Chapter 16: Do You Think I Need a Doctor?

“What are you looking at?”

Rosalie’s voice comes from beside him.

Adrian locks his phone at once. “Nothing.”

She has already put away her sketches and climbed beneath the covers.

Now she is watching him with open suspicion.

“Really?”

“Work.”

“You always hide your work that fast?”

“Confidential.”

Rosalie is too tired to investigate. She rolls over and wraps herself in the comforter. “Whatever.”

“Finished drawing?”

“I’ll fix the rest tomorrow.”

She slept only a few hours that afternoon before rushing to dinner. It is nearly midnight now, and her eyes are already closing.

Adrian looks at the lump beneath the comforter. “Take a shower first.”

“No.”

“After what we just—”

“Shut up.”

Rosalie buries half her face in the pillow. “I showered this afternoon.”

“I’ll help you rinse off.”

Adrian pulls back the covers and lifts her from the bed.

She loops her arms around his neck, too sleepy to put up much of a fight. “Adrian, you’re so annoying.”

“I know.”

He carries her toward the bathroom, amusement warming his voice. “You can sleep afterward.”

By the time they return, it is past midnight.

Rosalie collapses onto the pillow. Adrian dries her hair, turns off the lamp, and draws her into his arms from behind.

She pushes weakly at him, complaining that he is too warm. Adrian loosens his hold until her breathing evens out, then gathers her close again.

This time, she lets him.

Five days later, at John F. Kennedy International Airport, the cabin door opens and first-class passengers begin leaving the plane.

“The Australian company sent over the letter of intent,” Evan says.

Adrian puts on his coat while Evan follows with a tablet. “They accepted most of the terms we discussed in Sydney. The local company will act as the Australian sponsor and handle the TGA application.”

Adrian scans the document as they enter the jet bridge. “The exclusive rights?”

“They still want all of Oceania. For now, we limited the territory to Australia and New Zealand. They’ll cover registration costs, and we added minimum-purchase and sales milestones.”

The five-day trip has been packed with negotiations, meetings with the Australian regulatory team, and discussions with local clinical experts.

The trial data is usable, though another set of long-term follow-up results may be required.

A few commercial terms remain unsettled, including the upfront payment and how the two sides will divide pharmacovigilance and recall responsibilities.

“Keep the upfront payment where it is,” Adrian says.

“Understood. Legal will send its initial review tomorrow. We can discuss it during the JS-01 launch meeting.”

A member of the ground staff is waiting at the end of the jet bridge.

Adrian takes out his phone and turns off airplane mode.

Messages flood the screen, but he ignores them all and opens his conversation with Rosalie.

Before leaving her hotel room five days ago, he unlocked her phone and removed his number from her blocked contacts.

Her passcode is still 0928.

September twenty-eighth. The day they started dating.

Years ago, nearly every password she used contained those four numbers.

Perhaps she has used them for so long that she no longer remembers why.

Adrian has texted her every day since leaving.

She hasn’t replied once.

He can’t tell whether she hasn’t noticed or simply doesn’t want to answer.

At least she hasn’t blocked him again.

As long as she leaves the door open, he will keep sending messages through it.

The last one, sent before takeoff, reads:

Rosie, I’m coming home. I’ll see you when I land.

The empty reply box darkens his mood.

He always finds a way to excuse her silence, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting.

He is considering calling when his phone rings.

The number is local but unfamiliar.

“Adrian Mercer.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Mercer. This is Hudson Private Medical Center. I’m calling to confirm your consultation with Dr. Foster at our Men’s Health Clinic this afternoon. Will you be able to attend?”

Adrian stops walking.

Evan gets several steps ahead before noticing and coming back.

The coordinator waits patiently.

“I didn’t make an—”

Adrian breaks off.

He knows exactly who did.

His face turns cold. “Cancel it.”

“This is a concierge appointment added outside Dr. Foster’s regular schedule. The three-thousand-dollar consultation f*e is nonrefundable. If today is inconvenient, I can help you reschedule.”

Three thousand dollars.

How generous of Rosalie.

Should he send her flowers to thank her?

“I don’t need another time. Cancel it.”

“Dr. Foster’s regular appointments are booked through next month, and we don’t know when another concierge opening will become available. Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“And the f*e?”

“Keep it.”

The woman falls silent, apparently unaccustomed to patients abandoning three thousand dollars so decisively.

She should end the call. Instead, professional concern wins.

“Mr. Mercer, there’s no reason to feel embarrassed. Performance concerns are common, even among men your age, and early treatment often produces the best results.”

Performance concerns?

What performance concerns?

Adrian’s expression turns murderous.

“What exactly did she tell you is wrong with me?”

The coordinator hesitates, realizing she has said too much. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mercer. Only the physician can discuss clinical details with you. I handle scheduling. I’ll note that you’ve declined the appointment.”

“There is nothing wrong with me.”

“Of course. Have a wonderful afternoon.”

The call ends.

Adrian stands in the crowded jet bridge, gripping his phone.

Rosalie knows perfectly well what he can do.

If he hadn’t worried that the remaining condoms might fail too, he never would have stopped.

She ignores every message he sends, yet somehow finds time to spend three thousand dollars booking him a men’s health specialist.

Does she think he left her unsatisfied?

That he can’t handle her?

Adrian stares at her silent chat window, his jaw tightening.

Fine.

If Rosalie wants proof, he will give her enough to make sure she never questions him again.