Chapter 5

After the struggle with Eric Grant, life barely let me catch my breath.

A week of nonstop rain and getting worked to the bone by the client, my body finally started to protest.

On Friday evening after work, the rain was pouring down. I didn't have an umbrella, so I waited at the bus stop for half an hour before finally squeezing onto a bus that was packed like a can of sardines.

When I got home, I was soaked to the bone and shivering uncontrollably.

My head felt groggy, and I didn't even have the energy to argue with Eric. All I wanted was a hot shower.

This time, I actually managed to finish my shower in fifteen minutes.

I crawled into bed, wrapped myself up like a burrito, but I still couldn't shake the chill.

The chill felt like it was crawling out from deep inside my bones, impossible to shake. I was probably burning up with a fever.

My mind grew fuzzy, and in that hazy space between sleep and waking, I sensed someone entering my room.

Cool hands gently pressed against my forehead.

The touch was so comforting. It eased the feverish heat on my forehead, at least for a moment.

Then, I felt the towel on my forehead being swapped out for a fresh one, perfectly damp and cool.

I tried to force my eyes open to see who it was, but my eyelids felt impossibly heavy, like someone had glued them shut.

All I could smell was that clean, familiar scent of soap.

It was Eric. The thought hit me, but then a wave of drowsiness crashed over me, and I slipped back into unconsciousness.

I had no idea how long I'd been out, but I woke up to the strong smell of chicken soup wafting through the room.

I opened my eyes and saw daylight streaming in through the cracks in the curtains, painting a bright patch across the floor.

As I moved, I realized someone had changed me out of my sweaty pajamas and into a loose white T-shirt.

The shirt still smelled like that familiar soap I knew so well.

I struggled to sit up and saw Eric come in, holding a tray.

He still looked as aloof as ever, but there was a hint of tension in his eyes. "You're awake?"

He set the tray down on the nightstand, with a steaming bowl of chicken soup and a small plate of delicate side dishes.

"Have this first," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I was still a bit out of it from the fever, my mind moving sluggishly, so I picked up the bowl and started sipping slowly.

The chicken soup was delicious and nourishing.

I could taste the fresh chicken breast in it. The ingredients definitely weren't cheap.

I shot him a skeptical look. "This food..."

Eric looked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, instantly denying it. "The chicken was on sale at the supermarket, about to expire. If we don't eat it, it'll go to waste."

That excuse was so lame, I didn't believe a single word of it.

I didn't press him further. I quietly finished the whole bowl of chicken soup.

My stomach felt warm and cozy, and I finally started to feel a bit more energetic.

But that burning feeling inside me wouldn't go away.

I felt like a furnace, steam practically rising off my skin.

Eric pressed his hand to my forehead, his frown deepening. "You're still burning up."

He muttered, "Ugh. I'm wasting more money on medicine."

He turned and left, but came back a moment later with a first aid kit and a thermometer.

He slipped the thermometer under my arm, the cold glass making me shiver.

Five minutes later, he pulled it out and held it up to the light, squinting at it.

"103.1°F," he said, his face darkening. "We have to get you to the hospital."

That night, I got a firsthand look at what a real emergency dash to the ER looked like.

Eric took one look at me trying to stand and hoisted me onto his back without a word.

His back was broad and solid, every line of muscle pressed against me through the thin fabric of his shirt.

I slumped against him, his scent all around me, and even through the fever haze, one completely inappropriate thought surfaced.

For a guy obsessed with money, Eric could be charming sometimes.