Page 25 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
He glances over, a hint of surprise in those hazel eyes. "We might be at odds, Alice, but I'm not a monster."
The car purrs down the road, so smooth it barely jostles my swelling ankle. I stare out the window, determined not to look at him. Being alone with Oscar feels dangerous in ways I'm not ready to examine.
"Does it hurt badly?" he asks after a few minutes of silence.
"I've had worse." I haven't, but he doesn't need to know that.
He sighs. "You always were stubborn."
"And you always thought you knew what was best for everyone."
The words hang between us as he navigates through traffic with practiced ease. The Urgent Care Center comes into view, a plain building that looks woefully pedestrian next to Oscar's luxury SUV.
"Wait here," he says after parking.
Before I can protest, he's circled around and opened my door. To my genuine shock, he scoops me up like I weigh nothing.
"What are you doing?" I gasp, instinctively gripping his shoulders.
"Helping. Unless you'd prefer to hop again?"
Damn him, he’s right.
I let him carry me through the sliding doors, fighting the bizarre flutter in my chest at being held against him. It feels both familiar and foreign — like slipping into an old favorite sweater that no longer quite fits.
The waiting room is mercifully empty, so hopefully that means I won’t have to wait long. Oscar helps keep me upright while we check in, and then I’m given some forms to fill out and told to wait on one of the hard chairs.
The silence as I fill out the paperwork isn't entirely uncomfortable. There's something oddly domestic about sitting here with Oscar, something that makes me wonder for the briefest moment what life might have been like if things had gone differently between us twelve years ago.
"Alice Mackie?" A nurse appears at the doorway, mercifully interrupting my dangerous train of thought.
Oscar stands. "Need help?"
I shake my head and rise carefully, using the chair arms for support. The pain makes me wince visibly this time, and before I can protest, Oscar is at my side, his arm around my waist.
"Just to the exam room," he says quietly, as though sensing my impending objection.
I allow it, leaning against him more than I want to. His warmth seeps through my shirt where his hand rests on my hip, steady and secure.
The nurse leads us to a small room with an examination table covered in paper that crinkles as Oscar helps me onto it. She takes my vitals, asks about the injury, then leaves with a promise that the doctor will be in shortly.
"You don't have to stay," I tell Oscar once we're alone.
He settles in the visitor chair, crossing one ankle over his knee in that casual way men who don’t have real problems always seem to sit. "I'm not leaving you stranded at Urgent Care."
"It’s hardly stranded. I can get Sydney to pick me up."
"I'm sure you can. But I'm already here." His eyes meet mine. "Alice, can we just pause the hostilities for an hour? You're hurt. Let me help."
There's sincerity in his expression that catches me off guard. I realize he’s right. I’m taking things too far. Especially now, it’s uncalled for.
"Okay," I concede softly. "And… thank you for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes soften, starting to draw me in. Summoning all my strength, I look away.
The doctor arrives, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and efficient hands. She examines my ankle, manipulating it gently but still eliciting sharp gasps from me. Afterwards, I need to have an X-ray done, but the results come back quickly.
"Just a sprain," the doctor concludes. "A bad one, but nothing's broken. You'll need to rest it, ice it, compress it, and elevate it. The classic RICE protocol. I'll write you a prescription for the pain."
