Page 26 of Billion Dollar Dispute

“I’m sure that works on other women, but it won’t work on me,” I snap back, gathering all the resolve I can.

I don’t want to tell him I enjoyed calling him my good boy. Fantasies are both exhilarating and terrifying. Butch was three years older than me; we had an average sex life, and he was a selfish lover. It changed over the years, just like our marriage. I miss the early days of a relationship, when everything was fun.

“What works on you, then?” he asks, his tone lowering, a hint of fire gleaming in his eyes.

Usually, that seductive tone would get me turned on, but instead, I feel clammy. I lean forward, my voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing works on me.” And then I’m about to spin on my heels and walk away, but before I can, everything goes black, and I faint, going down like a sack of potatoes.

Chapter 9

Harvey

One minute, we’re talking,and the next, she’s collapsing.

I catch her in my arms before she hits the ground. Esme rushes up next to me, concern evident in her wide eyes. I tell her to call an ambulance, urgency creeping into my tone.

People surround us, murmuring and gasping, so I hold her tighter, cradling her gently against my chest.

“Oliver,” I say quietly as I nod toward the crowd. “Move them.” I need some space, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her in this moment.

Her heat seeps through the fabric of my shirt, and the faintness of her warm breath hits my neck, so at least I know she’s breathing.

I move her from the hallway and into a nearby spare room. As I lay her down on her left side, I’m struck by her softened features. Her usual hard lines are nowhere in sight. Loose hair tendrils of her curly brown hair stick to her perspired forehead,so I reach out, grazing my fingertips to brush them away. I’m now able to see her delicate pale face. It’s painted in light makeup, which accentuates her natural beauty.

I shrug out of my jacket and lay it over her. Keeping one hand on her arm, I wait patiently for her to wake.

Esme is back quickly, and I instruct her to go grab some water. As I watch her hurry off, my attention returns to the unconscious woman. The muscles beneath my hand twitch, drawing my focus. I look up at her face and notice her eyelids slightly fluttering.

I shush her softly, hoping to soothe her even in her unconscious state, and gently encourage her to stay relaxed. Soon, the sound of sirens fills the air, and the ambulance arrives. I step back, allowing the paramedics to take over, my arms crossing across my chest as I watch them work.

“What happened?” my brother Evan whispers, concern etched in his voice.

“She fainted,” I reply, filled with worry.

He nods in understanding. “Do you need anything?” he asks, his hand reassuringly squeezing my shoulder.

“Not unless you want to help Esme with seeing this party out.”

“Yeah, if you want,” he offers, his willingness evident.

“Thanks. I want to take her home.”

“Of course you do,” he murmurs teasingly, but I couldn’t care less about what anyone thinks.

He wanders off to assist Esme, and soon the EMT arrive and approach us. She informs me that Jemima’s fainting appears to be due to low blood sugar and low blood pressure. My throat tightens as I realize she hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since she arrived.

After Jemima wakes up, we move her into a chair where they can start an IV for hydration and ask for juice or soda, plus a sandwich, which Jeremy quickly goes to find. I explain that Ihave a private doctor who will meet us at home, where they can reassess her. They agree not to take her to the hospital, if her blood pressure and sugar improve after they re-check.

Jeremy returns with the food and drink, and the paramedics encourage her to eat and drink, which she does.

Fifteen minutes later, they check her vitals and sugars again, and they’re happy with the results. They finish the IV before tidying up.

Once they leave with Esme, I squat down beside Jemima, gently brushing a stray lock of brown hair from her forehead.

“Are you ready to go home?” I ask softly.

“Mmm,” she murmurs tiredly, her response barely audible.

I pull my phone and send a message to my driver, arranging for him to meet us outside. When he texts me to say that he’s waiting downstairs, I carefully scoop her up into my arms. A small sound escapes her lips at the movement, causing my heart to beat harder.

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