Page 65 of Enticing My Off Limits Billionaire

Idreaditmorethan a little when I finally turn my phone back on.

I let it die when the battery ran out after I first got to Quinn's a few days ago, and I haven't checked it since. I'm confident I'll have angry texts from my dad, from Kylie...tons of people asking what's wrong with me, why I did this, and how I plan to apologize.

I don't want to hear it.

I take a deep breath as I power my phone back on during my trip to class, swallowing hard. I didn't want to do it at the apartment—I don't know Quinn's brother well enough to let him in on everything that's going on—and sometimes I just manage things better on my own. So I brace myself, stare at the screen, and finally look.

As expected, there are about a dozen texts from my father. He always comes in to defend Kylie when we get in a fight as if I didn't have a friendship with her before the two of them got together. I'm planning on mostly ignoring them until I catch a glimpse of the beginning of one of the texts, and my jaw drops at the story the texts tell.

Need to talk to you, my dad writes.Don't take this out on Kylie.

Typical. But moving on...

I'm so sorry for everything that's happened, Madison. I know it's not fair. Please call me.

Then, a day later—

Worried about you. Can't reach Quinn either. Call me?

There are a few more like that, going from accusatory to apologetic. My dad and I have a tough relationship and always have, and things with Kylie have made it so much worse.

But he's trying.

And I finally get it...because I fell in love with his best friend, and Quinn has very quickly become the priority.

Then it takes a turn with a text from just this morning.

Headed to Mount Sinai. Something wrong with K, call when you can.

And then...nothing.

My breath hitches and I swallow hard, covering my mouth. Now, I wish I was still at the apartment because I need support, I need...

I need to be with my best friend.

I skip my stop to go to school, and I transfer trains instead, pulling up my dad's number and calling. It goes straight to voicemail, and my heart is pounding by the time I finally arrive on the Upper East Side and walk from the subway station to the hospital. I stride up to reception with my bag slung over my shoulder, shaking even though I'm plenty warm in my coat.

I'm worried.

That's what this is.

I'm so, so worried.

"How can I help you?" the receptionist asks.

"I'm looking for a friend who checked in for an emergency this morning," I say. "Kylie Sterling?"

The receptionist nods and types in Kylie's name on her computer, humming to herself softly. I don't think she gets the urgency I'm feeling right now...and I try to remind myself to calm down because freaking out won't help anybody.

"Okay," she says. "Your friend is in ICU. Are you family?"

Well, that's complicated. But I nod. "Um...yeah, I'm her stepdaughter. My dad should be there with her?"

"Can I get your name?"

"Madison Sterling," I reply.

"Let me call up to the room and see how she's doing and if they're ready for visitors," the receptionist says.

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