Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
"All right," I concede, letting Rosa slip an arm around my waist for support. "Thanks, Rosa. I don't know what I'd do without you."
As we make our way toward the stairs, I can't help but think about how different this is from my usual confident strut through the house.
I wonder if any of the girls or clients notice, if they can see how vulnerable I feel right now.
It's a struggle to keep my face neutral, to not let my discomfort show.
"Hey," Rosa says softly as we start climbing. "It's okay to not be okay sometimes, you know? Even badass bosses like you need a break now and then."
I manage a weak smile. "I guess so. Just... don't tell anyone, okay? I've got a reputation to maintain."
Rosa laughs, the sound warm and comforting. "Your secret's safe with me, Iris. Now let's get you settled before you puke on these expensive shoes."
As soon as we reach my office, a violent wave of nausea crashes over me.
My stomach lurches, and I barely have time to think before I'm bolting for the private bathroom attached to my office.
"Shit," I mutter, fumbling with the doorknob.
I fling the door open and drop to my knees in front of the toilet, just managing to lift the lid before my body betrays me.
The contents of my stomach surge upward, and I retch painfully.
My throat burns as I heave, my body shaking with each spasm.
Tears spring to my eyes, partly from the physical strain and partly from sheer frustration.
This isn't me.
I don't get sick.
I'm Iris fucking Ashton, the girl who has been known to outdrink most of the bikers at Viper's club and still dance on the bar at 3 AM.
I hear Rosa's footsteps behind me, and then her cool hand is on my back, rubbing soothing circles.
With her other hand, she gathers my long black hair, holding it away from my face as I continue to vomit.
"It's okay, honey," she murmurs. "Just let it out."
I want to tell her that nothing about this is okay, but another wave of nausea hits, and all I can do is groan.
When the heaving finally subsides, I slump against the cool porcelain, utterly spent.
Rosa releases my hair and hands me a damp washcloth.
I wipe my mouth, feeling utterly disgusting and more than a little embarrassed.
"Here," Rosa says, offering me a small bottle of mouthwash. "This'll help."
I take it gratefully, swishing the minty liquid around my mouth before spitting it into the toilet.
The taste is a blessed relief after the acidity of vomit.
As I flush everything away, I can't help but wonder what the hell is wrong with me.
Food poisoning seems likely, but a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers other possibilities.
I push those thoughts away, not ready to deal with them just yet.
"Thanks," I croak, looking up at Rosa.
Her face is etched with concern, and I feel a rush of affection for my friend. "Sorry you had to see that. Not exactly my finest moment."
Rosa shakes her head, helping me to my feet. "Don't apologize. That's what friends are for, right? Besides, I've seen worse at the club on a busy Saturday night."
I manage a weak laugh as we make our way back into my office. "Yeah, I guess puke duty is part of the job description around here."
As I settle onto the small couch in the corner, Rosa hands me a bottle of water. "Small sips," she advises. "We don't want a repeat performance."
I nod, taking a cautious drink.
The cool liquid soothes my raw throat, and I close my eyes for a moment, trying to center myself.
"You sure you're okay?" Rosa asks, perching on the edge of my desk. "I've never seen you like this before."
I open my eyes, meeting her worried gaze. "I'll be fine," I insist, more out of habit than conviction. "Probably just something I ate. You know me, I've got an iron stomach."
Rosa raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England."
I can't help but smile at her sass. It's one of the things I love about Rosa – she never lets me get away with my bullshit.
Rosa's expression turns serious as she leans forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Iris, honey... do you think you're pregnant?"
The question hits me like a bucket of ice water, and I can't help but laugh, even though it makes my stomach churn.
"God, no," I manage to choke out between giggles. "I probably have food poisoning or something. It came up out of nowhere, and I did eat gas station sushi, so it's probably my payment for that."
Rosa's eyes widen. "Gas station sushi? Girl, are you trying to kill yourself?"
I shrug, still grinning despite the lingering nausea. "What can I say? I like to live dangerously."
"Clearly," Rosa says, shaking her head. "Well, at least we know what caused it. Though I gotta say, I'm a little relieved. The last thing we need around here is baby daddy drama."