Page 48 of Ten Day Affair

“That’s not lasagna."

"Stop. Let me throw this away. You don't mind if I tag along, do you?"

"Of course not. But I'm not meeting him for another fifteen. I'm just going to head that way."

We round the corner past the boardroom when Kip's hand shoots out to grab my scrub top. "Hold up."

A group of suits exits the glass-fronted conference room, their voices hushed but animated. Cole stands among them, his height making him easy to spot. He's nodding at whatever the man is saying, but his jaw is tight.

My heartbeat quickens. I step back, pulling Kip with me behind a support column.

"What are you doing?" He whispers through clenched teeth.

"I don't want him to see me."

"Why? I thought that was what we were doing? Are you worried he might think you're stalking him?" His eyes dance with amusement.

"I'm not—" I stop, realizing I've walked right into his trap.

Cole pauses, checking something on his phone. Even from this distance, I can see the intensity in his expression.

"Look at that. He's not just a suit, he's persuasive. Langley looks like he swallowed something sour."

The hospital CFO does indeed look displeased, his lips pressed into a thin line as Cole speaks quietly to him.

"What do you think they're discussing?" I ask.

"Doesn't matter. Most everyone I've talked to thinks concierge care's inevitable." Kip's voice loses its teasing edge.

"Oh, God."

"The board will make whatever decision maximizes profits. That's their job."

"That's not true. My dad's on the board, and I know he won't vote for that."

"Your father is one vote, Sam."

My stomach knots as Cole and the executives move toward the elevator. He hasn't seen me. I should berelieved, but instead there's a hollow sensation spreading through my chest.

"We should go," I whisper.

"Where? Aren't we meeting him?"

"Yes, at the wing. Come on. He's going to see us."

My front doorclicks shut behind me, and I lean against it, letting my bag slide to the floor.

The weight of the day sinks in all at once. My shoulders are tight, my calves ache, and there’s a dull throb in my lower back that feels like a warning light I’ve been ignoring for too long.

My body’s not just tired, it’s overstimulated and underwhelmed. Like I’ve been holding tension in the wrong places for hours and can’t remember how to let it go.

I kick off my shoes and pad to the kitchen, muscle memory guiding me to the fridge. The cool air hits my face as I stare blankly at the contents. There's half a container of cottage cheese, wilted spinach, and a bottle of white wine that's been open for three days.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I don't want to talk to anyone, but I pull it out anyway, out of habit.

It's a text from Cole.

Just his name lights up something under my ribs. My mouth goes dry as I lean against the counter and open the message as my heart beats audibly against the hard stone.