Creamed - Page 38

The mirrors in Foxx’s room don’t hide anything, and I really do look like someone who’s just woken up and had a comforter tossed over them.

But I get this feeling when I hear Foxx’s visitor that I don’t like. Guess I’m just as protective of him as he is of me in my own little way.

Not jealous, no. Not even a bit as I move to the doorway, craning my ear toward the hall, listening in.

I can’t help it.

Although Foxx’s tone is unimpressed, he always manages to keep things sounding professional. Using his doctor’s voice, which settles my paranoia.

No, he doesn’t have someone else, Mandy. It’s just someone at his door who happens to be female.

I move behind the door, reaching for one of Foxx’s shirts from a basket.

Jesus, even his dirty clothes smell amazing….

And slipping silently down the hall, I lean my head around, trying to catch a glimpse of our mystery visitor, who Foxx seems determined to keep from even seeing into his place.

His whole body is like a wall until he eventually moves out into the hall.

But not before I hear him ask her for the second time how she even got up here.



After tucking Mandy in once it’s clear she’s asleep, I dress in some gym shorts and a tee.

I find her clothes, bundle them up, and toss them into the washer/dryer.

As much as I could look at her in just my shirts, she’ll need to be decent when I take her shopping for a new wardrobe.

Out of habit, I fill the dishwasher and wipe down the table and counter, mopping up the remaining signs of Mandy’s little accident earlier.

It’s a force of habit, but I notice how much I’m rushing to get things done so I can sit with her. I shift a seat over to sit by her while she gets her much-needed rest.

It’s hours before anything breaks my concentration, but my phone pinging non-stop somewhere finds me getting up to find it. If only to shut it off once I see nothing but work messages and missed calls.

My ‘boss.’

The whole world can fucking wait. It’s about Mandy now.

Plus, I’m on vacation.

I stand in the lounge room, a smile shifting my lips as I hold my phone in hand. The idea of a permanent vacation seems like a better idea by the minute.

The door chimes, and I move casually to answer it until I feel a pang of annoyance.

If anyone from the hospital is here…and how the fuck did they get up here anyway? The private elevator is private for a reason. And aside from the building staff, only I have a passkey for it.

A glance through the peephole sees me swing my door open quickly, not even trying to hide my annoyance.

My training and experience as a doctor mean I’m not usually openly rude to people. But when they’re on my floor without permission, I feel my hackles up.

Turns out she’s just moved in and is having trouble with something in her apartment she wants me to take a look at.

I’m not really paying attention to what she’s saying or even her name once she starts up. I’m just trying to control my instincts to call for security.

“Uh. How did you get up here?” is my only reply. And I ask her several times before she confesses.

“I…borrowed the passkey from the valet,” she murmurs. “And Toby wasn’t wrong,” she purrs, puckering her overpainted lips and sticking out more of her fake chest, making her look double ridiculous.

“I think Toby’s made a grave error,” I correct her, and probably in more ways than one if he’s had anything to do with this woman.

Vowing to have serious words with him and moving to close the door, I feel my eyes narrow when it’s clear her foot is planted just inside.

Feeling myself loom up a little, I tower over her and step forward so that she has to move back. I keep my door open just a crack, still mindful of Mandy sleeping and not wanting her disturbed for any reason.

“Listen,” I tell her firmly. “I’m not a repairman, and this is my floor. My home. It’s private, and you’re here without my permission,” I inform her as calmly as I can, but I am welling up with the urge to say more.

The sides of her mouth fall, and once it’s clear I don’t fall for whatever act she’s putting on, she sighs heavily.

“Okay, buddy. Your loss, not mine,” she says and rolls her eyes, looking me up and down once more before she turns to leave.

“Guess I’ll call on the building’s manager instead,” she sulks, slinking back to the elevator before I call her back.

“You mean, you will take a look?” she gushes, all wide-eyed again.

But I shake my head, holding my hand out flat, waiting for her to give me the passkey.

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