Trust Me (Townsend Legacy), page 12
“S-She couldn’t make it, but don’t worry. She gave me all of her notes and the reports she wrote up. I’ve already handed them out and I have my voice recorder here,” she holds up her phone, “to record everything for her.”
“Get out,” I say, the words coming out before I even have a chance to process them.
Charlotte’s shoulders slump. She looks defeated, and that makes me even angrier because she’s not the woman I want to see.
Someone across from me clears their throat. “Kyle,” Barry from marketing says. “Ms. Greenwald has given us the report that Riley so diligently wrote up. We’ve had a few minutes to look it over and I do believe it’s worth getting into. I believe we’ve come to know Riley well enough to know that if she’s not present, it’s for a good reason.”
Barry recoils suddenly, and that’s when I realize that I’m snarling in his direction.
He thinks he knows Riley well enough? What the hell does he know about her that I don’t? I’m half tempted to ask if he knows what the inside of her pussy feels like when it tightens around his fingers as she comes.
I know for damn sure he doesn’t.
But I do.
The thought alone, however, sends burning anger through my stomach. I have to think about something else. I’ll find out what the hell is going on with Riley as soon as this meeting is over.
“You’ll stay,” I tell Charlotte as calmly as I can manage. “However, if one word of this meeting is shared with anyone that it isn’t supposed to be, I’ll know who to go looking for first.”
Charlotte visibly swallows. A part of me should feel bad for threatening her, but the real reason I’m angered isn’t here, so she takes the brunt.
I’m determined to go find out where the fuck Riley is as soon as this meeting ends.
Being a man of my word, as soon as the meeting ends and I finalize a few words with some of the VPs, I head down to the fifteenth floor. That’s the floor where Riley’s been assigned an office.
Her assistant, Charlotte, remained silent throughout the meeting, diligently taking notes. I’d admire her work ethic if it weren’t for the fact that I’m still so damn annoyed. Charlotte left directly after the meeting to return to Riley’s real office.
“Mr. Townsend,” Darius, the receptionist on the fifteenth floor, stands and greets.
“Have you seen Riley Martin?”
His eyebrows lift. “No. Not since this morning. I thought she had that big meeting with you and the VPs.”
I grind my teeth. “Thanks,” I murmur as I move past his desk and head down the hall to her office.
From the office windows, I can see the lights are out and there’s no one at her desk. “She better not be wasting company time,” I mumble while twisting the knob.
“Riley,” I call out as I barge into the office.
There’s no answer.
But she’s in here. Call it crazy or intuition. I can feel her presence.
I charge inside of the office. “Riley, what f—” I stop short when I find her crumpled in a ball behind her desk.
“Riley, what’s wrong?” I crouch down.
“Shshsh, please,” she mutters, the words coming out on a croak. “Not so loud.”
“Why are you down here?”
Her face tightens into a grimace with every word I say. Though she covers her ears to keep from hearing me, she responds, “I-Is the meeting over? I sent Charlotte to take notes on what I missed.”
Instead of answering, I reach down and place the back of my palm to her forehead. “Are you sick? Is it the flu? Do you need a doctor?”
“Please lower your voice.”
I know I hadn’t been yelling or speaking above a normal conversational tone. I stand and move to turn on the light in her office. As soon as the light comes on, Riley groans out in agony.
“No, please. Turn it off,” she hisses.
I turn it off, shrouding us in semi-darkness again. Yet even with the blinds drawn in her office, we’re not in complete darkness.
“It’s j-just a m-migraine. It’ll go away s-soon,” she stammers out.
“Just?”
She looks like she’s in so much anguish, and I can’t not do something. I have never experienced migraines, but I’ve heard they can be extremely painful and debilitating.
“Do you have any medication?”
“Mmm,” she moans and shakes her head a little. That slight movement causes her to hiss and squeeze her eyes even tighter. “Ran out.”
I glance up at her desk to see an empty prescription bottle with a white lid sitting next to it. I grab the bottle, and sure enough, it’s empty.
I crouch down, afraid to touch her because I don’t want to create more pain for her.
“It’ll be fine. I can get up and drive home soon. I’m sorry about missing the meeting.” Her voice gets lower with each word.
“Fuck the meeting,” I say without thinking. “There’s no way you should be driving anywhere.”
I don’t know how long her migraine usually lasts, but considering she missed a ninety-minute meeting, I’m betting it’ll be at least a few more hours before she’s any better.
It’s a little after three in the afternoon. I have a shit ton of other work to do, but I make a split decision.
Pulling out my phone, I call Mike’s desk.
“Have a driver waiting for me by the private elevator in five minutes.”
I disconnect the call and kneel by Riley. “Riley?” I make my voice as low as possible.
“Huh?”
“I need your address.”
She mumbles the address, and I plug it into my phone.
“Can you stand?” I stroke her arm lightly.
“Why?”
“We’re going to take you home.”
My chest tightens as I help her up. Her face is a mask of anguish, and I’m certain she keeps her eyelids almost closed to keep tears from spilling out.
“Lean on me,” I encourage, wrapping my arm around her waist and lifting her from the floor.
“I can walk,” she insists, even as she rests almost all her weight on me.
“I’ve got you.” Somehow my lips find their way to the top of her head. She lets out a moan and presses her body into mine. I force myself to ignore thinking about how good she feels like this as we make our way out of her office.
Even as she willingly lets me escort her toward the elevator, she continues to insist that she’ll be fine soon. On the way down, she apologizes a total of three times for missing the meeting, all while she rattles off stats and figures that were mentioned in her report.
“I’m not a slacker,” she says at the same time we make it to the awaiting car.
“I know,” I tell her because she doesn’t need to tell me that. Yet, I won’t argue with her. Not while she’s in such pain.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she blurts out a few seconds before she falls to her knees behind the car and spills out the entire contents of her stomach.
I immediately hold back strands of her hair that fall into her face. I order the driver to retrieve some towels and hand wipes from the car. My free hand moves up and down Riley’s spine soothingly.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she says, embarrassed.
“Don’t.” I wipe her face with the towel and hand her the hand wipes right before putting her in the backseat of the car. I put her seatbelt around her and give the driver the address before going around and sliding in next to Riley.
As we exit the underground garage, I roll up the divider to minimize the amount of sunlight that streams through the windows.
During the twenty-minute drive, I remind the driver to slow the fuck down. Every minor bump we hit causes Riley to hiss in pain.
Her pain causes a ripping feeling in my chest.
“Here.”
I help Riley up to her condo once we arrive at her place. I root around in her purse for her key, and as soon as I open her door, the scent of vanilla fills my nose. It’s her, all her.
Riley doesn’t fight me as I help her remove her shoes by the door and then lead her down the hall to where I presume her bedroom is. While still latched onto my side, she pauses at the first door on the left and heads in. I help her onto the king size bed and then cover her with the blanket.
“Blinds,” she murmurs.
I glance around and realize she’s asking me to close the blinds. The bedroom is at a perfect angle for the midday sun to enter the room. Which, today, is not a good thing.
I press the lever next to the floor-to-ceiling window, and the blackout curtains shroud the room in darkness.
Pausing for a beat, I note the absolute silence. Riley’s bedroom is … interesting. Among what must be thirty or so pillows, there is a cornucopia of colors. Above the bed are three separate paintings. One is of a sunset, the other of a woman and a young girl, and the other is a scene of ladybugs. The paintings are filled with bright colors that match her bedding and pillows.
There are four different plants on either of her nightstands that sit in painted, colorful clay pots. There’s a framed picture on one of the nightstands. I lift it to read the words “Look on the bright side” on the small postcard.
I only take a moment to take in her room before I focus back on Riley. She’s so still except for the small up and down movements of her body, indicating her breathing. I don’t want to disturb her. But I need to be near her.
I move to the side of the bed and feel her forehead again. I realize a migraine doesn’t come with a temperature but it’s the only excuse I have to touch her. Her face flinches slightly but then she relaxes again.
“Riley, do you have any more medicine for your migraine?” I whisper.
“M-Medicine cabinet.”
I go searching for her bathroom where I hope to find the medicine cabinet. When I do, I’m out of luck. Aside from some over the counter cold medications, there isn’t shit there labeled to take for a migraine.
That’s when I pull out my phone and call the specialty healthcare service I use when I’m under the weather. It only takes a few minutes before I’m having Riley’s prescription refilled, a nurse practitioner on the way, and food delivered.
After that, I call Mike to have him deliver my work laptop along with a few files I need from the office. I don’t know how long Riley will be like this, but until she’s better, I’m not leaving her side.
CHAPTER 15
Riley
I wake up slow. As my eyes peel open, one at a time, I come to the realization that I’m having one of my migraines. My first thought is to get to my medication, wherever that may be.
“Whoa, where are you going?” A deep voice startles me.
“Kyle?” What is he doing here? Wait, where is here?
I slow blink and look around, realizing I’m in my bedroom. On an inhale I try to remember how I got here. The last thing I recall vividly is starting to feel the dull pain at the base of my skull. I went to my purse to pop one of my migraine pills. They usually do the trick, reasonably quickly. But the damn bottle was empty.
That was when the pain grew worse, and I knew I had to call Charlotte to have her sit in for me at the meeting at with Kyle and all of the VPs.
How long ago was that?
“What are you doing here?”
He takes a seat on the edge of my bed, coming into my full view. The only light on in the room is a small lamp I have on top of my vanity. Even with the dull pain still throbbing in my head and the low lighting, I drink Kyle in.
The top button of his white shirt is undone, exposing a small amount of his chest. His suit jacket is off, and he’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. My eyes trace the veins that run along his forearm. When I raise my gaze to meet his, something I never thought I’d see meets me.
Concern.
There is genuine concern plastered all over his handsome face. It’s in the way his eyes scan over my face and body, the pinched skin in between his eyebrows, and the way his fingers trace along my forehead, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“How’re you feeling?” His voice is low but firm.
“Better.” For my part, my voice sounds weak to my own ears.
Kyle’s lips pinch, and I know I’ve done something to irritate him.
Is it because I missed the meeting?
“Don’t lie to me, Riley,” he says sternly. His hand drops to my shoulder and then to my arm. “How are you feeling?”
I swallow. “My head still hurts,” I admit.
He nods, satisfied with the truth. “The nurse said you might still be in pain for a while.”
I squint. “Nurse?”
Kyle cocks his head to the side. “You don’t remember?”
Shifting my gaze down toward my arm, I notice there’s a bandage with tape over it on my forearm.
“I had a nurse practitioner come. She gave you an IV of fluids since you ran out of your prescription.” He holds up my empty pill bottle. “They said the electrolytes and stuff could help. I also had—” He pauses when there’s a knock on the door.
It causes me to wince in pain.
Kyle lets out a low growl. “Sons of bitches. I told them to call me … hang on.”
He gets up and walks out of the room.
Leaning back against my pillows, I take in deep breaths. My mind is swirling as I try to remember the events of the past few hours. Unfortunately, the pain still raging in my head and sleepiness make it difficult. All I can focus on is Kyle’s voice telling me everything’s going to be okay, and to lean on him for strength.
That’s when the memory of him finding me in my office, helping me out of the building, and getting me back home, come back. I even vaguely recall the voice of the nurse practitioner. I believe I had signed some sort of consent form for her to give me the IV.
The pain is still present but the throbbing and nausea have decreased significantly.
“Here we are,” Kyle says as he enters the room, holding a tray of food.
I struggle to sit up higher in bed.
“No,” Kyle commands in that low but insistent voice of his. “Don’t move too much.” He sets the tray directly over my lap.
“What’s this?” I look down, trying to make sense of the multiple plates and bowls of food that cover the tray.
“For one,” he holds up a prescription bag, “your newly filled prescription.”
I blink. “How did you get a new prescription so quickly?” I usually have to wait at least a day or so before my prescription is filled. And I hadn’t even had a chance to contact my physician.
Kyle simply blinks at me. Then I remember.
Right. His family likely has an entire staff of healthcare professionals on call around the clock.
“But it’s not as effective if it’s not taken within the first thirty minutes of the signs of a migraine,” he continues, placing the medicine on my nightstand. “It’s well after six o’clock and you haven’t eaten since this morning. Plus …” He doesn’t continue.
“Plus, what?” But before he can answer, I remember. “Oh my god,” I groan as I recall throwing up all over the underground garage. “That’s so humiliating.” I cover my face in shame.
Kyle takes a firm grip of my wrist, pulling my hand away from my face. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” He looks me directly in the eyes as he says this. As he continues to hold onto my wrist, his thumb starts to make little circles, stroking the vein there.
The air in the room shifts and the pain in my skull, while still active, subsides a bit more. Out of nowhere, my stomach growls.
“Shit.” Kyle lets go of my hand and adjusts the tray of food. He lifts the lid off of one of the bowls. “Tomato soup.” Then he moves to lift the lid covering one of the plates. “And grilled cheese.”
A smile I can’t suppress covers my face.
“This delicacy is one of my grandmother’s favorites,” he explains. “She would always make a grilled cheese and can of tomato soup whenever we stayed over with them for the night. Or if she heard one of us had a bad day.”
A half smile touches his lips, and in this moment, the hard ass, career-driven, workaholic heir diminishes. His face takes on an almost boyish look.
“That’s sounds so sweet of her.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “She’s good like that.” He sits again and peers up at me. “Unless you don’t like grilled cheese. I also read that sometimes dairy can cause or even make migraines worse. So …” he lifts the lid of the other bowl, “I also got you chicken noodle soup and crackers.”
“Both? For me?” I assumed that one meal was for me and the other was for him.
He nods. “You have to eat. The IV fluids will help but I always think real food is better over that other shit.”
He rises and hovers over the bed. For a moment, I wonder what he would do if I decided not to eat.
I grin.
“What?” A wrinkle appears in between his brows.
“I’m just picturing you prying my mouth open and shoveling this soup down my throat.” I laugh, but then quickly regret it when my head throbs. Groaning, I lay my head against the headboard.
“Dammit, Riley,” he whispers.
In no time, he’s leaning over me, gently placing a pillow behind my head. It’s comforting in a way I haven’t been taken care of in a long time, if ever.
“Thank you.”
“Eat,” he insists. “Which one? Chicken or tomato. I can get rid of the dairy.” He doesn’t even wait before he’s lifting the grilled cheese and bowl of tomato soup.
“No.” I wrap my hand around his arm, stopping him. “I’m okay with dairy, and that looks delicious.”
Thank God the nausea has gone away. I take my first bite of the grilled cheese and sigh in relief. The sourdough bread is buttered and crisped to perfection. The cheddar cheese melts as soon as it hits my tongue.
“So good,” I groan.
When I open my eyes, which I hadn't realized I closed, Kyle is standing over me, those hazel eyes not missing anything.
“Thank you for this.”
He nods in the direction of the soup bowl. “It’s even better if you dip the sandwich into the soup.” He looks at me expectantly, as if he just gave an order to follow.
