Page 79 of Ten Day Affair
A pause. "I'm sorry?"
"Cancel the McAllister meeting. And move the video call with Singapore to next week."
"But sir, they've been trying to get on your calendar for?—"
"Just do it, Angela. I'm tied up with this hospital stuff right now."
I end the call before she can respond.
She doesn’t deserve that. But I can’t pretend to care about anything else right now.
I keep watching those hospital doors, picturing her stride through like she owns the place. Scrubs, a tight ponytail, and that look in her eye that dares anyone to stop her.
Yesterday morning, that same fire was in my bed. Her skin still warm from sleep, her mouth swollen from our kisses.
The memory makes my chest tighten. This was never supposed to be more than fun and maybe some occasional sex.
But now I'm sitting in a luxury car worth more than most annual salaries, canceling meetings, hoping for a glimpse of her.
I rub my hand across my face.
“Let’s go,” I bark at the driver.
I need to get back to my house and salvage what's left of my day. I've already canceled my meetings because I can't focus right now. Maybe if I bury my face in numbers, I can drown all of this out.
My phone rings.
Sam's name lights up my screen.
My heart stutters, then accelerates. I stare at her name, suddenly uncertain. What will I say? What can I say?
I answer before I can think better of it.
"Sam."
Her name hangs between us, suspended in the digital space between my phone and hers.
"We need to talk." Her voice is clinical, detached.
"Are you okay? You didn't answer my texts, and you never came home. I was starting to worry."
"Any chance you're at the hospital?"
I guess my question doesn't deserve an answer. Maybe she had an overnight shift.
"Actually, yes."
"Okay, I'll meet you in the cafeteria in ten minutes."
The line goes dead before I can respond.
I start the car and pull into visitor parking. My usual calculated approach to conversations has abandoned me. For once, I have no strategy.
I stride through the sliding doors and loosen my tie, suddenly feeling like it's choking me. The cafeteria sits on the second floor, bustling with white coats, blue scrubs, and sad-looking visitors.
I spot her immediately.
Sam sits alone at a corner table, both hands wrapped around a coffee cup, staring down at its contents like they hold tomorrow's lottery numbers. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and the shadows under her eyes mirror my own.
