The Billionaire’s Secret (His Submissive #6)(10)
Author: Ava Claire

“He knows you love him.”

I dropped the last soggy bit onto the graveyard of food and washed it down with half of the shake.

“Of course he does,” I said sarcastically. “That’s why he acted like touching me was revolting. That’s why he wiped off his mouth like…like…” I looked at my plate and my stomach tumbled. “I think I’m going to be sick.” But I didn’t move. I couldn’t move.

Megan’s concern morphed into horror as she scooted out of the booth and gripped my arm, guiding me to the bathroom. It wasn’t until she pushed me into the stall that my limbs worked again and I sunk to my knees and retched. My body expelled everything I’d forced down my throat in the past ten minutes. When I came up for air and saw that I was in the dirtiest stall on earth, knees glommed to the floor and dirty pads sticking out of crusty wastebasket a few inches from me, I dry heaved.

“You okay?” Megan asked outside the stall. I guess that was the one up side. She didn’t just see me puke up chunks of Rudy’s.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and rushed out of the gross cubicle like it was on fire. I flipped on the water at the sink and used my hand as a gourd, gurgling and spitting it out.

I gripped the sides of the sink, willing the nausea way. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” she said, calling my bluff.

I gave her a weak smile in the mirror. “No. I’m not.”

She pulled off a couple of paper towels and reached around me to wet them. “C’mere.” I turned to her and held still while she pressed the cool thing against my forehead. “Don’t think about Jacob or Cade or any of that right now.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “How the hell am I supposed to not think about it?”

“Well you can start by not giving me attitude,” she said sternly, pulling the paper towel from my forehead and tossing it into the trash. “What good are you to anybody or anything if you have a nervous breakdown?”

She had a point, but I couldn’t get Jacob’s eyes out of my head. “I can’t just not think about it.”

“Well how about this: I’ll go pay the bill then you and me are going to see some ridiculous movie. Nothing action-y,” she added when my face soured, “And nothing sappy.”

“That leaves kiddy movies or some depressing foreign film.”

“I hear Wreck-It Ralph is amazing,” she said with a sly grin.

“Wreck-It Ralph?” I repeated slowly, sure I misheard her.

She steered me out of the bathroom and back to our table, leafing through her wallet and dropping a twenty. Before I could go through the list of reasons why I had no interest in seeing an animated movie, we’d already climbed into her car and were pointed in the direction of the movie theater.

“I really just want to go home,” I said dismally. And listen to some highly emo Pandora station as I cried into my pillow.

“You can fight it all you want, but you’re wasting your breath.” She hit a button and the car made the metallic clunk of locks engaging. “We’re seeing it. Doctor’s orders.”

“Doctor’s?” I said incredulously. “You moonlighting as a medical professional in between molding young minds?”

“I took a biology class once,” she said with a wink. “And I dressed up as Meredith Grey last Halloween.”

“Well there’s no fighting that logic,” I laughed.

Laughing. Me. Even though everything in my personal life had gone to shit.

I sat back in the seat, conceding. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

****

After uncontrollably sobbing during Wreck-It Ralph like it was a Nicholas Sparks movie then falling into a restless sleep on Megan’s futon, I didn’t think it was possible to wake up feeling worse than I did the night before.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Every part of me ached. The very act of reaching for my cell to shut off my alarm felt like lifting free weights. And when I could no longer press snooze and make it to work on time, my attempt to stand just drove the throbbing agony to my head.

I felt like I’d been hit by a dump truck. Twice. I couldn’t even keep a glass of water down. The only bright side was Megan was OCD when it came to housecleaning so getting up close and personal with her toilet didn’t make the nausea worse. And then there was the fact that whatever stomach issue I had kept me from the office–and facing Jacob.

After a succinct conversation where Natasha managed to gleefully delight in my crappy state of health, we figured out a way for me to just work from home so I wouldn’t get behind.

I flipped open my laptop, dragging my hands to the keyboard. I pulled up the Whitmore and Creighton portal, eyes narrowing as my stomach trembled. It had been about an hour since I’d attempted drinking something and I knew I needed to stay hydrated unless I wanted to add dehydration to the list.

I dropped my laptop back on the tumble of sheets beside me and sucked in a steadying breath before I stood up. I went rigid as a statue, exhaling after I maintained my balance for a full minute.

So far so good, I thought warily. Halfway there.

The kitchen was only a few feet from the futon (Thank God) but I still gripped the island, just in case it was adrenaline keeping me vertical. Megan had left out a couple of Gatorades right on the counter beside the stove and there was also a pack of saltines, but I was nowhere near brave enough for solids.

I cracked one open and brought it to my lips. I gingerly sipped it and paused in case my body rejected it, but nothing happened. I finished the rest and dropped the empty bottle into the recycle bin.

Feeling slightly more confident, I didn’t inch my way back to the couch. Maybe this day wouldn’t be pure hell. I stopped short, only a few feet from solid ground when I heard two solid thumps coming from the door.

Fear rippled through me. Who could it be? Megan had a key, and she was knee deep in elementary kids at this point. She didn’t live in the safest of neighborhoods so of course my mind shot to the worst possible scenario, all of which ended with me being assaulted, robbed, and left in a bloody heap on the floor. That’s what I get for all of those Law and Order: SVU marathons.

The knocks magnified and a deep, familiar voice accompanied them. “Leila?”

It had to be some fevered dream. I was conked out, imagining things. To prove it, I pinched my arm then hissed when the pain came through loud and clear. I took a tiny step toward the door, opening my mouth then snapping it shut.