“So, he’s running a high fever and you don’t think to call a doctor? Why are you calling me?”
Niamh didn’t bother to hide her impatience or her bluntness.
“Miss Rivers… Mr. Thomas really needs you.”
Prescott’s tone was earnest, almost pleading.
“Oh,” Niamh replied flatly.
Then she hung up.
Did Jonathan really need her? She had no idea. And even if he did, why was she obligated to go? She wasn’t Prescott, wasn’t Jonathan’s assistant, always at his beck and call.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, Niamh shrugged and let out a cold laugh.
In the past, the moment Jonathan got sick, she’d be frantic, anxious beyond reason, as if Jonathan would die if she didn’t take care of him.
She was just about to start the car when her phone rang again.
No surprise–it was Prescott, calling back.
Niamh ignored it and switched off her phone.
Her mind drifted to that night in the pouring rain, when Jonathan had come begging for a second chance.
His fever was probably real.
Well, maybe this was the moment to test it–if she didn’t go to him, would he really fall apart without her?
Niamh slammed her foot on the gas and drove off.
If Jonathan was that sick, there was no way he’d make the board meeting. She decided she might as well head to her own studio.
But she’d barely gotten down the street when someone darted out in front of her car, forcing her to slam on the brakes.
If not for her quick reflexes and decent driving skills, the person in front of her would’ve been roadkill.
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She looked up and realized who it was–Prescott.
He stood there with the determination of a man ready to die for his cause, as if Niamh’s refusal to visit Jonathan would be the death of him, right there under her
wheels.
Under Prescott’s relentless pressure, Niamh finally gave in.
She did care, if only a little, about the impression she left on Prescott. After all, when she officially took over The Thomas Group, she hoped to hire Prescott as her
assistant.
According to him, Jonathan was seriously ill–a broken heart, he’d said.
But when Niamh arrived at Jade Peak Manor, she found Jonathan burning up, his skin so hot she half–expected to fry an egg on his forehead.
At a time like this, a doctor was definitely more useful than she was.
So she told Prescott to call the Thomas family’s private physician, and had him
start Jonathan on fever medication.
After three IV bags, Jonathan’s fever finally subsided. Niamh carefully removed the
needle from his arm.
“Have you been here the whole time?”
Jonathan’s voice, low and gentle, brushed softly against her ear.
“I just got here,” she answered.
Jonathan’s gaze flickered with disappointment for a split second.
But then, almost absently, his eyes landed on the windowsill–and on the ashtray sitting there.
It was filled with several slender cigarettes, the kind favored by women.
There was only one person who could have left those behind–Niamh.
He remembered the first time he’d seen her smoke, on that Royal Victoria cruise. It was then he realized she even had the habit.
Just by looking at the number of stubs, it was obvious Niamh hadn’t just arrived.
A slow smile crept onto Jonathan’s lips, warmth blossoming in his chest.
“You never used to smoke…”
By “used to,” he meant after they’d gotten married.
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He wanted to ask if she’d quit for his sake, but the question died unspoken. He didn’t want to upset her.
He’d finally seen Niamh again, finally convinced her to look after him. He wanted to savor this moment.
Savor it…
The word rippled quietly through Jonathan’s heart.
At first, Niamh didn’t understand why he brought up the smoking. Then she saw the ashtray and realized her mistake.
Those cigarettes were hers.
She realized Jonathan already knew she’d been there for a long time–not just a few
minutes.
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