Page 14 of Flirting with my Billionaire Boss

Skipper runs toward me, probably for shelter from the raving madwoman across the kitchen. He darts under my chair and cowers.

“Are you okay, Martha?” I get up to check on her.

“My ankle. It hurts so much.” She plops down on a chair and sets the injured foot on the chair across from her.

“Let me take a look.” I come toward her. “You probably need to see a doctor. That looks like it might be a sprain.”

She spouts off another long string of Spanish, and Callie chuckles.

“I hope you’re okay,” Callie says.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” I say.

“What about lunch?” Martha asks.

“We’ll grab something after we drop you off.” I glance across the room to see Skipper chowing down on the sliders. The little troublemaker. He got what he wanted out of the situation. He’s going to be sick if he doesn’t stop eating those. But I have no time to deal with him right now. My main focus is making sure Martha gets to the doctor to be seen as soon as possible.

I go in the cabinet and grab out a large cloth bandage and wrap up her foot. Then I grab a bag of peas from the freezer and hand it to her.

“I hate to see you going through all this trouble for me,” Martha says.

“You’re like family. Of course, I’m going to do all I can to help you,” I say.

“What can I do?” Callie asks.

“Grab my purse from my bedroom,” Martha says. “If I’m going to the hospital, I’m going to need my insurance cards.”

“No problem,” Callie says. Martha’s room is next to hers so she shouldn’t have a problem finding it.

“I’ll just go get my shoes,” Jenni says. “I left them in the office.”

“I’ll go with you,” I say. “I left my wallet in there too.”

I follow Jenni into my office and spot Skipper hovering over Jenni’s shoes, puking up some of the sliders in them.

“Oh, come on, Skipper,” I say. “Not again.”

Callie comes into the room. “I got Martha’s purse.” Her hand goes to her nose. “What’s that disgusting smell?”

“Skipper threw up in my Jimmy Choos.”

I grab him and pull him away from the mess. “Little troublemaker.”

Callie’s face turns a peculiar shade of green, and she turns her head away from the pile of vomit like the smell is getting to her. “I can clean that up for you.”

“You sure?” I ask. “You don’t look so good.”

“It’s no problem,” she insists. “I’m your assistant. So it’s my job to…you know…assist. Besides, who else is going to do it? You?” She disappears into the laundry room, I assume to get cleaning supplies.

She comes back into the room with a spray bottle, a plastic bag and a roll of paper towels. She gets on her hands and knees to clean the mess, but then she ends up throwing up in the trash can next to my desk.

“Hey,” Jenni says. “You don’t have to clean that.”

“No. I can do it.” She groans.

“I’m not going to wear them again. I’ll just get new ones.”

Callie stops cleaning. “What are you going to wear?”

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