But I'm already opening the door, because I've completely abandoned any pretense of boundaries where she is concerned.
She's on the floor again, looking pale and miserable and so small it makes my goddamnedchest ache.
"This is becoming a pattern," I say, crouching beside her with a damp towel and bottled water I grabbed from the galley. "And not a good one."
"I'm aware." She takes the towel gratefully. "It’s nothing. Just…food hasn’t been sitting well with my stomach lately.”
"Which is exactly why you're seeing a doctor the second we land.”
"Donovan—"
"That's not a request, Emma. That's me, as your boss and as someone who gives a damn about you, telling you that you're seeing a doctor today."
She looks up at me, something vulnerable flickering in her gaze
I help her stand, keeping one hand on her elbow as she leans against the counter.
We're standing too close in this tiny bathroom, and I can see the exact moment she remembers Friday night—the way her breath catches, the flush that creeps up her neck.
"Don—"
"Come on." I steer her back to the main cabin before I do something stupid. "Sit. I'll get you crackers."
"I'm starting to think you have a cracker addiction."
"I have an Emma-not-throwing-up-on-my-plane addiction." I settle her into her seat and hand her the crackers and ginger ale. "Eat. Slowly."
She nibbles obediently, and I take the seat across from her, watching to make sure she's actually keeping food down.
"You don't have to babysit me," she says after a few minutes.
"I'm not babysitting. I'm monitoring a valuable employee's health."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"Would you prefer I call it what it actuallyis?"
"Which is?"
"Me being unable to focus on anything except making sure you're okay." The words are gritty—a rasp that scrape out of my throat as I say them. "Me spending the last three days trying not to repeat Friday night because I can see how not ok you’ve been"
Emma's cracker stops halfway to her mouth. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." I lean back, running a hand through my hair. "So no, Emma. I'm not babysitting. I'm trying very hard not to completely lose my composure while also making sure you don't pass out from whatever the hell is making you sick."
She's quiet for a long moment, just looking at me with those hazel eyes that see too much.
"I'm scared," she admits finally.
"Of what?"
“You know what.” She sets down the crackers. "I've never been good at letting people in. And you're my boss, which makes everything complicated, and I just... I'mscared of screwing this up."
"Emma." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "You're not going to screw anything up. And for what it's worth? I'm terrified too."
"You don't seem terrified. You seem very in control."
"That's because I'm very good at pretending." I reach across and take her hand. "But the truth is, I haven't felt in control since the moment you walked into that reception and I realized the woman from Miami was about to become my employee."
