Page 9 of Strings Attached

"We need to get you to a doctor," I say, my voice leaving no room for argument. "This could be a fracture."

Mireille shakes her head. "No, no, I can't. There's too much work to do and?—"

"Mireille," I cut her off, my tone softening. "Your health is more important than any work. I'm taking you to the hospital myself."

She looks up at me, surprise evident in her green eyes. "You don't have to do that, Evander. I can call a cab or?—"

"I want to," I interrupt, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice. "Please, let me help you."

For a moment, we just look at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between us. Then Mireille nods slowly.

"Okay," she says softly. "Thank you."

As I help her to her feet, careful not to jostle her injured arm, I can't help but feel a surge of protectiveness. Seeing her hurt has stirred something in me, something I'm not quite ready to name.

But as we make our way out of the office, Mireille leaning against me for support, I know one thing for certain: my feelings for my clumsy, brilliant assistant are far more complicated than I ever imagined.

Chapter 5

Mireille

The rideto the hospital is a blur of pain and awkward silence. Evander drives with laser focus, his jaw clenched tight as he navigates the busy streets of Starlight Bay. I cradle my throbbing arm against my chest, trying not to wince every time we hit a bump.

"How are you feeling?" Evander asks, his eyes flicking briefly to me before returning to the road.

"I'm fine," I lie, not wanting him to worry more than he already is. "It's probably just a sprain."

He shakes his head, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Let's let the doctors make that determination."

We lapse back into silence, the tension in the car palpable. I sneak glances at Evander's face, mesmerized at how different he looks outside the office. His suit jacket is off, his tie loosened, and there's a hint of stubble on his jaw. It's a more relaxed version of him that I rarely get to see.

At the hospital, Evander insists on helping me out of the car and into the emergency room. His hand on my lower back sends shivers up my spine, despite the pain in my arm.

"Sit here," he says, guiding me to a chair in the waiting room. "I'll take care of the paperwork."

Before I can protest, he's striding towards the reception desk, his authoritative presence causing the harried-looking nurse to snap to attention.

I watch as he speaks with the nurse, his voice too low for me to hear. Whatever he's saying seems to be working, because within minutes, a doctor appears and I'm being ushered into an examination room.

Evander follows close behind, his face a mask of concern. "Do you want me to stay?" he asks as the doctor begins to examine my arm.

I nod, surprising myself with how much I want him here. "Yes, please. If you don't mind."

His expression softens slightly. "Of course I don't mind."

The doctor's examination is quick but thorough. "Well, Ms. Fontaine," she says finally, "it looks like you have a sprain; thankfully nothing is broken. But you will need to wear a compression bandage to help with the swelling. I advise you to ice your wrist, around thirty minutes at a time every four hours for the next few days."

I groan, already imagining how difficult work will be with this injury. “Will it take long to heal?” I ask, wondering how bad it’s going to be.

"Could be anywhere between two to four weeks," the doctor replies sympathetically. "You'll need to take it easy during that time. No heavy lifting, and try to use your other arm as much as possible."

I nod, trying to hide my dismay. God, two to four weeks of limited mobility. How am I going to manage all my work duties?

As if reading my mind, Evander speaks up. "Don't worry about work, Mireille. We'll figure something out."

The doctor looks between us, a knowing smile on her face. "You're lucky to have such a supportive boyfriend."

I feel my face flush hot as I quickly correct her, "Oh, he's not my?—"

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