Page 28 of The Billionaire's Proposal

My dreams skip from Winslow to my grandfather to a shark taking a bite out of the boat. I’m hot yet freezing and when a large palm lands on my shoulder, it startles me awake. For a moment, I wonder if I’m still dreaming because a billionaire sits beside me on the edge of the bed, holding a glass of water, pills, and a washcloth. He lays his palm on my forehead.

“You’re burning up,” Winslow says in a concerned tone, and the little line between his brows scrunches a little more.

I can barely keep my eyes open, and the cold, wet cloth sears my skin like oil in a hot pan. He moves it to different places over my face and neck, then goes to get another one.

“What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“At night?”

He chuckles. “No. In the morning.”

I think I nod my head, but I’m not sure if my body is responding to my thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

He straightens the pile of blankets over me. “I was supposed to go in at nine, but I couldn’t leave you when you’re so sick.”

That’s when realization strikes. I vomited last night, multiple times. Oh Christ, how embarrassing. Do billionaires throw up?

“When I got out of bed, your teeth were chattering. I rounded up all the blankets in the house I could find. What can I do for you?”

“I think a bath would make me feel better.”

I rise, place the pills on my tongue, and the water forces it to slide down my throat.

“Okay, give me a minute, and I’ll get it ready.”

A few moments later, he gently assists me off the bed. I had drifted off to sleep unclothed, but now I find myself waking up in a shirt. After a bout of sickness had left me feeling exposed, he guided me to the dresser where I retrieved a t-shirt.

Now, with a gentle touch, he helps me out of the shirt and lays it on the bathroom counter. My equilibrium is off, and he supports me as my balance falters. Leaning against him for support, I struggle to stay upright as he tests the water temperature with his fingers, then slowly lowers me into the tub.

“I’ve called my personal physician. He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

“No, I’ll be fine. It’s probably just a stomach bug,” I protest weakly.

The sensation of the warm water enveloping my body eases my aching muscles. “You should go. I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

A smile spreads across his handsome face. “It’s a little late for that. I was inside you just hours before this started. I had already informed my assistant that I would be in late. Plus, it’s the advantage to owning the company.”

“Okay. It’s nice being your own boss. I like having flexibility too.”

“When’s the last time you took a week off, Cam?”

“Cam? Are we at the point of nicknames?”

He grabs another washcloth and dabs it over my face, lingering on my temples. “Answer. When’s the last time you took a vacation?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever taken a vacation since I’ve been an adult. My work is like having a vacation every day.”

“Anyone who steps onto your boat can sense how much you enjoy your job, but it’s not a vacation. A vacation is when you feed your body with new experiences, where you rest and relax and enjoy someone cooking for you, or sleep in late.”

“Or both.” I’m surprised at how excited I sound. Maybe I do need a vacation.

The doorbell rings, and Winslow leaves to answer before coming back and helping me out of the tub and dressing me in pajamas. When we walk into the living room, the doctor is waiting.

“Cameron, I’m Dr. Singh, a general practitioner. I’ll need you to sign some papers.”

“I don’t have insurance.”

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