Before Jane could utter a word, Patrick abruptly disconnected the call, leaving Jane shaking her head in mild frustration. She couldn't help but wonder why Patrick had been increasingly seeking her out lately whenever an issue arose.
A sense of bewilderment guided Jane to the elevator, where she embarked on her way to Patrick's office. As she approached, the door was slightly ajar. Prior to entering, she tapped lightly on the door to announce her presence.
"Come in," Patrick's voice resonated from within.
Jane pushed the door open, revealing Patrick seated at his desk. He had removed his suit jacket, neatly draping it over the back of a nearby sofa. His attire consisted solely of a crisp white shirt, with the top buttons casually unfastened, revealing a glimpse of his well-defined chest muscles. Combined with his strikingly handsome visage, he exuded an undeniable allure.
In this moment, Patrick remained engrossed in his computer, his fingers expertly dancing across the keyboard as he worked.
Jane, momentarily captivated, finally broke free from her trance. It dawned on her that Patrick was a workaholic, tirelessly dedicating himself even with his injured hand.
A mischievous smile played on Patrick's lips as he caught Jane staring at him. He teasingly inquired, "Like what you see?"
Caught off guard, Jane coughed, swiftly shifting the conversation to more relevant matters. "Why did you call me?"
Patrick, with an air of authority, inquired about the progress of her meeting with Bruce earlier that day. Jane was perplexed by his sudden interest in the project. Had he decided to invest further in the jewelry venture? Or was he contemplating an expansion into the jewelry market?
"I want details on the progress you've made," Patrick stated, his scrutinizing gaze locked onto Jane.
Jane nodded, prepared to provide the necessary information. "Today's meeting was primarily focused on discussing next steps. I'm in the process of compiling the meeting minutes. I'll send them to you as soon as they're ready. If there's nothing else, I'll return to my work."
Patrick, dissatisfied with her apparent eagerness to leave, interrupted her departure. "Wait."
Jane inquired, "Is there anything else?"
Patrick extended his injured hand, reminding Jane, "You must have forgotten. The doctor recommended applying ointment to the wound twice a day."
Jane, confused, replied, "Of course. So, apply it."
Patrick expressed his inability with an impassive tone. "I don't know how."
Jane was taken aback. How could he not know how to apply ointment to a wound? Her thoughts began to formulate a retort when Patrick's thin lips pursed, and he reminded her of the life-saving favor she owed him.
"Fine, I'll help you," Jane grumbled in exasperation. "Where's the ointment?"
Patrick pointed to a nearby drawer in silence.
Jane retrieved the ointment, unwrapped Patrick's bandage, and with care, applied it gently to the wound. As her slender fingers moved methodically, Patrick found comfort in the cooling sensation of the ointment. He couldn't help but ask, "Did you study medicine?"
Jane paused in her actions, surprised by the inquiry. "You're quite skilled at this," Patrick commented, eyeing her meaningfully.
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