Capturing the Young Doctor's Heart: Mr. Big Shot Won't Let Me Go-Chapter 86: Recommendation to Check the Liver
The scarred man lifted his eyes, his tone more frivolous: "What kind of hospital turns patients away? Are you hiding something shady here, like you don’t know how to treat patients?"
Claire Prescott wasn’t having it, her face instantly turned cold, "Are you going to see a doctor or not?"
A chill swept through as her icy voice emerged.
The scarred man’s face was instantly clouded over, the red capillaries on his cheeks became more distinct.
He stared in silence for a few seconds.
Furiously, he slammed the table, "I’m not seeing a damn doctor anymore."
His voice echoed throughout the room.
Claire Prescott was not intimidated at all, her gaze calmly fixed on him, "There’s the door, take care."
The scarred man gritted his teeth, his anger persisted.
He glanced subtly at Keane Lowell, then grudgingly turned and left.
Claire realized he dared not act against her because Keane was present.
Just as he reached the door.
She spoke up and reminded him, "I suggest you have your liver checked at the hospital."
The scarred man heard it, and inexplicably felt a jolt within him.
It seemed he was genuinely frightened by her words.
"Don’t you f***ing try to scare me." He turned back and said viciously, then stormed off.
Yet...
Upon leaving Sinclair Apothecary, he cursed in a low voice: "F***ing unlucky!"
He took out his phone, drafted a message and sent it to a number: [There’s a man next to the Chinese doctor, can’t make a move, will come back another day.]
After sending it.
He looked up at the alley, unable to shake off the last words the female doctor had said to him, as if they were a curse, lingering in his consciousness.
He felt as if he had contracted a serious illness, that death was imminent.
He cursed "unlucky" again, as if cursing more would render the doctor’s words untrue.
The more he cursed, f***, the more irritable he became, as if a massive stone was weighing on his heart.
Ironically, at this moment, a couple who had just left Sinclair Apothecary walked ahead of him, discussing animatedly:
"I told you the Chinese doctors at Sinclair are incredible, didn’t I? I had the female doctor diagnose me before, and she quickly identified my issue, curing my insomnia. Did the older doctor just discover your childhood injury on your left leg through pulse diagnosis?"
"I’m impressed. Such skilled Chinese medicine practitioners are rare nowadays."
"I also heard they’re adept at treating various difficult conditions, and they charge reasonably without exploiting patients..."
The scarred man hearing these words, his fear worsened, worried his liver indeed had serious issues.
He walked distractedly, unaware of when two bodyguards started following him.
At the corner, his neck was struck, his vision went black, and he collapsed to the ground.
...
Inside Sinclair Apothecary.
Claire Prescott took a deep breath, then found herself meeting the man’s deep, steady gaze.
Letting him see her fierceness made her somewhat embarrassed.
She instinctively reassured him, "It’s okay, people like him come to cause trouble, not for treatment. Luckily you were here, or he might have started something."
Keane Lowell’s gaze darkened slightly, "What if I hadn’t been here today?"
Claire replied, "Then I’d deal with it accordingly, the apothecary isn’t staffed only by me."
Keane noted the defiant spirit in her eyes.
He couldn’t fathom how she identified the man’s liver issue at a glance; her suggestion clearly wasn’t made in jest, nor did she needlessly remind him as he left.
Recalling how she had diagnosed him once, even when she spoke candidly, teasingly, she had spoken the truth.
Had her medical skill reached such a level?
However, growing up in the apothecary, learning from seasoned doctors, she had seen much. Although at times unorthodox, playing by her own rules, her thoughts often elusive, she approached medicine and patients with unwavering focus and precision, her skill well-founded.
Upon seeing the message from the bodyguard.
Keane’s voice grew somber, "Not every time will be so lucky, I’m arranging two bodyguards for you here."
Claire thought to refuse.
But reconsidering, the man might return one day.
However, having two bodyguards outside might be too conspicuous.
She replied, "Just one who’s skilled will do, if he’s bored, I can lend him books or have him help with grinding herbs."
Keane understood her implication.
She wanted the bodyguard to blend in with the apothecary, not stand out.
"Alright, I’ll arrange it."
"Thank you, President Lowell."
Keane looked up, meeting the girl’s fervent gaze.
A face remarkably pure, features elegant and expressive, seeming shrouded in mist, harboring intense desire, no matter how many times you look, it’s always stunning, clean and pure.
Easily captivating.
He regained a shred of rationality, looked at her clean, slender hands, then moved his chair nearer her, pulling open the keyboard drawer, put on the gloves she had used earlier, and asked her, "What would you like to eat?"
Claire glanced at the delicate small pastries before her and smiled, "The pink one."
Keane leisurely picked up a piece of pastry, fed it to her mouth.
She gently bit down, her lips grazing his fingertip through the thin gloves, inadvertently sending a faint electric current, a tickling sensation drilling into his heart.
After eating, she took a sip of fruit drink.
Without waiting for him to ask, the girl spoke up, "The green one."
She was midway through eating when a patient entered.
Claire detached from him calmly.
Keane removed the gloves, carefully tidying them, then returned to his "workspace," quietly turning on the computer, not considering himself an outsider.
During the ensuing time, more patients arrived, Claire kept on without a break...
As time elapsed, daylight faded, casting soft pink shadows on the white curtains.
After finishing with her last patient, Claire couldn’t help but stretch, turning her gaze to Keane’s profile.
She noticed his focused and composed expression while working, so subtle it’s hard to detect his focus, the tailored white shirt against the layered bookshelves, heavy wooden desk, gave rise to a cool, elegant aura.
When their eyes met.
Claire snapped back to reality, walked over to him, leaned in and kissed his sharply handsome profile, "Wait for me here a moment, I’ll go report to my grandfather."
"Go ahead."
Even as her figure vanished at the doorway, the warmth of the kiss lingered on his face, long-lasting.
Keane subtly closed his eyes, shut the computer, and began organizing things methodically.
...
Having spoken to her grandfather about the property transfer earlier at lunch, he had no doubts.
Yet hearing she wouldn’t be coming home tonight, the elder cast her a deep look.
He sighed, reminding her, "Your aunt’s returned."
