Chapter 2
Orion
The womanin my arms weighed nothing compared to the chaos she’d just unleashed on my carefully controlled world. Tashi George—marketing genius, accidental arsonist, and the owner of the most distracting curves I’d seen in forty-two years—had managed to turn my hotel into a crime scene, send my brothers and me a photo that would haunt my dreams for entirely unprofessional reasons, and nearly die in a fire. All in her first twelve hours of employment.
I adjusted my grip as the ambulance hit another pothole, my thumb continuing those circles on her palm because stopping felt impossible. Her oxygen mask fogged with each breath, and I cataloged every sign of her recovery with the same obsessive attention I brought to quarterly reports.
Breathing: Regular.
Pulse: Strong.
Eye contact: Unfocused but present.
The soot streaking her skin should have written disaster on her face. Instead, it highlighted cheekbones I’d noticed during our morning meeting, when she leaned over the revenue projections and I got an eyeful of her full cleavage. It was then I’d lost track of Leo’s explanation of our Q3 marketing strategy.
The paramedic checked her blood pressure, and the sound of the blood pressure monitor pumping on her arm filled the tiny space. Finally, he let the armband release with a hiss, then checked the oxygen meter he had stuck on her finger. He pressed his lips together, and I didn’t like the dour expression on his face.
“What?” I said. There may have been an uncharacteristic note of worry in my voice.
“Vitals are stable,” the paramedic announced. “O2 stats are a little low, but that’s to be expected given what she’s been through. She’s lucky you got to her when you did.”
Lucky. Right. Because I’d been staring at that photo she sent—full breasts, one round brownish nipple displayed, crowning dangerous curves, a body that made me forget every professional boundary I’d ever established—when Ares had burst into my suite shouting about smoke detectors and security breaches.
My phone buzzed again. I checked it one-handed, keeping my other hand locked around Tashi’s.
Ares:Fire marshal suspects someone tampered with the microwave.
This wasn’t an accident. Ice slid down my spine. Someone had tried to hurt her. In our hotel. On her first day.
Me:Security footage?
Ares:Reviewing now. Multiple access points. Whoever did this knows our systems.
I looked down at Tashi, whose eyes had drifted closed behind the oxygen mask.
“Sir?” The paramedic’s voice pulled me back. “We’re almost there. I need to ask—is she on any medications? Does she have any allergies we should know about?”
“Food allergies,” I said, remembering her wine-only lunch. “She mentioned anaphylactic reactions. I don’t know specifics.”
The paramedic made notes. “I’ll mark her as NPO.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Latin isnil per os—nothing by mouth. That should do while she’s in the emergency room.”
The ambulance slowed, then stopped. Doors opened to reveal the emergency bay’s harsh fluorescent lighting and the organized chaos of a Las Vegas ER on a Thursday night. They wheeled Tashi toward automatic doors while I stayed close. A nurse tried to redirect me to the waiting area. I gave her the look that made investors reconsider their negotiating positions. She stepped aside.
“Mr. Kolykos.” A doctor appeared, clipboard in hand, expression professionally neutral in that way that meant she recognized me and was pretending not to.
“I’m Dr. Reeves. I’ll be overseeing Ms. George’s care. If you’ll wait in?—”
“I’m not waiting anywhere.” I kept my voice level, reasonable. “She’s my employee. She was injured in my hotel. I’m responsible for her medical care, and I’m not leaving until I know she’s stable.”
Dr. Reeves’s expression suggested she’d heard this speech before from concerned family members who weren’t actually family. “Sir, we have privacy regulations?—”
“Then ask her.” I looked down at Tashi, whose eyes had opened again, still glassy from smoke inhalation but tracking our conversation. “Tashi, do you want me to stay, or should I wait outside?”
Her hand tightened around mine. The oxygen mask muffled her response into incomprehensible wheezing, but the grip on my fingers spoke clearly enough.
