***
People all around the conference table were shifting uncomfortably in their chairs.
“And, as you can see, sales figures are actually down on the BluShade campaign,” I explained with a frown.
One person looked especially uncomfortable: Lilah.
After seeing her with Brendan Savage at the sushi restaurant two weeks earlier, I hadn't been able to look her in the eye. As successful as she'd been playing the ice queen, well, I'd managed to trump it. I had turned myself into the ice god. I'd been colder to her than I'd ever been to any human being in my life. It pained me to do it, but I didn't know how else to deal with the hurt, the betrayal.
“Ms. Maxwell,” I said coolly. “This is your campaign. And, it's turning out to be a failure. Do you have anything to say?”
“I'm . . . I'm sorry,” she half whispered.
“Sorry doesn't cut it in this arena,” I hissed. “Maybe if you paid more attention to your work instead of your boyfriend, these numbers might be a bit different and these sales figures wouldn't be looking quite so abysmal.”
She stood, tears flooding her eyes, and I could hear her fighting down the sobs rising up her throat. I couldn't believe I'd just said that—and I don't think she could believe it, either. A terrible, stabbing pain shot through my heart. What had I done?
“Excuse me,” she muttered, and stormed out, burying her face in her hands.
Everyone fell silent, and an uncomfortable heat flooded through me.
“God, I’m an ass,” I whispered without thinking about everyone in the room. “That's, um, that's all for today's meeting,” I said softly. “You can all go.”
Everyone left quickly and I hurried straight to Lilah's office. I'd gone too far, way too far. All of this had to end. I couldn't keep up this awful charade any longer. Something had to give.
I knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer. “Lilah?” I called out. All I heard was a groan from within. Something wasn't right. “Lilah, are you all right?”
Still no answer. I tried to open the door, but it was locked.
“Lilah, answer me!” I cried out, a sharp edge of worry and concern lacing my tone.
My tone was not one of anger, but of sharp, worried concern.
“Shit. Lilah, are you okay? I’m coming in.”
I stepped back, breathed in deeply, and then unleashed a savage Muay Thai kick on the door. The lock smashed instantly and the door swung open.
I gasped at the sight of Lilah curled up in a ball on the floor near her desk, whimpering in pain and clutching her stomach. A pool of dark blood was slowly spreading around her.
“Oh Jesus, oh my God,” I gasped. “Come on, we're going, we're going to the ER right now.” I wasn’t about to wait for an ambulance. I could have her at the hospital before they could even get to us.
I bent down and scooped her into my arms as gently as I could, then sprinted to the elevator. I called out for my new assistant to let the police department know there would be a white Ferrari driving like a bat out of hell to St. Patrick’s Hospital.
I was glad I'd driven my Ferrari to work—we were going to have to get to the hospital as fast as humanly possible. As soon as I got into the parking garage, I dashed over to the Ferrari, put her gently in the passenger seat, then screamed the motor and raced off to the ER.
***
I had been pacing around the waiting room for almost an hour and had been given no word on what was going on. I'd called Meg a few times, but had only been able to reach her ten minutes earlier. She was calling Eddie and was on her way.
Finally, the doctor emerged. I couldn't get an immediate reading from his expression because of the surgical mask covering his face.
“You're here with Ms. Maxwell, yes?” he asked.
“Yes. What can you tell me?”
“Well, the good news is that your daughter is going to be just fine.”
“My daughter? Lilah isn't my daughter.”