Page 5 of The Billionaire Bodyguard Next Door
He turned off the light jazz music he loved to play.
I willed the migraine to go away.
There were so many things I'd have to do.
First, hire a new contractor—perhaps a woman this time. I should have done that from the jump. Second, I needed to follow up to see if we had an issue procuring the resources for the project or if it was a result of failed leadership. Contemplating these necessary next steps did nothing to help the metaphorical icepick currently lodged between my eyeballs.
“We’re going to have to make trips out to the worksite every other day, Darnell.”
“We can do that,” Darnell assured me.
“Remind me to give you a raise when my head doesn't feel like someone ran a spike between my eyes.” My stomach roiled.
That wasnota good sign.
Please work, medicine. It would totally ruin my day to have to pay for Darnell’s car to get detailed because I couldn’t keep my breakfast down.
“Just ten more minutes,” Darnell said, as he pressed the turn signal.
“Thank God.” I didn't think I could manage much longer in this car. With my eyes closed, I dug into my bag, searching for my little blue sea bands. I’d purchased them for a flight long ago and they were frayed from overuse. The little bands were supposed to hit pressure points in my wrist to naturally alleviate nausea.
I could use all the help I could get. Even if I was half convinced it was just a placebo effect.
By some miracle, I made it to my brownstone without spewing my guts all over the nice leather seats. I waved off Darnell, insisting I was well enough to get myself in bed.
I managed to enter my sixteen-digit code that Sebastian Steele, a friend and confidant, made me set up. It only took three tries.
The door clicked open as something caught my eye in the periphery. Afor-salesign, next door.
Hmm, that wasn't there this morning.
But that was the least of my worries. I stumbled inside, kicking off my heels, and landing on the chaise lounge near the door. Despite what I told Darnell, there was no way I’d make it up the stairs.
My phone beeped, and the high-pitched chime rattled in my ears.
It didn't work. The medicine didn't work. The nausea worsened. The spike through my brain stayed firmly in place.
I wanted to curl up and cry. Instead, I glanced at my watch. It was still early, but there was a good chance I couldn't get off this chaise lounge today.
“Hey, Siri. Call Monroe.” I had to let someone on my team know I was incapacitated and unlikely to come in today.
The phone rang. I curled up in a ball, the phone lying in front of me on the plush chaise.
“What’s up, boss?” Monroe answered.
I'd hired Monroe last year, and it was one of the best business decisions I'd ever made. Trust was hard for me to come by, but Monroe earned that trust every day.
“Monroe,” I groaned.
“Shit, it happened again, didn't it?”
I hummed. “It's bad this time.”
“Did you take your meds?”
“Yes but not working.” Great, I couldn't even speak in full sentences. “Fort, hold down.”
Annnnd now I’m Yoda.
