Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 174632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
The older doctor started spluttering. “I don’t think it’s necessary for you to be in here, Mr . . .”
“Blackstone. And I’m her bodyguard, so yes, it is.”
“She’s in no danger from me, I can assure you.”
“What if I’m one of her current sexual partners?” Ian asked. “Do you have some questions to ask me about STDs and birth control and whether I’m active with more than one person?”
“You’re not, are you?” she asked.
Then she smacked her hand against her forehead. God. Why did she ask that? What is wrong with her?
“No, Little Misfit. I’m not. And don’t hurt yourself.”
“You hurt yourself? How?” Doctor Evans asked.
“I don’t hurt myself.”
Liar.
She hadn’t pulled her hair in a day or two so maybe she was getting better.
“I’m confused,” he said. “Did you give yourself this current injury?”
“Are you for real right now?” Ian snapped.
Uh-oh.
Red alert.
“I got this injury five years ago in a car accident when I shattered my hip,” she told him coolly. “Sometimes it flares up and gives me problems when I walk on it too much or get really stressed and don’t take care of myself.”
“Right . . . right . . . well, I will examine it.”
She put up with his clammy gross fingers on her. He didn’t say much, at least. But he definitely gave her the creeps.
Maggie really wished Jameson was still her doctor. After an x-ray and ultrasound, she was feeling exhausted as she was wheeled toward another room by an orderly. Both Doctor Evans and Ian had insisted on the wheelchair. She got the feeling that if Ian hadn’t been on bodyguard duty, he would have carried her.
She wanted to go home and check on Uncle Willy. Jack had been sending updates to Ian. Apparently, they’d played a game of gin rummy, watched a dreadful reality TV show about hoarders, and now he was having a nap.
She was worried that they weren’t going to get the photos they needed done, even though Ian had reassured her that the princes and Pippa weren’t upset, she couldn’t help but worry.
“All right, we’re going to do an MRI now,” Doctor Evans said.
Panic gripped her.
“Nope. No, we’re not,” she said hastily, grabbing hold of the chair’s wheels as the orderly started pushing her into the room. “Back it up, buddy.”
Doctor Evans frowned down at her. “We need an MRI. If you’re worried about the cost, your insurance will cover it, I’m sure.”
“No. Nope. It doesn’t cover it. So I can’t have it. Let’s go, buddy!”
“Wait. Little Misfit, what’s wrong with having an MRI?” Ian crouched next to the wheelchair.
She bit her lip, looking over at Doctor Evans, then the orderly.
“I’m taking her into the room. You two stay out here,” Ian ordered.
“Excuse me.” Doctor Evans puffed up. “This is my hospital.”
“Good for you. Stay put.” Ian wheeled her into the room with the huge MRI scanner. She gulped nervously.
Thankfully, there was no one in the room. “I don’t want to go in there, Ian.”
Ian looked over at the machine. Understanding filled his face. “Jack said you got scared in the lift. Does that have something to do with not wanting an MRI?”
She nodded. “It moves and it’s noisy and you have to stay still. I’ve done it before. You go into the tunnel and it’s . . . it’s scary. I know I’m being a big wimp—”
Ian placed his hand over her mouth. “Stop that. If you don’t want to do it, then you don’t do it.” He moved his hand when she touched it with hers.
“Really?” she asked, relief making her light-headed.
“Of course, Little girl. No one will make you do anything you don’t wish to do, and if they try, then you tell me. I’ll take care of them.”
She wished she could have Ian with her all the time.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“Get dressed and go home.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Ian grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and turned her toward the door.
But Doctor Evans walked in before they could leave. He was tapping on his phone and not looking at them. “Right, the technician is coming soon to set everything up. She’ll help you get ready.”
“I’m not having the MRI.”
“Yes, you are,” Doctor Evans said, looking up and putting his phone away.
“Could I go feet first?” she asked. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
“No. You’ll be going head first. This is necessary to ensure that no substantial damage has been done to your hip.”
“No. Ian, I don’t want it.” Panic started to fill her again. She tugged at her hair, then realised the doctor was watching her closely. “Ian, I want to go home.”
Ian frowned but nodded, putting his phone away. “All right, Little Misfit.”
“This is against medical advice, you realize,” Doctor Evans said pompously.
“I don’t need the MRI. Ian.”
“Let’s go.” Ian pushed her out the door and back down to the area where she’d gotten changed. She couldn’t wait to get back into her clothes.