Page 122 of Daddy Sees Snakes

I take a deep breath, wincing as another wave of nausea hits me. "You're right, Rosa. I'm not feeling well at all. I'm super queasy, and I think I might throw up."

Rosa's expression softens, concern etching her features. "Are you sick, honey? Maybe you caught that bug that's been going around."

I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion as it makes the room spin. "No, I never get sick. This is... different."

"Different how?" Rosa asks, her voice gentle but probing.

I lean against the wall, trying to steady myself. "I don't know. It just came out of nowhere. One minute I was fine, and the next..." I trail off, not wanting to admit how weak I feel.

Rosa steps closer, her hand warm on my shoulder. "Okay, that's it. We're going up to your office right now. You need to sit down before you fall down."

"But the house—" I start to protest.

"The house will be fine without you for one night," Rosa interrupts firmly. "Come on, I'll help you upstairs. Then I'll get you some water and crackers. That should help settle your stomach."

I want to argue, to insist that I'm fine and can handle things on my own.

But the truth is, the idea of sitting down in my quiet office sounds like heaven right now.

"All right," I concede, letting Rosa slip an arm around my waist for support. "Thanks, Rosa. I don't know what I'd do without you."

As we make our way toward the stairs, I can't help but think about how different this is from my usual confident strut through the house.

I wonder if any of the girls or clients notice, if they can see how vulnerable I feel right now.

It's a struggle to keep my face neutral, to not let my discomfort show.

"Hey," Rosa says softly as we start climbing. "It's okay to not be okay sometimes, you know? Even badass bosses like you need a break now and then."

I manage a weak smile. "I guess so. Just... don't tell anyone, okay? I've got a reputation to maintain."

Rosa laughs, the sound warm and comforting. "Your secret's safe with me, Iris. Now let's get you settled before you puke on these expensive shoes."

As soon as we reach my office, a violent wave of nausea crashes over me.

My stomach lurches, and I barely have time to think before I'm bolting for the private bathroom attached to my office.

"Shit," I mutter, fumbling with the doorknob.

I fling the door open and drop to my knees in front of the toilet, just managing to lift the lid before my body betrays me.

The contents of my stomach surge upward, and I retch painfully.

My throat burns as I heave, my body shaking with each spasm.

Tears spring to my eyes, partly from the physical strain and partly from sheer frustration.

This isn't me.

I don't get sick.

I'm Iris fucking Ashton, the girl who has been known to outdrink most of the bikers at Viper's club and still dance on the bar at 3 AM.

I hear Rosa's footsteps behind me, and then her cool hand is on my back, rubbing soothing circles.

With her other hand, she gathers my long black hair, holding it away from my face as I continue to vomit.

"It's okay, honey," she murmurs. "Just let it out."

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