Page 12 of Saved By the CEO

“You don’t have to have intercourse with him. It’s enough if he just brings you to climax.”

I laugh. It’s short, dry, and laced with acid. “Oh, well, that changes everything. I don’t have to fuck my boss. Hejusthas to get me off. That’s nothing.” My voice is getting louder, but I can’t stop. “My boss, who—by the way—is incredibly angry with me right now, just has to make mecome.”

She once again rests a hand on my shoulder. “You need to calm down.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my forehead, and I’m just about to start screaming when her palm goes up.

“I’m not saying you’re overreacting. You’re not. This situation is unfair—incredibly so. But you’re sick. Very, very sick. You don’t feel it right now because of the strong emotions you’re going through. But you’re still sick. You need to calm down for your health, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, suddenly embarrassed by my outburst. And my language.

She shakes her head. “You don’t need to apologize. This virus is cruel, and I understand how incredibly difficult this arrangement will be for you. You are allowed to feel angry. Just try not to raise your heart rate.” She pats my shoulder and stands. “Your phone is on the table next to you, in case you change your mind about calling someone.”

The second Dr. Shaw closes the door behind her, I reach for the phone and tap Annie’s contact. She picks up after two rings.

“What’s up?”

“I have the fucking virus, and Mr. Bennett is my partner.”

The line goes silent.

“Annie?”

“I’m sorry. I think I just blacked out.”

“I’ll give you a moment to process.”

“Thank y—What the actual fuck?”

A string of curses comes through the phone. It’s a little therapeutic. After a minute or so, she calms down.

“So let me get this straight,” she says in a matter-of-fact way. “Your boss, who has a huge fucking stick up his ass and generally sucks, has to flick your bean—otherwise you die?”

My stomach churns. This is officially the worst day of my life.

“I think I’m just going to let nature take its course. I had a good run, didn’t I?”

“Nope.” There’s a loud scratch. I think she’s shaking her head. “You’re going to let that creepy cyborg put his hands down your pants, or so help me God, I will strap you to a bed and put it there myself.”

I snort. “Well, that’s not rapey at all.”

“It’s that or you die, Car. I’m not fucking letting you die.”

FOUR

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock in Dr. Shaw’s office is the loudest I’ve ever heard. I don’t understand how she can concentrate with it hanging on the wall behind her.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I’m sitting in one of the two chairs across from her desk. The other is occupied by a six-foot-two man I refuse to acknowledge. Earlier, I caught a glimpse of his death grip on the armrest out of the corner of my eye. That was enough.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“It has to be done today.” Dr. Shaw has her hands folded on the desk, looking at us expectantly. None of us says a word.

Tick. Tick. Tick.