Page 20 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess

As I rush down the hallway, his secretary Sally catches up to me. I’d love to give her a piece of my mind too, but she’s probably already suffered enough dealing with a jerk like Gabriel. I hurry to the elevator, which takes me down in no time. Keeping my composure isincredibly hard.

Not yet.

No, not yet…

I step outside.

Okay. Now. Now I can cry a little. Now it’s okay. Now he can’t see me…

Chapter 4

Gabriel

I’m standing at the window, looking down. Kimberley’s in the courtyard, fiddling with her phone, pulling out tissues and dabbing her face.

Is she crying?

So, Kim isn’t just furious—she’s genuinely hurt. I probably pushed her too far.

"Gabriel?" Sally’s hesitant voice calls behind me. "What should I do with all these drinks?"

She’s the daughter of a good friend, who I hired as a favor. She’s always unsure and nervous and has never lasted more than four weeks at any job, but she’s been with me almost a year now. It’s slowly getting better, but her anxiety never stops.

"You can put them on the table… or help yourself."

"And what about Ms. Prescott’s device?" she asks. Curious, I turn.

"What device?"

"This thing. It was beeping. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have found it." I frown and move closer.

"Let me see." I take the small device and immediately recognize it. A glucose meter. My Rosie has the exact same one—same model, but Rosie’s is bright pink.

At first, I think she might’ve stolen it from Rosie—then I realize Kimberley also has diabetes. And the meter is beeping.

"What kind of thing is that?" Sally asks.

"A very important one. I’ll be right back." I rush to the elevator and head down to the ground floor. She must’ve had quite a bit to drink in the last three hours, which would raise her blood sugar. Add the stress, and her levels could spike dangerously.

I still see Kim outside. A taxi’s stopping next to her. I have to act. I walk faster, calling, "Wait!" She turns—but the sudden motionmakes her nearly collapse in front of the cab. I reach her just in time and catch her. She’s dazed, pale, blinking weakly, breathing hard.

"Where’s your insulin?" I ask as the driver gets out and circles the car.

"Mhm…" she mumbles. No time for chit-chat. I grab her bag and hand it to the driver. I’ve got to take care of Kim.

"Hey, you. There should be a syringe and a vial in that bag. Give them to me. Now!"

"Y-yes, sir. Just a sec." The older gentleman immediately rummages through the bag and finds both items in a black case. I take them and draw up some insulin. Then I carefully lift Kim’s blouse just enough to inject the insulin into the fatty tissue of her lower abdomen. Good thing I know what I’m doing.

"My wife has diabetes too. I hope the young lady feels better soon," the man says, setting the bag down beside us.

"She’ll be fine. In a few minutes she’ll be back to normal."

The driver’s done his part. I carry Kim to my car, and Sally opens the door for me. She’s brought my stuff and the car key, since I’m driving Kim home.

"I’m fine now," she mumbles, but I can tell differently.

"Yeah, right. No witty comebacks, no insults… you’re still way too weak on your feet," I reply. Then I glance at Sally. "Reschedule all calls for tomorrow—I’m not coming back to the office today."