Page 83 of Saved By the CEO

“They’re on their way,” she tells me, then says something into the phone. Her eyes flick over my face again. “Stay with me, okay?”

“I can’t even sit up,” I begin, each word a struggle, but I force them out. “Where the fuck would I go?”

She looks at me very angrily.

The ambulance arrives faster than I expect and somehow not fast enough. The next few minutes come in pieces. Twoparamedics in my bedroom. Annie giving them information in a clipped, steady voice. A blood pressure cuff tightening around my arm. Someone asking me my name, the date, and whether I know where I am.

“Unfortunately,” I whisper.

One of the paramedics almost smiles. Annie does not.

At the hospital, everything is too bright. The ceiling lights smear above me as they wheel me through the corridor. I hear RHV, fever spike, partner contact, Dr. Shaw, and then Andrew’s name, spoken like a thing that belongs in my chart now. Like blood type or allergies.

“He has to come,” someone says.

My stomach turns. “No,” I whisper.

Annie, walking beside the bed, looks down at me. “Yes.”

“He’s going to be mad.”

“Good,” she says, her voice tight. “He can get in line behind me.”

I close my eyes. For a while, everything blurs into heat and voices. The sticky weight of my shirt against my skin. A thermometer under my tongue. A nurse saying numbers I don’t understand.

When I open my eyes again, Dr. Shaw is above me.

“Carly. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Look at me for a second.” She shines a light in one eye, then the other. “Your fever is too high. We’re cooling you down, but it isn’t enough.”

“Where’s Annie?”

“She’s right outside.” Dr. Shaw’s mouth tightens. “Scaring my nurses.”

A laugh tries to happen but dies somewhere in my chest.

“Andrew?” I whisper.

“We called him. He’s on his way.”

The door opens fifteen minutes later. Andrew steps inside. His hair is mussed and his T-shirt is inside out. His eyes find me, and for a second his face falls. It’s so quick I might have missed it if I weren’t looking right at him. Then it’s gone, replaced by something hard enough to cut glass. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Nice to see you too,” I say in a weak voice.

“This isexactlywhat I wanted to avoid,” he says. “You left without answering, didn’t respond to my messages, and now you’re in a hospital bed with a fever high enough for Dr. Shaw to call me at three in the morning.” His voice is barely controlled. “You could have died in your fucking sleep.”

My face burns even hotter, which is impressive, considering the fever is already doing a spectacular job.

Dr. Shaw studies us for a moment, then glances toward the monitor. “I’m going to give you a minute while we finish setting up.”

Then she leaves the room.

Andrew stays where he is, several feet from the bed, one hand flexing at his side. “You should have called me the second you felt something,” he says.

I thought it was a ghost.