Page 85 of Saved By the CEO

A minute later, Annie comes back in. Her eyes go straight to my face. Then to the monitor. Then back to me. “You look less dead,” she says.

I laugh, but it comes out thin. “Thanks.”

She sits down in the chair beside the bed and takes my hand. Her grip is warm and solid and not clinical at all. For a second, neither of us says anything.

Then she squeezes my fingers. “You scared the shit out of me.”

I look toward the door Andrew disappeared through.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

Gray light slipsthrough the blinds. The room smells of disinfectant and plastic, and for a few seconds I let myself pretend I’m here for something normal. A sprained ankle. A weird headache that turned out to be mild dehydration. A dramatic but ultimately harmless fainting episode.

Not because I got medically jerked off by my boss last night.

Annie is asleep in the chair beside the bed, curled up in a hoodie, her arms crossed and her chin tucked to her chest. She looks exhausted and uncomfortable and vaguely murderous, even in her sleep. When I shift under the blanket, her eyes snap open.

“Morning,” I whisper.

She studies me like she needs to confirm I’m actually alive before deciding how mad to be. “You don’t look like a dying Victorian ghost child anymore.”

“Can’t be both a ghostand dying.”

Her mouth twitches, but it doesn’t turn into a smile. “Semantics.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then she reaches for the cup of water on the table and hands it to me. “Andrew left around six,” she says. “Dr. Shaw told him you were stable and that you were being kept for observation.”

I look down at the cup. “Okay.”

“He looked like shit, by the way.”

“It was early in the morning.”

“No.” Annie’s voice softens, but only a little. “Not tired shit. Scared shit.”

My throat tightens, so I drink the water instead of answering. All I can remember is his face as he walked in. The split secondwhen something raw crossed it, and then the anger that took over.

What the hell were you thinking?

You could have died in your fucking sleep.

A knock sounds at the door before either of us can say another word. Dr. Shaw steps inside, a tablet tucked under one arm. “Good morning, Carly. How are you feeling?”

How is she still working?Is she some kind of vampire doctor who doesn’t need sleep?

Does she sparkle in the sun and have five adopted teenagers at home?

“Better.”

“Good. Your temperature is down, and your vitals have been stable for the last few hours.” She glances at Annie. “Would you mind giving us a minute?”

Annie looks at me. I nod.

“I’ll be right outside,” she says, then points at me. “No dying while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try to control myself.”

When the door closes behind her, Dr. Shaw pulls the chair closer and sits. Her expression is calm, but serious enough that my stomach sinks.