Page 19 of My Ex’s Dad (Scandalous Billionaires #1)

I stop, feeling awkward, but Warrick must sense it. He glances behind him, and something in his eyes changes. A wrinkle on his forehead disappears. I watch the way his shoulders dip as he lets out a breath he must have been holding. It’s like he’s relieved I followed him in.

I get it. Doctors freak me out too.

This place is nice, but it’s still one of those places where people get poked and prodded, and seriously?

He just threw up blood . If that were me, I’d be in full meltdown mode, fearing the worst. I’d think I was dying .

He might be calm on the outside, but he’s not feeling well, and now I’ve probably worked him into a sense of unease.

It doesn’t matter if he’s good at hiding it. It doesn’t make it less valid.

That glance over his shoulder seals it for me. I’m going in there, or at least staying and waiting.

The doctor turns and follows Warrick’s stare. He smiles at me. He’s a middle-aged man who looks perfectly capable and at ease. He doesn’t have a worried, clinical, overworked, and harried sense about him at all, which makes me feel better.

“I’m going to run some tests. Would you like to have a seat in the waiting room? Can I get you anything? Coffee or tea?”

I’m sure when he says I, he means the pretty, young secretary at the front. I shake my head. “I’m alright. I’d be happy to wait. Thank you.”

They disappear together, and I take a seat in the small area. The chairs look hard and modern, but they’re actually quite comfortable.

They must have some ergonomic benefits. After an hour of waiting, my butt cheeks aren’t numb, and my back doesn’t hurt.

Another half an hour passes, and I wish I’d brought my earbuds.

Not to resume the monster smut but to listen to some music or get a podcast going.

Something educational and distracting . The place is surprisingly quiet, and there’s nothing to do except flip through the token fitness and health magazines on the table.

Twenty minutes later, the door finally cracks open.

I shoot to my feet, even though it could be someone else.

Ugh, skull emoji to my overzealous reaction.

I can practically see Granny tittering away in my head.

It makes me miss her and my parents a thousand times more.

I need to get back home for a few days. It’s been too long, and video chat just isn’t cutting it.

I need my family. Healthy interaction, cooking, laughter, board games, Granny’s inappropriate comments.

Meatloaf molded into horrific shapes.

The whole freaking deal.

My sigh vaporizes into the hushed atmosphere while my heart does a double kick, running laps in my chest when I realize it is Warrick. He looks much better. He’s also rubbing at his wrist, which makes me think he probably got an IV to get hydrated. I wonder if he got an anti-nausea shot.

He settles up at the front while I wait, and the receptionist flirts obscenely with him, all smiles and easy, perky laughter. She’s also wearing a black blouse that is unbuttoned by at least three buttons at the top, showcasing her marvelous breasts.

I’m not wildly jealous of her confident smiles, and I don’t find her laughter grating at all. Nope. Because that would be…ridiculous.

I’m just here to take my sick boss home. There was no one else to bring him, and short of calling an ambulance, he was not in any condition to drive.

Err, wait. Does he have a private driver?

If he does, I don’t know about it, and it would have been silly, making them come all this way and exposing them to a nasty bug.

I’m already living and working in the house.

I’ll take the mumps if they come my way, but there’s no sense in getting someone else involved and—

Warrick is finished. He doesn’t even blink at the receptionist’s forward persistence or notice the way she waggles her fingers at him in the form of a goodbye.

Outside, he stops in the middle of the clinic’s neatly trimmed sidewalk so abruptly that I nearly rear-end him.

Shit. Now, I want to drop my eyes and actually take in his rear end. Totally wrong thing to do and absolutely the wrong time.

I focus hard on the grass. Thankfully, it actually has a lot going on. I have to do a double take to my left and then my right. What the ass? I’m ninety-two percent sure they have fake grass. It’s just way too perfect.

Warrick doesn’t say anything, but he’s not moving either.

I tear my eyes away from the grass and focus on him in a safe way.

Meaning his face, not his danger zones. Abs.

Butt. Huge shoulders. Chiseled jawline. Muscles for days.

That beard I shouldn’t like because I’ve never found facial hair the least bit enticing.

Fuck, the only safe zone pretty much belongs to the eyes, and I’m even having trouble with that because his eyes are nice. Really nice. Swoony nice.

“Are you okay?” Obviously not, genius.

He rubs his wrist absently. “According to all the tests, I’m fine. It really is just a bug. Blood sometimes happens if you’ve thrown up too many times, too hard.”

My insides go liquid with relief. “I’m glad that’s all it is. Sorry that I made you come,” I tack on, feeling like a total heel for overreacting. This poor man probably just got poked and prodded to kingdom fucking come because of me.

“The doctor agreed with you. It’s not something to be taken lightly. He did hydrate me and give me an anti-nausea injection, and I feel much better.”

I can’t help laughing. “I’m so sorry!” I slap my hand over my mouth. “It’s just, I was thinking exactly that. Maybe I was a doctor in my last life. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” I fish his keys out of my bag. “I’m still not letting you drive though.”

“That’s…yeah. Good idea. Better is a subjective word.”

“You look wonderful.” For the love of cat-shaped meatloaves. Foot, meet mouth. “I mean, I think what they gave you is working. You were pretty much waxy all the way here, and at the house, your skin had this horrible pallor. Did they give you something for the fever?”

“They did. It pretty much took care of the headache from hell I was rocking. The IV helped the dizziness, even if I hate them.”

“I do too.” I shudder at the thought of needles. I’m such a wimp when it comes to them.

Before I can do something silly like put my hand on his back and guide him to the car or hug him because he looks like he’s in serious need of one, I walk quickly to the car. Then, I get it unlocked and open his door for him.

He winces at me doing all of it for him.

“Nope. Don’t frown. I like being the perfect gentleman.” Apparently, my jokes suck ass today.

He collapses into the passenger seat and heaves out the biggest sigh. “I hope I don’t make you sick. This is the worst. I’m so sorry.”

I start the car with the push button that I’ll never get used to and glide us out onto the road. It literally feels like we’re running on air and not tires.

“It could be worse. It could be a man cold. For the record, if you want chicken soup or toast or anything, I can make it. I’ll be extra careful not to burn anything down this time. You just let me know.”

He closes his eyes, looking like he’d enjoy vaporizing as much as I would have liked to do the same on the sidewalk back there. “No one’s ever made me soup before.”

It’s a good thing his eyes are closed. There’s no controlling my shock and sadness. My face is probably doing goober-worthy stuff.

Seriously, what the fuck to Warrick’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Beanbottom suck ass, and I haven’t even met them.

“That’s…” Such a travesty? So freaking sad? I, second-hand, really intensely want to kick your parents in the crotch. Both of them. I’ll take care of you. It’s not a problem. And not because you’re paying me, either. It’s because I want to.

I know I need to fill something in, but I just drive and let silence wrap around the car.

My face is probably further being a goober, projecting my thoughts all over the place, but I don’t have to worry about getting myself under control.

At one red light, one side-eye glance to my right confirms that Warrick is already fast asleep.