Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Then, suddenly he was awake again, and Abigail was there, only they were not in her apartment. They were in his sterile apartment that had been designed for easy cleaning. Not that he even cleaned, but he paid someone to clean for him.
“Abi,” he said.
“Roman, I’ve made you some chicken soup. It’s what my dad used to make for me when I was sick. It will help settle your stomach.”
“I don’t know if I can eat it.”
He had started to shiver.
“If you’re not any better by morning, I’ll have to call the doctor.”
“No doctor. I hate fucking doctors. All they give you is bad news, and when you’re upset about it, they treat you like shit.” He remembered the bad news he got when his grandparents passed. It had nearly broken him, and he’d demanded to know answers. He wanted a second opinion.
They way they had dealt with him at that time made him hate fucking doctors. He also wasn’t a big fan of cops with the way they broke the news to him that his parents had also passed. There was a lot he wasn’t happy with.
Abigail sat on the edge of the bed, held the bowl in her hands, and he was not going to lie, it did smell good. He didn’t think it was going to taste good, though. She put the spoon to his lips, and he took it, swallowing the broth, and sure enough, it tasted really good. He didn’t think he was going to enjoy it, but it tasted better than okay.
“More,” he said.
She laughed.
“I love that sound,” he said.
What sound?”
“I love when you laugh. I always have. It’s not fake. You don’t force it. It’s always natural. It’s what I love.”
“There’s no point in laughing if you don’t mean it,” she said.
“I know a lot of people who would laugh because they’ve got no other choice. You’re real, Abi. I love that.”
Chapter Seven
Abigail didn’t need to call any of the doctors. There was no reason to. Roman’s fever broke, and he kept down all the fluids she had given to him. She had panicked for a while, but she remembered her father never just randomly called a doctor. That might have been because calling the doctor was always expensive and a last resort.
She made her father’s famous cure-all chicken soup. It took a few hours to make, but was filled with veggies. However, all the nutrients were extracted from the vegetables until they were nothing more than a bunch of sloppy mess that looked so unappealing, but it always worked.
The chicken was the same, but the broth was always clear—no lumps. Her father always puréed the vegetables and ate them with biscuits, gravy, and chicken. It was strange to her, to have her meal like this, but it did remind her of her father. He would have liked Roman, even though he was wealthy and demanded her time.
Abigail couldn’t help but think of the conversations she had with Roman. She had a feeling he wasn’t having that conversation with her, although he clearly wanted to.
Roman wanted her to break her rules. It was strange, because there had been so many times she sat at her desk and looked at Roman, wondering what he would do if she did walk into the office and break that wall between professional and personal. She wanted to do it, but she was also afraid to do it. What if it ruined their working relationship? The sex outside of work hadn’t changed anything. She didn’t feel any differently about him. He was her boss.
Actually, that was a damn lie, and she knew it. She felt completely different about him. For one, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. Sure, even before they were having sex, she would think about him. This was different, though. This was real, not fantasy. She didn’t want to ruin what they had with each other.
It didn’t stop her from yearning.
Roman was not how she imagined he would be. She’d seen him in relationships before. He was cold, clinical. When it was over, a trinket was bought, and that was it, done and finished. She didn’t imagine that the man who sent trinkets when he was done with women could be the same man, who would allow her to curl up against him, eat ice cream, and watch a rom-com.
It did not seem accurate in her mind. None of it made any sense to her. Yet, that was exactly what happened.
She ran fingers through her hair, then got to her feet to go and check on her patient. Much to her surprise, he was sitting up in bed.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself.”
“You’re feeling better?”
“I am, actually. I have no fucking clue what was wrong with me.”
“There’s been a bug going around the office. It lasts for twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Something like that.” She made her way toward him and put her hand on his forehead. “You’re not burning up anymore.”