Page 43 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

“Yes,” I whisper.

He hangs up without another word.

I stare at my phone, my vision blurring. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve sacrificed, it’s all going to disappear because I got dehydrated and dizzy. Because I’m not invincible like they all expect me to be.

“Hey.” Dr. Sterling’s voice is soft now, closer than I expected. His hand reaches out, hovering over mine for a heartbeat before he pulls it back and slides it into his pocket. The almost-touch leaves me aching. God, I want to grab his hand, hold on to something solid. But we shouldn’t be doing this. I need him to check me over and clear me to leave, not comfort me.

“The good news is, you haven’t broken any bones. Your vitals are improving. Have you eaten?”

I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

“I’ll bring you some decent food. If you eat all of it and finish those fluids, I think you’ll be good to go.”

“Really?” I was bracing for him to tell me I need at least another day, but hope surges through me. “You’ll clear me?”

He pauses, his eyes searching my face. “But—”

“I need you to make sure I’m back,” I interrupt. “Please. If I’m not on set at 6 a.m. tomorrow, Dain’s replacing me. He already has someone standing by.” I take a breath and continue, not giving him a chance to reply until I’ve told him everything. With the hope he’ll understand. “It’s not just a job. It’s my shot at proving I’m not just another reality star trying to pivot. It’s the network taking a chance on me. It’s my career. If I lose it now, before I’ve even properly started, no one will touch me again. I’ll be labeled as unreliable, as someone who can’t handle pressure. And in this industry, that’s a death sentence.”

As I look at him, I’m not proud of the desperation in my voice, but I can’t hide it anymore.

Chapter 17

Hannah

“Does he always speak to you like that?” Dr. Sterling asks as he checks over my ankle. His bare forearms and half of his biceps steal my attention away from his face, the lean muscle flexing with each careful movement. I force myself to look up and find him watching me, one dark eyebrow raised. Flicking my gaze across the room, I study the landscape print on the wall as embarrassment creeps through my body.

“I don’t think he knows how to speak without that tone.” I pick at the imaginary lint on my clothes.

“It’s wrong,” he mumbles as he steps back and moves to the sink. The water runs loudly as he washes his hands, his shoulders tense beneath his fitted t-shirt.

I shrug, and the movement pulls at the IV taped to my hand. “I can’t change him. So I just deal with it. But if I were ever lucky enough to direct, I’d never make people feel like they’re small and disposable, like their ideas don’t matter and they’re just bodies filling space.”

Telling him what’s been on my mind feels good.

“Would you direct?” He walks over, standing at the foot of the bed with his hands tucked into the pockets of his cargos. In these casual clothes, he feels a touch warmer, like the formality isn’t wrapped so tight around him.

“I’d love to. But I need experience first, and I think the job is helping me build resilience.” Even as I say it, I hear how hollow it sounds. Because the job is breaking me down, not building me up. And I’m just trying to find meaning in the pain.

He makes a disbelieving sound from his throat that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You working on set with a broken ankle doesn’t prove resilience. That proves stubbornness.” He studies me with an intensity that makes my pulse skip. “And I bet after you fainted, you didn’t want to be here?”

“Good guess. But I really couldn’t stand.” The double meaning hangs between us. I couldn’t stand up to Dain. And couldn’t physically stand because my body gave out. I see the exact moment he catches it. His lips twitch, fighting a smile before a small chuckle leaves his chest. The sound ripples over my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.

“Well, you’re lucky you haven’t done any damage this time.”

I look at the IV bag hanging beside me and see it’s almost empty, the clear fluid nearly drained. I do feel lucky that I haven’t done more damage to my ankle. But have I damaged my career by being here? I don’t even know anymore. My fingers twist together in my lap. “I’m sorry you had to cut your trip short.”

“I didn’t want to come back,” he teases. “But when I found out it was you...”

I laugh, a surprised, genuine sound that bubbles past my lips. God, his honesty is refreshing. This business is full of people who tell you everything you want to hear—well, unless you’re Dain.

“Oh, I know, but thanks for doing it. I appreciate it.” I meet his eyes, letting him see I mean it.

He stares at me, his jaw working like he’s tasting words, trying to decide whether to let them out. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Finally, he speaks. “I’ll start preparing your discharge.” His voice is rougher than before, almost reluctant.

Hearing those words makes me incredibly happy. It means so much to me. “Thank you, Dr. Sterling.”

He nods, a single dip of his chin, and turns toward the door. I know I shouldn’t, but I watch him leave, tracking the way his long legs eat up the distance to the door in just a few strides. His tall frame without a suit is a rare occasion, and I’m indulging in what a man of many talents looks like. All lean strength and controlled movements.