The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(91)

She gives me a quick scan as if she can detect my lie, but she shockingly nods.

“Fine. Follow me.” She leads me into a waiting room. The peeling linoleum tile and the flickering fluorescent light in one corner add to the tightness in my chest. There are a few people seated at different corners of the room.

My hands shake. I haven’t been to a hospital since my grandpa’s accident. And before then, my mom’s death. Hospitals and I have a bad history and a low success rate. And now, it’s a place where my present and my past have collided.

The nurse moves to leave, but I call for her.

“I want my fiancée placed in a private room,” I blurt out.

She looks down at her clipboard. “Once she’s stabilized, that’s up to her insurance policy. Is she on your plan?”

My jaw clenches down. I have no idea what kind of insurance Zahra has, let alone if they allow for private rooms.

Knowing the insurance plans your employees have, do you really expect anything more?

My selfishness has a way of coming back to bite me in the ass. And the worst part is it’s only just begun.





43





Zahra





“Ani, can you shut off the alarm?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Ani.”

The same incessant beeping continues. I open my eyes and come face-to-face with a heart monitor. I bolt upright in the bed, and my chest aches in protest.

I stare at the IV embedded under the skin of my left hand as I try to comb through my memories. The last thing I remember is going to Rowan’s house to watch TV in bed.

So how did I end up here? My fingers trace the clear tubing that leads right into my nose. I follow the line with my eyes, landing on an oxygen tank.

“She’s awake.” Rowan’s raspy voice has me turning my head toward the sound.

He hangs up the phone and tucks it into his pocket. The look on his face has a chill spreading across my skin. It reminds me of how he used to stare at me before everything changed between us, and I hate it.

“Don’t move.” He stands and steps toward the bed.

“What’s going on?” my voice croaks. Every word takes a ton of effort I struggle to produce.

He fills a small plastic cup and passes it to me. “You’re in the hospital.”

I take a sip of the water before speaking. “I gathered that much. But how did I end up here?”

His lips remain in a flat line. He looks ragged and tired in a way I’ve never seen him, with days’ worth of stubble and bags under his eyes. I blink at his wrinkled hospital gift shop T-shirt.

Everything about him is all wrong.

I smooth out the blanket covering me. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” He says the statement with such absolute resolve. I want to believe him, but he can’t even look me in the eyes.

Goosebumps explode on my arms. “Do you want to tell me why I’m here?”

It feels like a whole minute goes by before he finally looks at me. “You were dehydrated, bleeding from your head, and tempting fate. You’re lucky to be in this bed rather than the morgue.”

“Morgue? That’s drastic for a couple of stitches and a cold.” My brows pull together, and I’m hit with a sharp pain at the top of my head. I touch the spot. My fingers hover over a giant Band-Aid.

His jaw ticks. “Don’t touch. With your good fortune, you’ll pull a stitch and bleed all over your new gown.” He brushes my hand away with a gentleness that fails to match his tone.

“How did I end up getting stitches?”

He caresses my cheek with his thumb. “I found you passed out in my bathroom after you knocked your head against the floor.”

“Oh my God.” My lungs ache, making it hard to breathe normally. I wince at the burning sensation.

“What hurts?”

“The real question is what doesn’t.” I shake my head and regret it.

“Don’t do that.”

I rub my eyes. “I can’t believe I ended up here.”

He stands taller. “The doctor says you’ll go home by the end of the week.”

“What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“Friday?!” I end up coughing after my outburst.

How is it Friday already? The last day I remember fully is Monday, when I had to call in sick.

“You’ve been in and out of it from your fever and then your head injury.”

“How many days have I been here?”

“Two. They want to keep you here for observation before letting you go home.”

I rub my eyes. “This all sounds so expensive.”

His nostrils flare. “The only thing you need to worry about is getting better.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I can’t afford any kind of deductible that includes oxygen therapy and overnight hospital stays.” I shift in the bed, but Rowan places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

Darkness crosses over his face. “It’s already paid for.”

My pride shrivels up at the idea of being so financially insecure that he needs to cover my medical bill. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

His entire jaw clenches. “I don’t need your money.”