They decided I needed further medical attention.
But ambulances are expensive. As are hospitals. The last thing I need is for a doctor bill to decimate my savings.
I saw that happen when we lived with my aunt. She’d had diabetes. And she put off paying her medical bills. The debt collectors started calling. I had to help her negotiate with the hospital, the doctors, and the insurance company.
An additional worry unlocks. Today is the last day I work for Sebastian, with my top-of-the-line insurance. I should still be covered until the end of the month, but what if I’m wrong and my new, lesser plan, the only one I could afford, hasn’t kicked in yet? Insurance for the self-employed is astronomical and confusing.
Hell. I definitely can’t afford the hospital.
“I just need a few minutes to rest,” I insist, trying to sound normal, though the effort makes my tongue thick and clumsy in my mouth. My head pounds.
Sebastian returns to my side on the couch. “Cut the crap. You were out for a good minute.” He clears his throat. “The scariest damn minute of my life.”
“What you need to do is get to the premiere.” I close my eyes to try to stop the nausea. “You can’t miss it. You’re contracted to attend. The studio is counting on you.”
“Fuck the studio. Ronan and Chase are covering for me. I’m not leaving you. We’re going to the hospital now.”
Closing my eyes is just making my vertigo worse. “Shit, I think I’m going to be sick,” I whimper, trying to pull away from him.
But he won’t let me go. He looks around the mostly bare room and then whips off his extremely expensive jacket and holds it like a makeshift bucket.
I stare at one spot on the wall and take deep breaths. The room gradually stops spinning.
Thank God, because if I had vomited all over Sebastian’s jacket, his new stylist would hate me even more than he already does. That thought makes me almost want to giggle.
Is this bad karma for quitting my job?
And if it is bad karma, is it mine or Sebastian’s? It’s a legitimate question since I got sick all over his car earlier. And now almost lost it on his jacket.
“Are you okay?” Sebastian smooths the hair back from my face.
He shifts so he can pull a handkerchief from his pocket. He wipes my sweating forehead gently. I try to protest because I know all about the handkerchiefs. They’re handmade and were given to him by his grandfather. He always has one at a premiere, like a talisman.
And they’re so old and delicate, they basically fall apart when they’re washed.
They’re the ones I’ve been trying to source. Before quitting, I debated pulling a bait-and-switch and asking a contact working in a historical series’ costume department to get some look-alikes made.
But now it will fall to Matt to solve the handkerchief crisis.
This is one of his last ones. And now it’s probably got my sweat and makeup all over it.
I shift, trying to fix my voluminous gown that’s crushed between us.
“Maybe crackers would settle your stomach. When was the last time you ate?”
I haven’t eaten anything since… I struggle to think. Since last night, when I’d heated up a slice of pizza at ten.
My stomach recoils. “God, no. I can’t even think of food.”
“You need to go to the hospital,” he says as he rubs my back.
“I’ll go to urgent care,” I mutter, desperately needing a mint. And a nap. “Duncan can drive me because you have to return to the premiere.”
Sebastian shakes his head. “Here’s the deal. Either I take you to the hospital, or we can go via ambulance. No matter what, you’re going. And I’ll be there with you.”
“You can’t leave.”
“We’re going now.” His voice is soft yet firm.
