Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 122550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Regent wasn’t used to taking care of sick people. Lottie had gotten sick a few times, but Gerald had prepared all her food and medicine. And if she was very ill, Regent had hired a nurse.
He paced back and forth, debating with himself about whether he should go in until the door opened again.
“Are you all right?” He stepped in front of her.
“Bed. I want my bed.”
She slumped forward and he grabbed her. Picking her up, he carried her to the bed. When he laid her down, he realized she hadn’t washed her face.
Sitting next to her, he picked up the thermometer.
“Open your mouth, baby.”
“No.”
“Jilly,” he said sternly.
“Nope.”
“Jilly, open your mouth. Now.”
“I don’t have to do what you say.”
“You do have to do what I say. Open your mouth.”
“For years, I wanted to hear those words. Dreamed about it. But does he say it how I want him to say it? No . . . all he wants to do is stick something plastic in there. Well, I don’t want plastic!”
She didn’t want plastic? What did she want?
“You don’t have a glass thermometer.”
“Don’t want glass either.”
All right. Enough. She wasn’t making any sense and he needed to take her temperature. This was a matter of her health.
“Jilly. Open. Right. Now.” He used his sternest voice.
She sniffled. A tear dripped down her face.
Oh. Fuck.
22
Damn it.
She was good.
Regent tried to remain stern. “Don’t do that.”
With a sniffle, she stared up at him with wide eyes. “Do what?”
“Do not cry. It doesn’t work with me.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I just don’t feel well and you’re not being very nice.”
He scrubbed his face. All right, he could accept that she wasn’t exactly thinking straight, so he shouldn’t expect her to act rationally.
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“What?” She gaped up at him.
“I’m sorry for being . . . mean.”
“A meanie-bo-beanie.”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“And as an apology, you’ll get me ice cream.”
“Have you got ice cream?” he asked.
“No. You’d have to go get some.”
“If the doctor says it’s all right, you can have some.”
“What does the doctor know?” she grumbled.
“I assume plenty since he went to school for a long time and then he’s been practicing on actual, live patients,” he said dryly.
“Doesn’t make him an expert on ice cream.”
“That is true. Now, please open your mouth so I can check your temperature.”
“You’re acting weird, Regent-Skigent.”
“So now you’re just going to make up words now to rhyme with my name?”
“Nothing good rhymes with Regent,” she grumbled.
“Hmm, how about obedient?”
“Yes, but you’re not very obedient, are you?”
Such a brat.
“How am I acting weird?” Regent sat even closer to her. He needed to wash her face. She’d get a rash sleeping with all that gunk on her skin.
And he admitted to himself that he didn’t like seeing it covering her face.
“Apologies and pleases.”
“I think it was just one please.”
“Still. Weird.” But she opened her mouth and let him put the thermometer in.
When it beeped, he took it out. “104. I don’t think that’s good.” Regent drew out his phone and searched for what was considered a high temperature. “No wonder you feel so hot.”
“Regent, I don’t feel so good.”
“I know, baby. I’m sorry you don’t feel well.”
“And now you said ‘sorry’! I don’t like it when you act weird.”
“I’ll try not to act weird. You just rest. The doctor will be here soon.”
“Doctors don’t make house visits,” she grumbled.
“This one does.” He got paid enough to.
Getting up, Regent moved into the bathroom to wet a cloth. Returning, he grasped her chin and started washing her face.
“Whatcha doin’?” she asked without opening her eyes.
“Washing all this gunk off. Then I need to free your hair. It looks like it would be painful.”
“It is. Hate wearing my hair like this. And the makeup. It itches.”
“Then why do it?”
“Got to disguise myself.”
He paused. What could that mean? “What were you doing tonight, baby?”
Regent knew this was a morally gray area. Asking her questions while she was ill and didn’t know what she was saying.
But morally gray was his color.
“At the club.”
“Doing what?” he asked.
“Dancing. What else am I gonna do there?”
“No drinking?”
“Nope. I never drink and dance.”
“Do you go out to nightclubs to dance often?” he asked.
“Every weekend. My head hurts. Can you make it stop?” she begged.
“I will soon.” Fuck. He didn’t like this. What if she was really ill? What if she needed to go to the hospital?
Where the hell was Doctor Stanley?
He got up and stormed toward the door just as someone knocked on the other side. Opening it, he saw the older man standing there. His hair was white, which stood up on end and he wore small round glasses.
“It’s about time.”
“I got here as fast as I could,” the doctor grumbled. “Where is the patient?”
“She’s in here. You need to watch your bedside manner. Jilly’s not one of the guys. She’s . . . sensitive.”