That's Not a NO

Chapter 26: Would You Stay if It Mattered?

Nothing.

Her stomach went cold. She crossed the room in three strides, touching his shoulder. Heat bled through his shirt — too much heat. She pressed her palm to his forehead.

"Shit."

"Ash, come on. It's not funny." She shook him lightly. His head lolled toward her, eyes half-closed, skin flushed with fever.

"Elise," he mumbled, voice rough. "You're in my office. Should I be flattered or worried?"

She exhaled sharply — relief and panic tangling together. "If you die on me, I'll kill you."

He gave the ghost of a smile. "I just heard needy men are more irresistable."

The next half hour blurred into motion. Crystal fetched water. Kelly called for an ambulance. Elise knelt beside him, coaxing him to drink, feeling the tremor in his hands. By the time the EMTs arrived, his head had drifted forward again. They moved with efficient hands, checking vitals, sliding an oxygen clip onto his finger. Elise stayed at his side, one hand braced on the edge of the desk, the other resting near his arm — close enough to touch if he reached.

When they started to wheel him out, she moved with them.

"Sorry, ma'am," one of the EMTs said. "Are you family?"

"Yes." The words left her mouth without pause, smooth and certain.

The EMT nodded, accepting it. No questions. She didn't correct him when his eyes flicked briefly to her left hand, like he was checking for a ring.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and something faintly citrus, the kind of scent that pretended to be comforting. She followed them through swinging double doors, answering questions about his medical history as if she'd been doing it for years. No, no known allergies. No chronic conditions. Yes, he'd been working long hours lately. Yes, she'd noticed he'd looked run down.

The doctor — young, with sharp eyes and a calm voice — listened, then said, "Stress-induced collapse. Mild dehydration. His fever is likely secondary to exhaustion. He'll be asleep for hours, but he should be fine by tomorrow."

Her shoulders loosened a fraction. "So... he's okay?"

"He needs rest. And probably someone to make sure he actually takes it." The doctor smiled faintly. "You can go home and rest."

"Thank you." The answer came too quickly.

They moved him into a small private room — neutral walls, a window looking out onto the darkening skyline. Machines hummed softly beside him. His hair was mussed, one sleeve pushed up where they'd placed the IV. Even asleep, his mouth curled like he might be on the edge of a joke.

Of course going home was not an option. Instead, she pulled the chair to his bedside, sitting close enough that her knees nearly touched the rail. She told herself she was just watching for changes in his breathing. That she wasn't staring at the lines of his face, the faint shadows under his eyes.

Hours passed. Nurses came and went. At one point she convinced them to recheck his labs — twice — under the pretense that "something about his color still seems off." Eventually, the adrenaline ebbed. She rested her head on her folded arm beside his hand, fingers brushing the back of his knuckles. Somewhere between one blink and the next, she fell asleep.

He woke to morning light spilling across the room. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then the steady beep of the heart monitor and the faint tug of the IV line brought it back.

And then he saw her.

Elise, curled sideways in the chair, her head resting near their joined hands. She looked nothing like she did at work — no deliberate poise, no measured smirk. Just a mess of red fiery hair that brightened her face like a halo. There were soft shadows under her eyes, and a kind of unguarded stillness he'd never been allowed to witness this closely before.