The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 996

The man's brow twitched into a microscopic frown, disappearing so fast Tamara thought she imagined it, but disapproval laced his next words.

"Work is no excuse to let you handle this alone. What if you felt faint after the appointment? You wouldn't even have an arm to lean on."

"I don't know what Fitch Sherwood was thinking, arranging things like this!"

Tamara whipped her head toward him. He had muttered the last sentence so softly it sounded like he was talking to himself. She wasn't entirely sure she had heard him correctly.

Did he just drop Fitch Sherwood's name? Did this random stranger know her brother-in-law?

Oblivious to her shock, the man reached into his jacket, pulled out an expensive leather cardholder, and slid a pristine ivory business card across the table.

"My name is Warren. A good friend of mine is actually the vice president of this hospital. If you run into any issues during your appointments or when it's time to deliver, give me a call. I'm happy to help."

Catching the blatant suspicion on Tamara's face, Mr. Warren offered an apologetic, self-deprecating laugh.

"Please don't misunderstand, I don't mean to overstep."

"You just look to be about my daughter's age, and seeing you here alone... paternal instinct kicked in, I suppose."

He exuded wealth and influence. Tamara offered a practiced, polite smile. She didn't buy his story for a second, but it wasn't smart to openly offend a man with connections.

She picked up the card. It was incredibly minimalist—just 'Mr. Warren' and a phone number.

No company, no full name. Her internal alarm bells rang louder.

"That's very generous of you, but I couldn't impose..."

She pinched the card, unsure how to gracefully hand it back.

"It's no imposition at all. Just a small favor." Mr. Warren waved it off. He studied her face for a second longer before softening his tone.

He cut himself off, looking slightly embarrassed, and adjusted his glasses. "Listen to me rambling. Once I get started on the subject, I don't know when to quit."

"It's fine. Thank you for the advice."

Tamara replied, though her suspicion deepened.

This level of investment went way beyond polite waiting-room chatter.

Right on cue, a nurse stepped into the hallway. "Tamara Sloan, Room 3, please."

Relieved, Tamara supported her lower back and stood. "That's me. Thank you again, Mr. Warren."

Mr. Warren immediately stood up as well, his eyes practically glued to her stomach. "Go on ahead. The baby comes first."