Chapter 5

Donovan.

It was far more difficult than I’d expected.

Why did she have to look like that? Innocent yet devastatingly dangerous. Like there was so much more beneath the disorganized, flustered version of herself she presented this morning.

I was going to be angry. I was angry. I’d embarrassed her in front of everyone, made her feel small and incompetent.

But then she’d sat down beside me, and one look at her face made me forget how to function, how to act still.

She looked simple. Elegant. Dazzling in a way that made my chest tighten.

Those glasses. Christ, those glasses were perfect on her. They framed her eyes, eyes that faltered and darted nervously, refusing to meet mine.

I hadn’t allowed myself to really look at her before. Not like this. Not in detail.

But now I saw everything.

The freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, dusting her cheeks like stars. The way her lips pressed together when she was concentrating. The delicate curve of her neck. The little pulse point at her throat that beat too fast.

Stop. Stop staring.

But I couldn’t.

She was beautiful. Painfully, impossibly beautiful.

And she was sitting right beside me, so close I could smell that jasmine scent that was going to haunt me for the rest of my goddamn life.

“She’s too pure for you. Too good. Leave her alone.” That tiny voice kept making sure I didn’t slip.

But my body didn’t care about logic. It didn’t care about rules or consequences or the fact that I was supposed to be in a meeting. Paying attention.

Not studying her.

The meeting dragged on. Marcus was still talking, gesturing at charts and numbers that meant nothing to me anymore. My vision started to blur at the edges.

The air felt wrong. Heavy. Too thick.

I shifted in my seat, trying to focus, but my chest felt tight. Constricted. Like something was wrapped around my lungs and squeezing.

What the hell?

I tugged at my collar, but it didn’t help. The tie felt like a rope around my neck. I loosened it with fumbling fingers, yanked it down, unbuttoned the top button of my shirt.

Still couldn’t breathe.

My heart was racing now, pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Beads of sweat tingled down my back.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But I couldn’t.

The air wouldn’t come. My lungs...I could feel them expanding, but nothing was getting through. Like my throat had sealed shut.

Panic clawed at the edges of my mind.

Not here. Not now. Not in front of her.

But then it dawned on me.

The coffee. Milk. She added milk.

FUCK!

I remembered when I drank it from that sealed coffee pod, I was too consumed in my thoughts and too in shock to notice it. Or maybe my tongue and brain forgot that they had a job to do.

I unbuttoned another button. Then another. Exposing my chest, desperate for air that wouldn’t come.

The room tilted.

“Mr. Reynor?” Marcus’s voice sounded distant, muffled. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I bit out, but the word came out strangled, broken.

I wasn’t fine. I was dying. Suffocating in a room full of oxygen.

The walls seemed to close in. Every breath was a battle I was losing, short, shallow gasps that did nothing but squeeze the air out of me.

My hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turned white. The wood felt like the only solid thing grounding me in a world that was spinning out of my control.

I shoved back from the table, the chair scraping loudly. Faces turned toward me, concerned, confused, but I couldn’t focus on any of them.

I stumbled toward my office, my legs weak, unsteady.

“Sir!” Someone was calling after me, but I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t waste what little air I had left on words.

I needed my drugs

“Just get to the office door.” I assured myself.

And I did.

I crashed through it, shoulder hitting the doorframe. My desk was right there, just a few more steps, the intercom was right there.

I shouldn’t have left that room without her. Shit.

I reached for it, my hand shaking violently.

“Miss Blackwood, I need...” I screamed in my head

Where the actual fuck was she! This was supposed to be her job, she was supposed to handle things like this. She was supposed to be here.

She failed me. Multiple times. Even now.

My chest was on fire now, burning inside out. Each failed breath was agony. My heart hammered so hard I thought it would burst.

“Please. Please. Please, I can’t...”

My knees buckled.

I crashed to the floor, but I barely felt it. All I felt was the desperate, clawing need for air that wouldn’t come.

My fingers scrapped against the cold tile, trying to push myself up, but my arms had no strength left.

I’m going to die. Right here. Right now.

Darkness crept in from all sides, narrowing my vision to a thin blurry line.

And then.

“DONOVAN!”

The door burst open.

Footsteps. Running. Fast.

“Oh my God, oh my God!”

I felt hands on my shoulder, my chest. Small hands. Warm hands.

Her.

She dropped to her knees beside me, her face appearing above mine. She was terrified, yet beautiful, those freckles particularly standing out against skin that had gone totally pale.

“Donovan, what’s...” Her voice cracked. “What’s happening? Talk to me.”

Donovan. Not Sir or Boss. Donovan. I liked it.

I tried. God, I tried. But I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but stare up at her while my body betrayed me completely.

Her hands cupped my face. “Stay with me. I’m calling an ambulance right now.”

No. No ambulance. No witnesses. Not questions. No hospitals.

I grabbed her wrist weakly, shaking my head in disapproval.

“What? What do you want me to do?” Understanding flickered across her face. “A panic attack? Is this a panic attack? An allergy reaction?”

I managed the smallest nod before pointing at the drawer at the farther corner of my office. “Drugs.” I managed to speak.

Relief flooded her face. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got you.”

She sprinted to grab it and ran back in what seemed like seconds, with a glass of water in her hand.

With the last energy I had, I tried to sit up, but she was already moving behind me, pulling my upper body against hers so my back rested against her chest. One arm wrapped around me, her hand pressing flat against my chest.

“Here, drink.” She placed the drug on my tongue and lifted the glass of water to my mouth.

“You’re going to be fine,” she said, her voice suddenly calm. “Breathe with me. Match it. Come on, with me.”

I felt her chest expand against my back.

“In,” she breathed. “Out, you’ve got this.”

I tried. God, I tried. But my lungs wouldn’t cooperate. Not yet.

“You can do this,” she whispered, her lips close to my ear. “I know you can. Again. In. Out. Slow and steady.”

Her hand pressed firmer against my bare chest, grounding me in ways I didn’t know was necessary. Her other hand found mine, lacing our fingers together.

“Feel me. I’m right here. You’re safe. In and out.”

Slowly, a tiny bit of air made it through. Not too much, but it was something.

“Good. Just like that, you’re doing great. Again.”

Her heartbeat was gentle against my back. Steady. Strong. Slow.

Another breath, slightly deeper than the last, and I felt a sense of relieve slowly start to wash over me.

“You’re doing so good. Keep going.”

Air started to feel more consistent than the last, flowing in and out, but still a bit restricted.

“That’s it. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

And God help me, she did.

But she caused it! She had to pay.