Page 62 of Just a Little Tempted

The crack of glass when the phone hit the pavement made me curse. I snatched it up to find a spiderweb of fractures across the screen. The display flickered, unresponsive to my touch.

No. No, no, no.

But I didn’t have time to panic about that. Miles was bent over the lawn, retching into the grass, his entire body heaving. I shoved the useless phone into my purse and rushed to his side, rubbing his back until the spasms passed. Then I helped him into the passenger seat, buckled him in, and drove, breaking every speed limit between there and the hospital.

Miles rubbed his eyes the whole way, complaining about a headache, about the light being too bright, about feeling like his skull was splitting open. Each symptom confirmed what I already suspected, and my hands shook on the steering wheel.

Please let him be okay. Please.

The emergency room was a blur of fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell. They didn’t make Miles wait. One look at his dilated pupil and they rushed him through, a doctor shining a penlight in his eyes while firing off questions about his symptoms. Miles was too confused to answer coherently, so Ifilled in what I could. The hockey game, the hit against the boards, the delayed onset of nausea and disorientation.

They wheeled him away for a CT scan, and I was left alone in a cold waiting room with paperwork on a clipboard to fill out for him with shaking hands.

The paperwork blurred in front of me. I filled in what I knew, grateful that Miles had been here before and they already had his insurance information on file. His emergency contact was Hazel, and they must have called her, because she burst through the waiting room doors just as I handed the clipboard back to the nurse.

“Is he okay?” She rushed toward me, breathless, panic bright in her eyes. “How was he when you got there? God, I can’t believe I left him alone—”

“Hey.” I caught her shoulders, steadying her. “You couldn’t have known. But he’s here now. He’s where they can help him.”

“Are you the family of Miles Seager?” someone asked from behind us.

We both turned. A man in blue scrubs stood nearby, his expression calm but serious.

“Yes,” Hazel said, reaching for my hand. Her fingers were ice cold. “Is he okay?”

“Imaging shows Mr. Seager has a grade two concussion, which is serious, but moderate. I fully expect him to make a complete recovery with time, but he’ll need physical and mental rest over the next several days, along with pain management for the head and neck discomfort. We’ll keep him here for monitoring overnight, but I anticipate significant improvement by tomorrow.”

I shook my head in confusion. “If he got the concussion Saturday night, why didn’t the symptoms show up right away?”

“You mentioned he was playing hockey when it happened?” I nodded. “In high-adrenaline situations, symptoms can take upto forty-eight hours to fully manifest. The body’s stress response can mask the severity of the injury initially.”

“So he’s really going to be okay?” Hazel’s voice cracked.

The doctor offered a reassuring smile. “I believe he will. You can see him shortly, but please keep the visit brief. Rest is essential right now.”

As the man walked away, I finally let myself breathe. The vise around my chest loosened, and beside me, Hazel’s entire body seemed to deflate with relief as well.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much for checking on him. We’re so lucky you were free this morning.”

The words hit me like a jolt of ice water. My eyes snapped to the clock on the wall, and my stomach plummeted. 11:46 am. The meeting with Alexander had started over forty-five minutes ago. I was supposed to be there with the contract—the contract I’d never printed, never delivered, because I’d been here. And my phone was shattered. Simon had no idea where I was or why I hadn’t shown up.

“I have to go.” The words came out in a rush. “I’m late—there’s an important meeting—tell Miles I’ll come back later to see him.”

I didn’t wait for her response. I was already running for the exit, my heels clicking against the linoleum, praying that I hadn’t just lost this deal for Simon.

All I could think was that Simon had trusted me. He’d given meonejob today—print the contract and deliver it to Alexander’s office—and I’d failed him completely. The document was still sitting on the server at Powers Investment Group, useless, while I’d been unreachable for hours with a shattered phone and no way to explain.

Simon had gone to that meeting expecting everything to be ready, expectingmeto have handled my part, and insteadhe’d walked in empty-handed. No contract. No assistant. No explanation. Just silence from the person he’d counted on most.

I could only imagine what Alexander must have thought—whatSimonmust have thought—when I never showed up. All those weeks of building trust, of proving myself capable, of showing him I could be relied upon… and I’d undermined it all in a single morning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Simon

The conference roomfelt smaller with every passing minute.

I stood at the window, phone pressed to my ear, listening to the hollow rhythm of ringing that I already knew would go unanswered. When Raina’s voicemail message played—cheerful, professional, completely at odds with the situation—I ended the call without leaving a message and shoved the phone back into my pocket.