A woman suddenly collided into Dr. Brice, causing his phone to tumble onto the ground. Dr. Brice had used this phone for many years, and he frowned as he looked down at the woman sprawled on the pavement.
"Are you alright?" he asked politely, extending a hand to help her up.
The woman, however, glared at him. "Don't you look where you're going?"
If his memory served him right, it was she who had charged into him. But he chose not to argue, instead bending down to pick up his cracked phone.
"I'm sorry," he said gently.
Seeing that she had no inclination to accept his help, he turned to leave.
"Wait!" The woman called from behind him.
Dr. Brice turned back to look at the woman. She was beautiful, her long hair reaching her waist. There was something familiar about her.
He sifted his memories, then asked, "Have we met somewhere before?"
At this, Annalise Hansen broke into laughter as she replied, "Sir, are you still using pickup lines from the 70s?"
She attempted to stand, but a sharp pain shot through her ankle, causing her to fall back onto the ground. Luckily, Dr. Brice was quick to react, catching her before she could hit the ground again.
Instead of a thank you, however, what greeted him was a shriek, followed by a resounding slap.
The force of the slap nearly knocked him off balance.
It was only when the woman glared at his hand did he realize that he had caught her right at her chest.
He suddenly pushed Annalise away, causing an unprepared Annalise to fall on the ground once again and sat on the floor.
"I'm sorry," Dr. Brice apologized, looking at Annalise who was now sitting on the ground.
Rubbing her bottom, she queried, "Are you doing this on purpose?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Help me up! I think I sprained my ankle..." Annalise extended her hand toward Dr. Brice.
He helped her up, only to hear her ask, "Do you always harass women like this?"
Ignoring Annalise's sarcasm, Dr. Brice helped her onto a nearby bench. He then crouched down to examine her ankle.
As she was wearing a skirt, Annalise instinctively drew back her leg.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, "I'm calling the police!"
"You broke my phone, otherwise I could have called the police for you," Dr. Brice replied, lifting her ankle to remove her high heels and check her injury.
Before she could protest, Dr. Brice pressed firmly on her injured ankle. Her words turned into a sharp cry of pain. "What the hell are you doing? Are you insane?"
She raised her hand to hit him.
He caught her hand and told her, "You have a sprained ankle, but thankfully, it's not dislocated and there are no fractures. You're lucky."
"How do you know it's just a sprain? How can you be sure it's not dislocated or broken? You pressed too hard, you might have injured it even more! You can't just run away, I'm taking you to the police!"
"The police?" Dr. Brice turned and laughed, then scooped her up into his arms.
"Where are you taking me?" Annalise asked, gripping his shoulders in surprise.
At this point, she looked around and noticed that there was no one at the parking door. So she immediately changed the subject and said to Dr. Brice, "I see that you dress well, not like a jerk. Where are you taking me?"
"To the police station," Dr. Brice replied. He had never met a woman quite as challenging as Annalise. She had charged into him, destroyed his phone, and now, she was threatening to take him to the police.
He put her in the passenger seat of his car and got into the driver's seat. As Annalise was unbuckling her seatbelt, preparing to leave, he started the car, preventing her from leaving.
"What, don't want to go to the police?" He asked her defiantly as he started the car and prevented her from leaving.
Annalise had heard from Dylan that Adeline was coming for a blind date and Dylan accidentally told Elliot about it. Out of curiosity, she had decided to watch the fun, but she hadn't expected to run into this situation.
She turned to look at Dr. Brice, then began to analyze the him based on the car he was driving, and how he was dressed, and finally said uncertainly, "You might be a con artist?"
"What?" Dr. Brice turned to her. "How do you know I'm a con artist?"
Over the years she had known Dylan, she had learned to analyze people, just like him.
She said, "Firstly, based on your clothing. You're wearing a high-end striped wool suit worth $20,000 and your matte calfskin shoes aren't cheap either. However, you don't have any jewelry, no status-showing watch, no ring, no necklace, no tattoos. Yet, you're driving a car that's only worth $30,000. I guess you've just come from an important event, dressed neatly, maybe out of vanity or to deceive others. You're not wearing a watch, perhaps because you don't have a good-looking one and don't want people to find out you're wearing a fake. But this suit, it's of decent taste."
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