Page 8 of Working For A Billionaire

I take a deep breath and sigh. Sick as a dog lately. Mr. Anderson’s comment comes back to me, opening a rather frightening can of worms. Is it possible? Could I be pregnant? No. No way. I even laugh aloud because it’s so preposterous. No, absolutely not.

I remind myself It's late, and I have to go home. The sooner I get some food into my stomach, the better. At that moment, the world starts spinning again, and I lose balance. My knees turn to jelly. But before I hit the cold pavement, I feel someone’s hands around my waist, keeping me up.

"Riley, are you okay?" Harrison asks, wearing a look of concern.

I don’t recognize him at first. "Yeah, I am fine. Just a stomach bug."

He looks at me funny. "Why didn’t you call in sick if you’re not feeling well?"

"I’m not sick,” I correct him. “I just felt a little lightheaded. Probably because I didn’t eat much today.” I refuse to tell him that I’m functioning on a bagel and six coffees today.

"Come on, I’ll get you home so you can lie down. You don’t look too well."

"That is really not necessary," I tell him, slowly pulling myself away from him.

He frowns. "I can’t just leave you here, what if you faint again? I will make sure you get home safe."

I nod my head, considering the possibility I might faint again. As he walks, he grabs my wrist, leading me to his car.

"Are you sure you are okay?" he asks as he opens the passenger door for me.

"Yeah, I just need to eat something, and I will be fine."

"Do you want me to stop anywhere on the way home? Get you something to eat?"

I tilt my head at him. "I don’t wanna be a bother."

He smiles. "No bother. We can swing by the deli and grab a sandwich or two. I can pick up some extra-strength Pepto Bismol for you too."

"Perfect," I smile back.

It's quiet during the drive. We sit in comfortable silence until he pulls into the deli. For some reason, I’m glad to be in his car and with him. Things have been so uptight. Then, I quickly remember where unwinding with him led. I chuckle to myself.

After he returns to the car, I open the door and get out. I lean against the hood of the car and close my eyes, letting the cool air hit me. The dizziness feels like it is getting worse, and I wish it would stop.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," I whisper.

Without thinking, he wraps his arms around me, and I fall to the ground. He tightens his grip, stopping my fall, and waits for me to get it all out. A second later, I spew everything I ate all over the parking lot.

"Whoa, that's a lot." He laughs, and I appreciate the effort to lighten the mood. No one wants to vomit while their boss is holding them up.

"Ughh," I groan. "This sucks."

"It’s OK," he says, pulling his keys out of his pocket. "Let's get you home."

He helps me up and into the car. I lean my head against the window as he drives me home. I am afraid to move or open my eyes, because I feel like puking again every time I do, and doing it in his car would be the worst.

He reaches for my wrist again as we pull into the parking lot. "Don't try to stand up yet," he warns.

"Okay," I reply, leaning back against the seat.

He parks the car and helps me out. It takes me several tries to navigate to my apartment. He is probably holding me up, because I don't think I have the strength to stand on my own. It’s all a blur, and I just want to lie down and fall asleep, never to wake up from this nightmare.

Once inside, he sits me on the couch, where he stays with me for a few awkward minutes, until I tell him I need to lie down.

"You don’t have to stay with me," I say, pushing myself up onto my elbows.

"I don't feel right leaving you alone here. Are you sure you are okay?" he asks, looking past me at the bathroom. He sounds really concerned. It’s endearing.

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