I blinked.
“The SUV?”
He nodded.
“I should have realized my driver was picking someone up before I entered.”
I almost laughed.
“Mr. Bellamy, I think the person who should apologize is the exhausted hospital employee who walked into a random car and fell asleep.”
His expression softened.
“You had just finished a twenty-four-hour shift.”
“How do you know that?”
A pause.
Too small for most people to notice.
But I noticed.
“I heard you mention it.”
I remembered.
The moment I had woken up, I had immediately started explaining myself.
Of course.
“Right.”
He looked toward the window.
“You looked exhausted.”
The words were simple.
But something about them stayed with me.
Not because he was Tristan Bellamy.
Not because he was wealthy.
Not because every magazine in the hospital waiting room seemed to have his family’s name somewhere inside.
Because he had looked at me that night and seen something beyond the embarrassment.
