Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I offer a mildly interested hum. “Really?”
“Yes, so if you start feeling sick to your stomach, that might be why. Just be sure to stay home if you’re actively vomiting or running a fever. We don’t need this spreading through the team like wildfire.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Thanks so much. I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good one, and I hope everyone else stays healthy.”
I end the call and exhale a satisfied sigh. Another item off my list, and it’s not even mid-morning yet. I really am on fire today, especially for a man who’s allegedly down with a migraine.
“Oh my god. Shit!” comes a hoarse shout from the bedroom.
A beat later, I hear a thud and footsteps on the thick carpet.
“What time is it?” Remy demands from behind me. “My alarm must have died or something.”
I turn with a smile to see her standing in the hallway, hair wild, eyes panicked, still in those cozy pajamas I find unreasonably sexy for some reason. She’s just so…snuggly in flannel.
“Stone! The time,” she demands, when I admire a second too long.
“It’s almost ten,” I tell her calmly, “but don’t—”
“TEN?” She shrieks. “I’m two hours late for work! How long have you been up? Why didn’t you wake me? Fuck” She drags a hand through her hair. “My phone. Where’s my phone? I need to call the office—”
“No, you don’t. Take a breath, woman.” I step toward her, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. “It’s all handled. No need to stress.”
Her eyes narrow into dangerous little slits. “What do you mean ‘handled’?”
“I mean that I texted the office from your phone a couple of hours ago, explaining that you have food poisoning from some nasty sushi and won’t be in today.”
“You WHAT?” She lunges for her purse on the coffee table, frantically digging for her cell. “How did you even get into my phone? It’s passcode protected!”
I shrug, determined to model chill for her. “I accidentally memorized your code when we were ordering pizza last summer. You know, that time my phone was dead, so you treated and accidentally got pepperoni instead of sausage?”
Now her eyes are dangerously wide. “That was three months ago!”
I shrug again, offering her my most charming smile. “What can I say? I have a photographic memory, especially when it comes to numbers. But I swear I’ve never used it before. Scout’s honor. I would never violate your privacy like that.”
“I’m going to violate your privacy in a minute,” Remy mutters as she scrolls to the message in question. Her shoulders relax the slightest bit as she reads. “Okay, well, at least you didn’t make me sound like a nutjob.”
“Of course, not. What do you take me for?”
“An insane person,” she snaps back. She tosses her phone into her purse and props her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you did this. I have three meetings today! Three big meetings. Coach Bennett from Utah is only in town for two days, and I’m sure—”
“I’m sure they’ll find someone else to meet with him,” I cut in. “Or reschedule the meeting for tomorrow. Come on, woman. It’s one day. One day to give your body a real chance to rest and reset.” I step closer, relieved when she doesn’t back away. “One day in three years of perfect attendance. And before you ask, yes, I also called in sick. Different excuse though—migraine. Different method of notification, too. I was very careful not to create any connecting dots, proving I’m not an insane person, but actually quite clever. And Sophie’s agreed to be on Barb duty today so I can stay here and help you get some more rest.”
Her lips press together, but the fire is slowly leaving her gaze. “I don’t need more rest. I actually slept really well last night.”
“You also slept for almost twelve hours straight,” I say simply. “And if I’m being honest, last night was kind of scary. You were not yourself.”
And not well, I’m tempted to add, but I know better.
“It was just a rough night.” She crosses her arms defensively. “After a rough weekend. Sometimes stress catches up with everyone. It was a blip, that’s all.”
“A blip?” I repeat, arching a dubious brow. “Rem, you were so exhausted you couldn’t stop crying. Or shaking. That’s not a blip. That’s your body screaming for mercy after months of neglect.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic,” I counter. “I’m being real with you. If you keep this up, you’re headed for a breakdown. Ask me how I know.”
She wrinkles her nose, a hint of curiosity in her tone as she says, “Don’t tell me you’ve had a breakdown.”
“No,” I say, hurrying on before she can interrupt, “but that’s only because I was born chill. I emerged from the womb so laid back, I didn’t even cry in the delivery room. But my oldest sister, Noemi, is like you. Driven, intense, high-functioning, impressive as hell, and prone to burning the candle at both ends. It’s fucked her up more than once. Last time, she was pushing so hard on a research project that when she got sick with bronchitis, she wasn’t strong enough to clear the infection, even with meds. She ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. For a while, we weren’t sure she was going to make it.”