Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Don't puke.
The thought - half-warning, half-plea - flashed out of nowhere, and she clung to it for life. She always worked better with a goal, anyway, and with the thought giving her something to focus on, Pippi succeeded bit by bit in regaining her composure.
Clearing her throat, she said in a fairly steady voice, "I'm sorry for the unseemly reaction, Mr. Simonides." Smile. Don't puke. “I was told you wouldn't be home." She saw his lip curl in response, as if finding her words a complete waste of his time, and her temper - so rarely seen it might as well have been nonexistent - started to rise.
"Who the hell are you, anyway?"
Anger had her shyness receding, and she forgot all about being intimidated. All she wanted to do at that moment was throw the folder at his face. Teeth gnashing, she gave him her name and position in his company, adding somewhat icily afterwards, "Mr. Collins believes this should be given to you as soon as possible, sir." She handed him the folder with both hands, but nothing happened.
Okay.
Maybe...
He wanted her to deliver it straight to his study or something?
Her gaze reluctantly went back up - and that was when she finally noticed it. This time, the sickly pallor underneath his bronze tan was impossible to miss, and was it just her - or did he seem to be swaying on his feet?
"M-Mr. Simonides?"
His face, already white, turned even whiter at the sound of her voice. "I'm fine."
Oh, if only she could believe that. She really wished she could, but since she was a great believer of doing what Jesus would do in such circumstances—-
"You don't, umm, look like it, sir."
"I said I'm fine!"
The fury in his voice stunned Pippi, making her take a wary step back. What on earth was his problem? Their gazes clashed, Pippi's blue eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and indignation at his rudeness while his dark gaze was...
Feverish?
Nurturing reflexes - honed for decades in a household filled with love and laughter - kicked in, and she unthinkingly reached up, having to tiptoe a little just to touch his forehead. He yanked away with a curse, but it was too late.
"You're burning up," Pippi gasped.
Even more, it didn't look like his fever was of the ordinary type, with Acheron Simonides suddenly bending down and throwing up what seemed like his last meal (salmon, seemed like it)...at her feet.
She nearly gagged, her face contorting with distaste and revulsion at the sight and smell of his vomit. Don't puke! Pippi had to repeat the warning to herself, but this time for a different reason.
She saw him start to stagger, and Pippi knew she had to pull herself together. Where Acheron Simonides was concerned, letting him fall face flat on his own puke was definitely grounds for termination.
"G-Gotcha!" She caught him just in time, her knees nearly buckling under his weight. The scent of his cologne was nice, but it was easily overpowered by the stench of puke. It caused Pippi to alternately gag and grit her teeth as she half-dragged, half-carried the CEO to the nearest couch. She tried to be gentle as she laid him down, but when she lost her footing on the edge of the rug, all Pippi could do was let out a little shriek -
And then she was lying on top of him, her breasts squashed against the hard wall of Acheron Simonides' chest, and the sensitive flesh between her legs pressing right on top of his crotch.
Omigodomigodomigod!
Embarrassment ate her alive as she scrambled off him as fast as she could. No more than three seconds had passed surely, but every moment of it seemed indelibly printed on her mind. She just could not forget how incredibly hard -
A low groan escaped the CEO, and she quickly shook off the shamefully lustful fantasies that were doing its best to corrupt her mind.
"Mr. Simonides?" She peered down at him, torn between worry over his health and awe at just how amazingly long his lashes were. Another groan, and worry turned into anxiety. "I think you're seriously ill, sir. I'm going to call—-"
"No."
What did he mean 'no'? Or maybe he was already delirious with fever? "Sir—-"
"If...you call 911...you're...fired."
Hoarse as his voice was, it did not make his words any less coherent - or commanding, and Pippi could only gape, unable to believe what she was hearing. Was this man truly threatening to terminate her employment because she wanted to keep him alive?
"Just...call...Wickham."
His eyes had closed before he even finished speaking, and by the end of it, he was already unconscious. The lines that marred his forehead gradually faded, the rigid tension easing from his handsome face. It made him look so much younger and approachable, almost like a black-haired angel -
WHOA, Pippilotta Jones!