“Mrs?!” Riley yelled.
Then she burst into a full blown laughter.
“God, no.
He is my brother.” The man, Roman Sterling—I knew his name now—was looking at me with an expression that crossed between anger and disgust.
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” Why hadn’t I thought of that?
I mean, she seemed nice and could definitely do better than him.
Brother was good.
That way we could blame the universe for their relationship.
“Miss Sterling,” I corrected, “do you feel dizzy?” She was still laughing.
“No, not really.” “Headache?” “A little.
It became a lot worse when Roman showed up.” I didn’t know how to reply to that, but he was starting to give me a headache too.
And those hard eyes were effortlessly making me want to dare him.
“Nausea or blurred vision?” “Um, no.” Of course it was a negative or Richard would have included it in her chart, but I was asking for the benefit of Mr handsome—I mean, Mr annoying.
I checked the other page.
Can be discharged.
“Dr Locke has taken care of you.
It says here you are free to go,” I replaced the patient chart.
“Now with a mild concussion, the headache can last for a while, so you need your rest.
Avoid alcohol, any strenuous activity, and anything that requires intense concentration for the next few days.
If you develop worsening headaches, repeated vomiting, confusion, seizures, weakness, you come straight back.” “Okay.” Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“Is that it?” I shrugged.
What more did he want?
A colonoscopy?
“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, pulled out his phone and dialled a number.
“Brooklyn, call Dr Ramos.
Tell him I’m bringing Riley over for a full body check.” “No, I am not going to Dr Ramos.” Riley countered, pushing the bedcover away.
“I have been treated already and this doctor here says that I am okay.” “And I am supposed to trust her?” Wow.
You’d think after years of medical school I could be trusted.
Obviously I cannot.
My only mistake was that I misidentified them.
To him, I think that was enough.
Riley’s mouth fell open in utter disbelief.
“What is wrong with you?” she gave a tiny apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry.
My brother didn’t mean that.” He probably did but I had to smile because my patient was suffering so much shame I refused my gut feeling to ask for a cheek swab to check their DNAs.
They could not be related.
Adopted siblings maybe, because there was no way she was tied by blood to this pompous, egoistic—handsome—man.
“Why didn’t you take her to Westbridge Hospital?” the brute carefully asked the already frightened aide.
P.
S.
There was no care in his voice.
“What is your problem tonight?” Riley nearly shoved him, “She already told you we were at a gallery two streets away?
You want her to drive across town just to get me to Westbridge Hospital?” “Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“What were you doing there?” “It is a gallery, Roman.
What do you think I was doing there?” He stared at her.
She stared back.
There was something wrong and comical about the exchange.
He exhaled.
“If you wanted to visit a gallery, you could have told me.
I would have—” “—taken me to the classy ones all around the world,” Riley completed, sarcastically.
“I like these ones.” Another pause.
He turned again to the aide.
“You are fired.” “No, she is not.” Riley countered.
“You can mess with your staff.
Stay away from mine.” My voice came out before I could stop it.
“And should I mention to stay away from arguing with her for the next few days?
Concussion, remember?” I tapped my temple to emphasize.
Roman’s glare moved from Claire to sit on me.
I refused to look away.
There was something about him that clearly worked on other people.
That intimidating height.
The expensive clothes.
The cold confidence.
And probably that voice that suggested he was accustomed to people obeying him before he had finished giving an order.
It wasn’t going to work on me.
I was not going to give him the satisfaction.
I had spent too many years dealing with difficult patients and frightened families to be impressed by a man who apparently thought a gentle threat was a personality trait.
I turned my attention back to Riley.
“I see now that your brother can be hardheaded, but you must not argue with him for now.
Let him win.
He deserves a small trophy on his shelf.
You already have so much your shelves are in danger of collapsing.” When Roman opened his mouth, I lifted a finger.
“And no, you don’t need to take her to Westbridge Hospital to confirm her health.
I believe my certificates can vouch for me,” I paused, turning to Riley, “Except you want to.” Riley’s eyes moved from me to her brother.
She was so amused.
“I don’t want to.
I trust you completely, Dr…” “Holt,” I supplied.
“Dr Holt.” “Dr Holt,” she repeated.
“And truthfully, Dr Ramos is as overbearing as my brother.” I returned her smile.
Reaching her hand out, she climbed down from the bed.
The aide, Claire, immediately helped her with a crutch.
My eyes dropped to her legs.
I had not noticed it since.
It suddenly made sense why her brother was over the top.
It still did not excuse his attitude in my books though.
Roman immediately stepped forward.
“Let me help you.” She swatted at his hand.
“I have hands.” “I know that.” “I don’t need your help.” “I know.” Still he helped and she allowed him.
I watched them carefully.
She was clearly used to his overbearing nature, and he did not answer no when taking responsibility for her whether she wanted it or not.
And the way he looked at her when she struggled with the crutch told it all.
Concern.
And pain.
But it only lasted a second before the arrogance returned.
I quickly looked away.
“Um, the main desk will attend to you concerning your bills.” Roman pulled the curtain back for Riley.
“You are sure you don’t want to go to Westbridge?” She sighed.
“You can go yourself if you want to.
I’m going home.” I almost laughed.
Somehow I liked her.
If her brother was this insufferable, I liked that he had someone to at least cause him distress in return.
Roman looked as though he wanted to argue.
Riley simply adjusted her grip on the crutch and that ended it.
For the moment.
I stepped aside and allowed them to leave the cubicle.
Claire hurried after them, clearly terrified that Roman might remember he’d fired her.
He probably wouldn’t.
Or perhaps he would.
Men like him probably remembered everything.
I picked up the chart again and studied it again just so that I wouldn’t give Mr Impossible a leeway to think he was right.
There was no mistake.
Going to the nurses’ station, I signed off on the discharge form.
Somehow I searched and annoyingly found him.