Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Both do. Neil, a new dealmaker we recently brought on, and Sharilyn, who runs our online presence. “Good morning,” they reply before ducking their heads back down.
Who I don’t expect to see at this hour is my assistant. I reach Jocelyn’s desk before she sees me, and tease, “Trying to impress the boss?”
When she looks up from her monitor, the gasp can be heard through the large open space. Neil stands to see what the commotion is about before realizing it’s only us and sits down again.
Jocelyn’s shock causes her to stand. “Warner . . .” She covers her mouth with her hand to hide her gaping. It doesn’t work since I know she’s still doing it even if it’s hidden.
I underestimated the reaction I expected to receive being out in public again, especially from Jocelyn. She’s the most even-keeled person I know, after me that is . . . was? Fuck. Delaney has me spiraling on a daily basis now. I waffle my head back and forth. “And here I thought I didn’t look so bad.”
“You look way worse.”
Grinning, I reply, “Thanks.”
She lowers her hand, but as her eyes bounce around my face and then to my arm, she adds, “My goodness, Warner.”
Coming around the desk, she inspects my arm as sympathy takes hold of her tone by softening it. “I just mean, you made it sound so casual, nothing more than a bump in the road.”
I chuckle. “I see what you did there.”
“Yes, pun intended.” She finally smiles. I prefer that to the concern riddling her face. “I’m glad you have a sense of humor over it.” She exhales and starts to calm after the initial alarm begins to dissipate. “Are you okay?”
Raising my arms out to the side, I reply, “I’m going to live, as sad as that might make some feel.”
“Stop it,” she replies, turning to grab her e-pad and pen. “Let’s get you set up in your office.”
I flash my key card again, unlocking my door. “You don’t have to take care of me. I’ve been in good hands all weekend.”
“And whose hands would those be?” she asks, following me inside. She beats me to the light switch and flips it on.
“An angel I met.” I laugh under my breath, fully aware of how foolish I sound, but the truth is what it is. No use pretending otherwise. Too much other stuff under a fake facade to add more to it.
“An angel?”
I try to ignore the disbelief in her voice. I get it. I’m a different person today than I was when she last saw me. I don’t believe myself most of the time. “She saved my life, so yeah,” I say, sitting down behind my desk. “Guardian angel might be more accurate.”
She sits in front of me on the other side of the desk, a worrying ribboning through her forehead. “You really did hit your head.”
I’d be reacting the same if I were in her shoes, so I’m not offended. It’s hard to explain Delaney. She just is who she is, and I love her for it. As I log onto my computer, I say, “I was surprised I didn’t hear from you more often. Taking time off isn’t something I’ve done often.”
“Or at all since you became CEO. It’s funny you say that, though, because I felt like I was constantly burdening you with emails.”
Scoffing, I turn my attention back on her. “Why would you say that? You sent what? One email. Two max. I figured everything was being handled. Was it not?”
“Taking the time to heal was the best thing for you to do, but . . .” Her brow wrinkles as her lips twist to the side as she contemplates with her eyes staring above my head.
“But?”
Setting her e-pad in her lap, she sits back, her shoulders as stiff as her expression. “Warner, I was emailing you every day, multiple times, even over the weekend.” She lowers her voice and says, “And you were emailing me back. Do you not remember any of that?”
This news sideswipes my mood, dampening it. I’m not sure what she’s talking about. “I didn’t have my phone—”
“I know.” Leaning forward, she glances at my monitor. “Check your emails.”
Dread lodges in the pit of my stomach as I click open my inbox. Mostly filled with emails that will steal my day to get through, only one was sent from Jocelyn. The one I already read. “Odd.”
She’s quiet. I’m sure assuming this concussion is taking me out of the game. She’d be wrong. I feel good, great even. Until she holds up the e-pad with her inbox on display and a column of correspondence between the two of us. “I—” I clamp my mouth shut, wondering if the concussion has caused more damage than I thought. How could I have been emailing and not remember doing it? Am I losing my mind? Emailing while passed out? Is that even a thing? I once read that sleepwalking is more common than people realize. Is this a different version of it? Sleep-emailing? Sleep-working? Falling back on something I’m comfortable with, that I excel at, wouldn’t be surprising. Holding full conversations is a whole other level of concern.