Page 10 of Saved By the CEO

“I’m so sorry, sir. I wasn’t—I mean, I—” I’m struggling to find the right words. I don’t want to make excuses for myself. I should have let someone else handle the briefing. I should have taken a sick day. “I thought I could handle it. I was wrong.”

I’m fighting tears at this point, but I’m also fighting just to stay upright.

I’m starting to get very, very dizzy.

“What I don’t understand is?—”

I blink as his muffled voice grows more distant. There’s a loud thud, and suddenly a blurry figure hovers above me. “Miss Michaels?”

Something touches my face.

“Jesus, you’re burning up.”

No, I’m shivering. It’s freezing in here.

Someone is carrying me, and I realize, with utter mortification, that it’s my boss. I want to protest, but I’m so out of it that I can’t even tell where we are. Are those sirens? Oh god.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Please don’t let that be an ambulance.

“I can walk,” I manage to get out.

“You can barely open your eyes,” Mr. Bennett replies, way too close for comfort.

“I can?—”

Darkness.

I wakeup in a hospital bed. There are flowers on the little table next to me, tulips in various colors. I glance at the note. It’s from BenCo.Geez, that’s quick. I bet Martha in HR was on the phone with the florist the second the ambulance pulled up.

Ambulance.

Someone called anambulance.

That is so fucking embarrassing.

Just as I’m about to suffocate myself with a pillow, a doctor strolls in. She’s in her mid-forties and wears a grim expression.

“Hello, Carly. Glad to see you’re awake.” She doesn’t look very glad. “I’m Dr. Shaw, and I’ve been treating you for the past few hours. Could you tell me about the last thing you remember?”

I tell her about sitting in Mr. Bennett’s office, feeling dizzy, and being carried by him. She nods while writing in a notepad.

“I figured you wouldn’t remember getting here. You seemed pretty delirious.”

Where’s the fucking pillow?

“You came in with a very high fever. We’ve managed to get it down a bit, but I’m sorry to say it’s likely only temporary.”

“What do you mean? Am I dying or something?”

She puts her notepad away and looks me straight in the eyes.

“You have RHV.”

I feel itchy all over. “RHV?”

“Reproductive Homeostasis Virus.”