Page 31 of None Of Your Business

I don’t care that Rowan is twenty-six.

I don’t care that she’s single.

Actually, I care very much that she’s single because she’s sitting in my study.

Data integrity.

That’s why I came down four flights of stairs.

That’s why I asked about a wedding.

That’s why the word single produced an entirely inappropriate amount of satisfaction.

Data integrity.

Not her hair.

Not the fact that she’s beautiful.

Not the eleven-year age difference I have apparently just defended to a man who never accused me of wanting to sleep with her.

Fuck my life.

“I’ve got a two o’clock intake,” I tell Beckett.

He glances at the clock above the nurses’ station. “It’s eleven-thirty.”

“Pre-session prep.”

He laughs, shaking his head as he points the closed chart at my chest. “You’re a terrible liar, Doc. Always have been.”

I turn on my heel and head toward the exit.

Rowan is single. Or, at the very least, her future brother-in-law believes she is.

That doesn’t prove anything. People hide their relationships from their families all the time.

But it doesn’t fit. Nothing about her does.

The way she sat in that room, the blank sections on her paperwork, her refusal to contribute, the sketchbook.

She didn’t look heartbroken. She looked trapped.

I’m just not ready.

Maybe she meant exactly what Webb thought she meant. Maybe she has someone.

Or maybe Littlest Callahan is full of shit.

Nine

Rowan

“You don’t say much, Rowan, but you’re a breath of fresh air in here.”

Gemma, the wife who lies about spin class, gives me a warm smile as she zips her coat. I’ve just quietly pointed out that her husband’s phone addiction might be a defense mechanism.

Uncomfortable heat creeps up my neck. I force a tight smile and pretend to be very busy with my tote bag. “Right. Thanks, Gemma. Hang in there with the spin class.”