Page 84 of Ten Day Affair

My heart rate spikes. Kip never calls more than once unless it's an emergency.

I swipe to call him back, dread pooling in my stomach. Whatever this is, I'm not ready for it. Not today. Not when I'm already balancing on the knife-edge of professional obligation and personal desire.

The phone rings once, twice?—

"Sam? Finally!" Kip's voice bursts through the speaker, tight with urgency.

"What's wrong?"

"Where have you been? The board meeting's been moved up. They're voting in thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes? How?" My voice cracks.

"I don't know exactly, I just know it's happening. Emergency restructure or whatever bullshit they're calling it." Kip's words tumble over each other.

"Are you there?"

"No, I'm at Citrine. Come get me and we will go together."

I hang up without saying goodbye, flinging my towel across the room. I notice I have three missed calls from Arden, too, but I don't have time to call her right now.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I yank on clean scrubs, not bothering with makeup.

Thirty minutes isn't even enough time to process what happened with Cole last night, let alone prepare mentally for what today means.

I text Arden as I climb into my car.

Hospital vote was rescheduled to this morning. In 30 minutes. I promise I'll call you when it's over.

Ten minutes later, I push through Citrine's glass doors. The familiar scent of espresso and spinach greets my senses.

Kip sits at our usual corner table, two green smoothies already waiting. His sandy hair sticks up at odd angles, and those wire-rimmed glasses perch precariously on his nose.

"Why were your calls going straight to voicemail?" His eyebrows disappear into his hairline as he slides a smoothie toward me.

I drop into the seat across from him, not meeting his eyes. "Long story. I didn't plug in my phone last night."

He snorts, leaning forward to examine my face. "Must've been biblical."

Heat crawls up my neck. I take a long sip of the smoothie, letting the cold kale-apple mixture cool my burning cheeks. Something about Kip's teasing makes me feel seen in a way that's both comforting and excruciating.

"Do you want details or the emergency board meetingrundown?" I manage a weak smile, but my hands tremble around the plastic cup.

"Both, obviously. But duty before pleasure. Twenty-three minutes until they vote on whether to gut your mom's wing." Kip taps his watch.

I swallow hard. "Who moved it up? Was it?—"

"Not Houston. I think something about the mortgage. It was the CFO. They're claiming urgent financial restructuring needs."

Something sinks in my stomach.

I stare at my smoothie, watching condensation slide down the cup like tears.

"We need to go. If we don’t get there in time, there may not be anything left to fight for."

My phone vibrates in the cup holder. It's a text from Dad.

Vote meeting now. Get here if you want to sit in.