Katrina nodded toward the medical supplies on the nightstand, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “I get the feeling Dr. Ludwig treats you differently–he’s especially attentive with you.”
Ivy shot back immediately, “No way. He’s only being nice today. You’ve seen how he usually gives me a hard time.”
Katrina grinned. “You’re not exactly gentle with him, either.”
Ivy fell silent, at a loss for words.
“Alright, you’re not feeling well today, so I’ll let you off the hook. I’ll go bring you something to eat.” Katrina stood up and headed out of the room.
Ivy closed her eyes, her brow still creased with concern.
Her best friend’s words sent ripples through her mind.
Thinking back on the way Jamison treated her, she had to admit–it was a little unusual.
And just now, when he’d held her left hand, that feeling…
Ivy shifted under her blanket, flexing the hand he had gripped so tightly, as if his touch still lingered on her skin.
This is ridiculous…
Since when did a man’s touch make her mind race like this?
She couldn’t let this happen.
One Micah had already left her heart in pieces–there was no way she’d let herself get tangled up in another relationship.
Especially not with Mr. Jamison–so high above her, so untouchably distinguished, older by an entire generation.
Ivy spent the next two days recuperating at home, and finally felt almost back to normal.
Whenever she had the energy, she returned to the attic to work on her painting.
Her oil painting, titled Lock, was nearly finished.
The annual National Art Exhibition was in the works, and this year’s event would be held at The Velvet Gallery.
With her old art pseudonym gathering dust for three years, Ivy decided it was finally time to step back into the spotlight.
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Lock would be her comeback piece.
The doorbell rang downstairs.
Ivy knew Katrina was on the second floor reading and would answer it, so she kept painting.
But a moment later, Katrina came rushing upstairs. “Ivy! Ivy! You’ll never guess who’s
here!*
Ivy put down her brush and turned. “Who?”
“Micah! I don’t know how he found out where you live–he’s already inside, and I couldn’t stop him!” Katrina looked both startled and annoyed. “What should we do? He insists on
seeing you…”
Ivy’s face darkened.
Aside from Katrina, only Jamison knew she lived here.
“Katrina, go back downstairs for now. I need to make a call.”
“Alright, I’ll see if I can get rid of him.”
Katrina marched back down, determined.
Ivy snatched up her phone, found Jamison’s number in her contacts, and called, barely containing her anger.
Jamison, in the middle of his hospital rounds, was surprised to see her name pop up. He remembered their little “agreement” from a few days ago and assumed she must be feeling better and wanted to invite him to dinner.
But as soon as he answered, Ivy’s voice came through, fuming, “Jamison, who gave you the right to share my private information?”
“What private information?” Jamison was caught off guard, genuinely confused.
Ivy gripped her phone tighter, her patience fraying. “Micah showed up here! You’re the only one who knows where I live. If you didn’t tell him, how else could he have found me?”
Jamison’s expression turned grim. “Micah’s harassing you again?”
His anger grew–not at Ivy, but at Micah.
After a tense pause, he replied gravely, “It wasn’t me. I haven’t spoken to him these past few days. Hold on, I’ll call him and find out what’s going on.”
Ivy’s frustration shifted to confusion. “It wasn’t you? Then how did he find out? Did he hire someone to investigate me?”
“We don’t know yet. Let me get in touch with him.”
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Without another word, Jamison hung up first.
Ivy stared at her phone, suddenly feeling her anger drain away.
