Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Is he okay?” She rushed toward me, breathless, panic bright in her eyes. “How was he when you got there? God, I can’t believe I left him alone—”
“Hey.” I caught her shoulders, steadying her. “You couldn’t have known. But he’s here now. He’s where they can help him.”
“Are you the family of Miles Seager?” someone asked from behind us.
We both turned. A man in blue scrubs stood nearby, his expression calm but serious.
“Yes,” Hazel said, reaching for my hand. Her fingers were ice cold. “Is he okay?”
“Imaging shows Mr. Seager has a grade two concussion, which is serious, but moderate. I fully expect him to make a complete recovery with time, but he’ll need physical and mental rest over the next several days, along with pain management for the head and neck discomfort. We’ll keep him here for monitoring overnight, but I anticipate significant improvement by tomorrow.”
I shook my head in confusion. “If he got the concussion Saturday night, why didn’t the symptoms show up right away?”
“You mentioned he was playing hockey when it happened?” I nodded. “In high-adrenaline situations, symptoms can take up to forty-eight hours to fully manifest. The body’s stress response can mask the severity of the injury initially.”
“So he’s really going to be okay?” Hazel’s voice cracked.
The doctor offered a reassuring smile. “I believe he will. You can see him shortly, but please keep the visit brief. Rest is essential right now.”
As the man walked away, I finally let myself breathe. The vise around my chest loosened, and beside me, Hazel’s entire body seemed to deflate with relief as well.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much for checking on him. We’re so lucky you were free this morning.”
The words hit me like a jolt of ice water. My eyes snapped to the clock on the wall, and my stomach plummeted. 11:46 am. The meeting with Alexander had started over forty-five minutes ago. I was supposed to be there with the contract—the contract I’d never printed, never delivered, because I’d been here. And my phone was shattered. Simon had no idea where I was or why I hadn’t shown up.
“I have to go.” The words came out in a rush. “I’m late—there’s an important meeting—tell Miles I’ll come back later to see him.”
I didn’t wait for her response. I was already running for the exit, my heels clicking against the linoleum, praying that I hadn’t just lost this deal for Simon.
All I could think was that Simon had trusted me. He’d given me one job today—print the contract and deliver it to Alexander’s office—and I’d failed him completely. The document was still sitting on the server at Powers Investment Group, useless, while I’d been unreachable for hours with a shattered phone and no way to explain.
Simon had gone to that meeting expecting everything to be ready, expecting me to have handled my part, and instead he’d walked in empty-handed. No contract. No assistant. No explanation. Just silence from the person he’d counted on most.
I could only imagine what Alexander must have thought—what Simon must have thought—when I never showed up. All those weeks of building trust, of proving myself capable, of showing him I could be relied upon… and I’d undermined it all in a single morning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Simon
The conference room felt smaller with every passing minute.
I stood at the window, phone pressed to my ear, listening to the hollow rhythm of ringing that I already knew would go unanswered. When Raina’s voicemail message played—cheerful, professional, completely at odds with the situation—I ended the call without leaving a message and shoved the phone back into my pocket.
Fourth call. Fourth time straight to voicemail.
I braced my hands against the windowsill and forced myself to breathe. Count backward from ten. Bury the panic clawing at my chest before I had to face Alexander again.
Where the hell are you, Raina?
It was nearly noon, an hour past our scheduled meeting time with Alexander and two hours since she should have delivered the contract. I’d sent a dozen texts, each one more urgent than the last. No response. No explanation. Nothing but silence from the woman I’d trusted with something this important.
The woman I’d trusted with everything.
Behind me, I could hear Alexander shifting in his chair, and the soft tap of his fingers against the polished conference table. He’d been patient at first. Understanding even, when I’d explained that my assistant was running late with the documents. But that patience had eroded steadily over the past hour, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like doubt.
I didn’t blame him. If our positions were reversed, I’d be questioning this partnership too. If a potential business partner couldn’t even ensure the most critical meeting of all went smoothly—the final signing, the moment that was supposed to cement everything—what did that say about how they’d handle the challenges down the road?