Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Forty-Eight

My eyes burn.

Really badly.

They’ve been burning since yesterday morning, ever since my eyes landed on what was inside that damn folder. And they continued to burn through today’s morning practice and all my classes.

And they’re still burning now, probably even more than they were before as I stomp through the main hallway of the surgical center.

“Excuse me, Miss, you can’t go through there,” I hear a female voice call after me, but I don’t stop.

“Miss, office hours are over. You cannot go in there!” she repeats.

Her words still don’t stop me. I can’t stop. Not when I’m cranky and pissed off and the very cause of my crankiness and anger is right here in this building. I hear her shuffle behind me, presumably to chase after me. But I still keep going.

I didn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t. At all. Not even for a little bit. And now my feet won’t stop moving. My fingers won’t stop twitching. And my fucking eyes won’t stop burning behind my glasses.

I ride up the elevator and bend into a familiar corridor, practically stomping the entire way there, and I push the door open without a second thought. My eyes immediately land on my target.

Dexter fucking Frost.

He looks up at me from behind his desk as soon as I’m inside. Our eyes lock, and all at once, I feel the strangest mix of feelings I think I ever have at the same time. I’m really not even sure which I feel more of; rage, confusion, frustration, and the most unsettling—immense attraction.

I’m breathing hard, and each exhale leaves my lungs in an audible huff. I angrily throw the folder on his desk right in front of him.

“What the hell is this?” I demand.

I know damn well what it is. I read each and every single word in it at least five times—mainly to make sure I wasn’t going crazy or suddenly dyslexic. But more than anything, I think I’m having quite a bit of trouble wrapping my mind around the simple fact that the fucking folder even exists to begin with.

I’m also having quite a bit of trouble understanding why he’d send it to me through his “buddy” Minderah, of all people, so he’d better have a damn good explanation for this.

A moment later, I hear the same nurse’s voice behind me again, only this time, she sounds extra pissed. 

“Hey! You cannot go in there! If you don’t get the hell out right now I’m going to call security—”

“It’s alright, Brenda,” he interjects, rising from his chair and gesturing for her to calm down.

I want so badly to turn around and tell the bitch that she’s the one who needs to get the hell out right now, but I don’t. As tempting as it is, she’s not the one I’m mad at.  All the fault lies with the blue-eyed douchebag standing opposite me who she also obviously answers to. He’s the reason I’m here at all.

I hear her mumble something under her breath and make an annoyed sound right before I hear the sound of the door close behind me. A short silence ensues, punctuated only by my harsh breathing and frantic heartbeat.

The full extent of the current situation quickly dawns on me; once again, I find myself in a closed room with this man, only this time, it’s for a different reason. A very different reason.

“Sit,” he finally says, calmly taking his own seat once more.

“I’ll stand,” I say defiantly.

I watch his large frame easily fill his leather chair, and his body language is so relaxed and uncaring. I, on the other hand, am one hell of a jittery, fidgety mess.

Why the hell is he so calm? Does he not know what’s in that folder?

He shoots me a hard look, and it has so much power that I actually take an involuntary step back. The intensity in his eyes is just too much. I don’t know if I’m more turned on by them or afraid of them right now.

He speaks again, and his voice is deeper this time, if that’s even possible.

“Sit,” he repeats. His tone is hard and incredibly commanding, completely opposite from the way he’s spoken to me during our previous encounters.

The firmness in his voice really catches me off guard and takes me aback, and combined with the blatant stare down he’s giving me, I know without a doubt that he’s not fucking around.

He’s got this dangerous look in his eyes, and suddenly I feel like I just made a big mistake barging in here. But I absolutely refuse to be intimidated by him—or at least, let him see that I’m intimidated by him.

As I approach his desk, I feel my heart picking up its pace and racing even faster now, and it’s not just because I’m pissed anymore. Now I’m pissed, a little scared, hella confused, and undeniably turned on—and I absolutely hate that I am.

I take a seat opposite him reluctantly, still maintaining what I’m positive is the angriest frown that has ever found its way on to my face, and there’s absolutely nothing fake about it.

He simply continues to look at me, calm as ever.

I feel like I’m in the fucking twilight zone. This seriously can’t even be happening right now.

Once I’m seated, he goes back to doing whatever he was doing before I came in. I wait for him to say something; to fucking explain himself and the unbelievable, mind-blowing contents of the folder, but he ignores me for several moments, simply going on about his business as if I’m not even there.

I let out a frustrated sigh.

I’ve just about had it with people treating me as if I’m some invisible nobody. First Vito, then Mindy, and now this asshat of a doctor. Mondays have definitely gotten to a whole new level of shitty for me.

He finally looks at me again, giving me his undivided attention. His stare is so cold and penetrating that I almost wish he would go back to doing his work if it’ll take the intense focus off me.

He doesn’t touch the folder. He doesn’t even look at it. His unwavering eyes simply remain on me. I’d feel totally creeped out by them if they weren’t making my panties go damp.

He finally speaks, his voice deep and calm as ever.

“You’ve obviously read the contract in the folder,” he begins. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. So you know exactly what the hell this is,” he says, repeating my words from my initial outburst.

“Ask me another question,” he says without breaking his stare.

I avert my own eyes from his, because if I don’t I’m going to end up drenching this chair I’m sitting on.

I shake my head. “I don’t understand,” I say.

“That’s not a question,” he counters.

My eyes shoot back up to his again, and I can’t help but glare at him. He really has some nerve trying to be smart with me after sending me something like that. But I decide to go along, because the faster I can get the answers I need from him, the sooner I’ll be out of here.

“Alright,” I say sternly, crossing my arms over my chest defiantly. “Why?”

He frowns. “Why, what? You’ll need to be a little bit more precise when asking me a question.”

 

I can’t stop myself from yelling. “Why the fuck did your buddy, Mindy, come to my apartment yesterday to give me a folder from you? A folder that contains a contract that’s blatantly soliciting me for sex?”

His tone is firm and unapologetic when he answers. “Because I asked her to.”

***

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