A minute later two men in EMT uniform rush in, cramming into the stall with me.
“I’m fine, really,” I insist as they start checking my vitals.
“Have you been drinking, ma’am.”
“Only water,” I answer. “I’m okay, seriously. I just got nauseous and dizzy and–”
“Do you get dizzy spells often?”
“No. I…I don’t.”
“I’m going to call Avery and tell him to send Callum back to the hotel,” Zoe says, pulling out her phone. “Oh, I should mention, we did get massages today and you should drink a lot of water and stay out of heat when you get a massage. Oh, hey babe! Yeah I miss you too. Hey, can you tell Callum that Amanda is super sick, and he needs to come back asap? Yeah. I don’t know. She puked everywhere. Yeah, gross I know…”
I let out a defeated sigh. “I’m fine,” I tell the EMTs again. “I probably just didn’t drink enough water.”
“We understand ma’am but it’s protocol to check everything. Any chance you’re pregnant?”
“No, of course not?—”
I stop.
What day is it?
Saturday the…27th.
Fuck…
Chapter 26
Amanda
“Iam your husband,” Callum stares down at me, arms crossed, forearm veins bulging, brow strong and determined.
“Allegedly. But even if we were married by choice, you wouldn’t be allowed to tell me to stay home from work.” I glare up at him from the bed. I have the blankets up to my neck. While I have been up and down all-night puking (which I am sure he heard because when we got back to Charlotte, he insisted on staying the night with me) I am being stubborn.
“I think it’s pretty ridiculous that you are forcing me to use sick time right after we signed a major artist who very much needs a hit song written in the next week,” I tell him.
“We can figure that out later this week. But in the meantime, you need rest.”
“I am fine.”
“You nearly passed out in a hotel bathroom.”
“Because your soon-to-be-sister-in-law made me get a deep tissue massage and then go sit out in the Nashville sun! I was dehydrated.”
“Possible heatstroke sounds like a sick day excuse in my book.”
“Like I said, you’re notreallymy husband. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Fine. Then I’m not your husband. But I am your boss. And I say, you’re too sick to work.”
“Maybe it wasn’t the heat at all! Maybe it was food poisoning!” I argue, knowing damn well it wasn’t.
“Also, a good enough reason to stay in bed. You are on sick leave until Wednesday at the soonest. End of discussion.”
Callum marches out of the apartment, and I peek out the tinted glass, waiting until I see his car leave before I sit up.
“Finally. Jesus. I thought he’d never leave.”
