set like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
He didn’t say anything, just moved toward the coffee like nothing happened. I finally glanced back up.
The shirt helped.
A little.
I drew in a quiet breath and tried to think about…
What was I doing? Maeve. Right.
He offered a faint smile. "You’re, uh… already on the warpath."
"I prefer to think of it as productive."
He walked over to my little war room and slid a mug next to my notes.
I slid the notepad toward him, tapping two names I’d circled. "Both are top-tier neurologists. One’s at Johns Hopkins. The other’s here, just uptown. If Maeve hasn’t had a full panel yet, they’ll run it. And they’ll listen."
He looked down at the paper, but didn’t touch it. "How did you know who to call?"
I shrugged. "When you work in my field, you learn whose brains are worth borrowing."
Liam pulled out a chair across from me but didn’t sit right away. His hand brushed the backrest. He looked like he wanted to say something.
