“I stood up too fast,” Natalie says. “I just need a minute.”
Ryan’s beside her in an instant. “Are you sure? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine, Dad. I swear. Just dizzy.”
Ryan’s jaw tightens. “I’m calling 911.”
“No.” She sits straighter, eyes wide. “Don’t. I’m okay. I just need to sit for a second.”
“Natalie—”
“Dad, I promise. I probably just need to eat something.”
He doesn’t look convinced. Neither am I.
“There’s a minute clinic across the street,” I say. “She could get a quick check, in and out.”
Ryan hesitates. I can see the tug-of-war happening behind his eyes.
“I have a client in fifteen minutes,” he mutters.
“I’ll take her,” I say immediately.
Natalie opens her mouth, either to argue or tell me to mind my own business, but Ryan cuts her off.
“Clinic or 911. Your choice.”
She sighs, defeated. “Clinic.”
Ryan helps her up. I stay close, just in case she wobbles again. She steadies, but she’s still pale.
Victoria reappears in the doorway, phone pressed to her ear. She covers the mic. “Emergency with another client. I have to run. You good?”
“I’m good,” Natalie says.
“Text me later,” Victoria says, before continuing her call.
Ryan cups Natalie’s face with both hands, full dad mode. “If they tell you to go to the hospital, you go. No arguments.”
“No arguments,” she echoes softly.
He kisses her forehead and steps back.
I offer her my arm and she hesitates for half a heartbeat but then she takes it. Her fingers curl around my elbow, soft and warm and familiar in a way that makes my stomach clench. We walk out of the conference room together and I keep my expression professional and not like I’m escorting the woman I slept with out of her father’s law firm.
The elevator ride is quiet. She leans back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing slow. I don’t touch her. Don’t talk. I just stay close in case she needs me.
Outside, the sunlight is too bright. She lifts a hand to shield her eyes, and I guide her across the street to the clinic.
“Hi,” I say to the receptionist. “She’s not feeling well. Light-headed. Almost fainted.”
“Have her fill these out,” the woman says, handing over a clipboard.
I take it and hand it to Natalie as she sinks into the nearest seat. I sit beside her so I’m close enough to help, far enough not to crowd her. She fills out her name, birthday and insurance info.
“You don’t have to stay,” she murmurs. “I can handle it from here.”
“I’ll stay.”
