She was terrified that Jamison might get the wrong idea–that she was too forward, too promiscuous.
“I’m fine, really. Just hurry up, okay?” Ivy tried to steady her voice, forcing herself to sound calm and collected.
Jamison glanced at her. Her face, flushed red all the way to her ears, looked a lot like a boiled lobster. He almost smiled, a subtle curve tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He was a grown man; even without much experience, he understood perfectly well what had just happened between them.
He knew exactly why Ivy had gasped and shivered a moment ago.
He hadn’t expected her to be so sensitive–after all, it was just a cotton swab, and she’d reacted as if she’d been shocked.
When he pulled the cotton out, it was tinged with blood. His expression turned serious as he continued the instructions he’d been giving: “Take the antibiotics for two days. Keep your ear dry–don’t let any water get in. You don’t want an infection.” Ivy stayed silent, but her fists were clenched tight, her whole body rigid with tension.
He let out a silent chuckle and said gently, “If you feel uncomfortable, just say it. I won’t make fun of you.”
Ivy gritted her teeth. “There’s nothing wrong. Just get it over with!”
3 2 5 4:
Jamison’s lips twitched again, almost a smirk.
As he worked, his gaze drifted over the pale skin exposed at her neck.
“Looks like your rash is clearing up. Which miracle worker did you see?” He changed the subject deliberately, hoping she’d relax a little.
But Ivy, oblivious to his intention, shot back sharply, “Definitely not you.”
“You never asked me. Might’ve been able to fix you up myself, you know.”
She snorted. “You’re a surgeon, not a magician. What are you, a jack–of–all–trades
now?”
“Medicine is medicine. It’s just a matter of how much you know. If I don’t know, I
Chapter 123
can always call someone who does.”
She gave a dry laugh. “Oh, like last time? When you used me as a guinea pig?”
He had, in fact. The last time she’d come to him with cramps, he’d grabbed some acupuncture needles, called an old professor on speakerphone, and poked around while the guy talked him through it.
It was lucky she’d been in so much pain she couldn’t run, or she’d have bolted faster than a rabbit.
Who knew if he’d jab the wrong spot and paralyze her for life?
But thinking back on that episode, Ivy suddenly remembered the elderly specialist she’d seen at the hospital yesterday.
For some reason, she could’ve sworn the voice sounded familiar. Maybe all old men just spoke the same way.
Jamison finished cleaning her ear, set the tweezers aside, and continued, “Still, you got better, didn’t you?”
“That was because a real expert was guiding you remotely,” she replied.
Jamison just let out a soft laugh, unwilling to argue. Suddenly, he reached for her forehead, brushing aside the stray hair at her temple.
Startled, Ivy jerked away, eyes wide and wary. “What are you doing?”
He raised a brow. “What are you so afraid of?”
She frowned, stiff as a board.
Ignoring her, he gently tucked back her hair to examine her temple, eyes narrowing as he inspected the spot.
“Your wound’s healing nicely. My stitches are still flawless. The scar’s flat, barely noticeable.” He sounded almost proud as he admired his handiwork.
The truth was, he was just complimenting himself.
Katrina, who’d been watching quietly, stifled a laugh and quickly covered her mouth. Ivy glared, exasperated. “Could you be any more full of yourself?”
“Just stating facts.”
“Facts? You pinned me down and stitched me up without even using anesthetic. I’m convinced you did it on purpose, just to mess with me!”
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Just thinking about it made Ivy bristle with indignation.
Jamison straightened, looking down at her with a rare seriousness. “Ivy, what did I ever do to offend you? Why are you so set against me?”
Ivy froze, caught off guard by his directness.
Her expression grew complicated as she looked at him.
If she was honest, the man in front of her was handsome–striking, really, with that rare mix of youthful charm and quiet authority. Out of all the men she’d ever met, he was easily the most attractive.
And his background was just as impressive. Even if he never inherited The Ludwig Group, his standing in the medical world alone would guarantee him both fame and fortune.
A man like him–successful, brilliant, and devastatingly good–looking–was exactly the type women dreamed about.
So why did she, of all people, harbor such resentment toward him?
Was it his arrogant, dismissive stare the first time they met?
Or perhaps his sharp tongue, always ready with a cold insult whenever they clashed?
Or maybe… it was his connection to Micah? That complicated, tangled family tie? The more she thought about it, the less reason she found for her animosity.
In fact, if she was honest, he’d helped her more than once–even if by accident.
He’d helped her with her cramps.
He’d patched her up after her accident.
He’d taken care of her when she’d fainted from a concussion.
And today, if he hadn’t agreed to come, she would’ve been stuck. The burst pipes and flooding were just bad luck–nothing she could blame on anyone else.
But he’d come anyway.
And he’d paid for the repairs and cleanup without a second thought.
The more Ivy thought about it, the better he seemed.
Meanwhile, she’d done nothing but throw barbs and insults his way, never once giving him credit.
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The silence between them stretched on, filling the living room with a heavy,
awkward tension.
Katrina, standing between them, glanced nervously from one to the other before finally whispering, “Ivy… Dr. Ludwig helped us again. Maybe you could-”