Miles seems frantic, his eyes darting around. When he spots the reception desk, he storms forward.
Sitting in the waiting room, I call out to him, “Miles?”
Immediately he stops, spots me, and rushes to my side instead. Standing over me, he scans me with his eyes as if searching for anything out of the norm. His gaze immediately zeros in on the egg-shaped bruise swelling on my head.
Dropping into the open seat beside me, he cradles my cheek with one hand to both bring me closer and tilt my face slightly away so that he can more fully inspect the bruise.
“I could kill Amber,” Miles growls under his breath.
Whatever Amber did have planned for this, “I don’t think she meant for me to get hurt like this.” Miles and Amber have a friendship going back decades. I may not like Amber, but I don
