Hold onto me

CHAPTER EIGHT:SICK DAY🤒

Emily woke up feeling like she’d been hit by a truck.

Her throat was sandpaper. Her head was pounding. And her body felt like it was on fire.

She checked her phone. 7:30AM. Work in 30 minutes.

She typed with shaky hands:

Mr. Sterling, I’m sick, I won’t be in today. I’m sorry.

She hit send before she could chicken out.

Then she rolled over and passed out.

---

Two hours later, someone was banging on her door.

"Emily! Emily open up!"

Tasha.

Emily dragged herself off the couch. Blanket around her shoulders. Hair a mess.

She opened the door.

Tasha took one look at her and gasped. "Girl you look like death."

"I’m fine," Emily croaked. "Just a fever."

"Fine my foot. When did you last eat?"

Emily couldn’t remember.

Tasha pushed past her. "I’m making you soup. Go back to bed."

Emily barely made it to the couch before her phone buzzed.

Unknown number:

Address.

That was it.

She frowned. Typed: Who is this

The reply was instant.

DAMIAN

Her heart did something stupid.

I’m fine.you don’t need to come.

Three dots. Then:

Too late.

20 minutes later, another knock. Louder. Authoritative.

Tasha opened the door.

And screamed.

Because standing there was Damian Sterling.

In jeans and a black sweater. Hair messy. Holding two bags.

And he looked... worried.

"Where is she?" His voice cut through the apartment.

Tasha pointed to the couch, eyes wide. "Living... living room."

Damian walked in like he owned the place. Stopped when he saw Emily.

She was curled up in a blanket, face red, hair everywhere.

He set the bags down.

"You look terrible."

"Thanks," Emily mumbled. "Very professional."

Damian ignored that. He crouched in front of her. Put the back of his hand to her forehead.

His hand was cold. She flinched.

"104," he said. "You’re burning up."

"I’m fine," she whispered again.

"You’re not." He stood. "Tasha, right?"

Tasha was still frozen by the door. "Y-yes sir."

"Boil water. And find me a bowl."

Tasha nodded and ran to the kitchen.

Damian pulled things out of the bags. Medicine. Gatorade. Soup. A thermometer.

And work files.

"What’s that?" Emily asked.

"Your emails. You can’t answer them from bed? Unacceptable." But he was already opening the soup.

He sat next to her on the couch. Too close.

"Open."

Emily stared. "What?"

"The soup. Open your mouth, Emily."

She obeyed. It was chicken. Hot. It burned her tongue but felt good going down.

"You didn’t have to come," she said between bites.

"Yes I did." He blew on the next spoonful. "You’d probably die here alone."

"Don’t say that."

"Then don’t get sick."

They sat like that. Him feeding her. Tasha pretending not to watch from the kitchen.

After the soup, he made her take medicine. Then he pulled the blanket up over her.

"Sleep."

"I have work."

"I’ll handle it." His voice was firm. "Sleep."

Emily’s eyes were already closing. The medicine was making her drowsy.

The last thing she remembered was Damian’s voice, low:

"Don’t quit on me."

---

She woke up hours later. Dark outside.

The blanket was tucked around her. There was a cold compress on her forehead.

And Damian was still there.

On the floor. Next to the couch. Laptop open. Tie gone. Sleeves rolled up.

Working.

"Damian?" Her voice was raspy.

He looked up instantly. "You’re awake. How do you feel?"

"Better." She sat up slowly. "What time is it?"

"9PM. You slept all day."

Emily looked around. Tasha was gone. The apartment was clean.

"You did all this?"

"Someone had to." He closed his laptop. "How’s your head?"

"Better. Thank you. For... everything."

Damian shrugged like it was nothing. "Don’t thank me. You’re my employee. I’m responsible for you."

Employee. Right.

The word felt cold.

Emily pulled the blanket tighter. "You can go. I’m okay now."

Damian didn’t move. "You sure?"

"Yes."

He stood. Grabbed his suit jacket. At the door he paused.

"Take the medicine every 6 hours. Drink water. Don’t answer emails."

"Yes sir."

"And Emily?"

She looked up.

"If you ever call in sick again, I’m still coming. So don’t bother lying to me."

Then he was gone.

---

Tasha came home 10 minutes later with takeout.

"OKAY. EXPLAIN." She dropped the bags. "WHY WAS DAMIAN STERLING IN OUR KITCHEN MAKING YOU TEA??"

Emily just smiled. For the first time in days.

"I don’t know."

Her phone buzzed.

Damian:

Temperature?

Emily:

99.8. Better.

Damian:

Good. Rest .

And Emily?

Emily:

Yes?

Damian:

“My house has a guest room. With a better bed .

Just in case you get sick again

Emily stared at the text. Her heart was racing.

Before she could reply, another text came through.

From the same unknown number as before. “V”

Attached was a photo.

It was her. On the couch. Asleep.

And Damian, kneeling in front of her, holding her hand.

“Cute.”

The board is going to love this.

.V’

Emily’s blood went cold.

How did she get in?

How long had she been watching?

Tasha saw her face. "What’s wrong?"

Emily showed her the phone.

Tasha dropped the takeout. "That b***h. We need to call the police."

But Emily was already typing.

To Damian:

‘Someone was in my apartment today

They took a photo of us.’

Three dots.

Then:

‘I’m coming back.

Don’t open the door for anyone.

I’m 5 minutes away.’

Emily looked at the door.

Her hands were shaking again.

But this time...

It wasn’t from the fever.

*******