Page 13 of Saved By the CEO

“We have the room set up for you right now. I think it’s best if we head there as soon as possible. We can’t keep her fever under control much longer.”

He Who Shall Not Be Named clears his throat. “Would it be enough if I just stayed in the room? Or put a hand on her arm while she does it?”

Dr. Shaw shakes her head. “We don’t fully understand all aspects of this virus yet, but it seems the climax has to be administered directly by the partner. Proximity is not enough.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I decide to speak up. “How do you know it’s him? Maybe you’re wrong.”

She opens a drawer and pulls out a small stack of papers.

“We did a blood test. See, here.” She points to some medical terminology I don’t understand. Next to it, the word “positive” is underlined. “The connection is easy to detect with a blood test, and since he came in with you, he was our first guess. Symptoms typically appear a day or two after physical contact.”

Aha!I raise a finger in the air, feeling triumphant. “Your test is wrong, then. We’ve never been physical, so it’s not?—”

“I touched your forehead before your first press briefing,” a low voice says from my left.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“I’m going to show you to the room now.”

The room is very clinical,which I assume is the point. They want the… event to feel more medical than intimate. I get it. Respect it, even. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to relax under fluorescent lighting.

At least there’s a bed. A single hospital bed with a blue mattress peeking out from beneath white sheets. Horrifyingly enough, it has stirrups mounted on the sides.

Next to the bed is a table with a drawer, where Dr. Shaw told us we could find things that might help.“Lubrication and provocative images,”she said. That exact wording.

I quickly decide the drawer will stay closed. I am not going to flip through porn next to my boss. Nope. I am going to try to maintain some scrap of dignity.

The rest of the room is pretty bare. There’s a locker, a row of cabinets where Dr. Shaw said we could find towels, a privacy screen on wheels, and a small stool, which I’m guessing is for Mr. Bennett. It’s right next to the bed.

Dr. Shaw left about a minute ago. Neither of us has moved.

“Should we…?” He gestures toward the bed.

I nod, trying to keep calm even though I feel like I’m about to melt into a puddle on the floor and die. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

He walks over to the bed, then stops when he notices the stirrups.

“We’re not using those,” he says.

Before I can respond, he crouches beside the bed and examines the metal brackets. It takes him a few seconds to figure out the release mechanism, but eventually one stirrup comes loose with a sharp click. He sets it against the wall, then removes the other.

The gesture shouldn’t matter as much as it does. They’re just pieces of metal. Still, some of the tension leaves my shoulders.

Mr. Bennett sits on the stool, and I gently lower myself onto the bed. I’m sick, and my body feels weak. To top it off, I’m carrying around nerves the size of Africa, and I’ve never in my life been so aware of myself as I am in this very moment.

“Mr. Bennett, I?—”

“Andrew, please,” he interrupts. “I’m not your employer here. This is strange enough without the power dynamics.”

“Right. Yeah, that’s—that’s true.” I’m stumbling over my words. Fuck, I’m nervous. “Can I call you Andy?”

“No.”