Chapter 7 -Noah’s POV

“High praise.”

I said it and walked out and allowed myself exactly four seconds of satisfaction in the hallway before I went back to my desk and got to work.

The Henderson call was tomorrow. Three o’clock, sharp. I had confirmed it twice, once with Henderson’s office directly and once with Damien’s calendar, and I had set three reminders because that was the kind of thing you did not let slip with a man like Damien Cole. Nine years. Quarterly. Never missed.

I was not going to be the reason t got missed.

I spent the rest of the evening prepping. Pulled Henderson’s file, cross referenced the last four quarters, flagged two figures Damien would want to have ready. I laid everything out on his desk before nine pm, left side, clearly labelled, exactly the way he liked it.

Then I made his evening tea, left it on the right side, and went to bed at eleven feeling, for the first time in weeks, like I had things under control.

That feeling lasted until two fifty-three the next afternoon.

My phone rang.

Dr. Reeves.

I looked at the screen for one full second. Thought about letting it go to voicemail. Thought about Eli, seventeen and coughing, and the scan he’d had three days ago that I had been trying not to think about.

I answered.

“Noah,” Dr. Reeves said. “I got the results from Eli’s scan this morning. I think we need to talk.”

I stepped into my room. Sat on the edge of the bed.

“Tell me,” I said.

He told me.

The words came through in pieces. Inflammation. Progression. Aggressive. New treatment protocol. I sat completely still and held the phone with both hands and listened to every single word because Eli deserved someone who could listen without falling apart.

“How long do we have to decide?” I asked.

“A week. Maybe less.”

“And the cost.”

He told me that too.

I closed my eyes.

The number was impossible. Simply, flatly, mathematically impossible on my salary even with no rent and no food costs and every single dollar going straight to Eli. I knew that before Dr. Reeves finished the sentence.

“Noah, there are options. Payment plans, assistance—”

“I’ll figure it out,” I said. “Thank you. I’ll call tomorrow.”

I hung up.

Sat there.

Eli had a list of colleges in his notes app. He had shown it to me once, shy about it, like wanting a future was something he needed permission for. Twelve schools. He had researched all of them.

I pressed my fist against my mouth.

I don’t know how long I sat there.

Long enough that the light changed.

Long enough that my phone buzzed once, twice, three times on the bed beside me and I looked at it and saw Damien’s office line and looked at the time and felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.

Three forty-seven.

The Henderson call.

I was on my feet before I finished the thought. Down the hall, knocked once, opened the door.

Damien was behind his desk.

Not on a call. The call was long over. He was sitting perfectly still with his phone in front of him and his hands flat on the desk and his face was the specific kind of blank that I had learned in three weeks meant something was happening underneath it that was not going to be good for me.

“Mr. Cole,” I said. “I am so sorry. I—”

“Three o’clock,” he said.

“I know.”

“The Henderson call. Which you confirmed. Which you reminded me about. Which I sat on for eleven minutes before Henderson’s office called to ask if we were rescheduling.”

The words landed one at a time like stones.

“I know,” I said. “I was—”

“I don’t want to know what you were doing,” he said. “I want to know why my assistant, whose single most important function is to manage my schedule, was not at his desk at three o’clock.”

My jaw tightened.

I thought about Eli’s scan. About the list of colleges in his notes app. About the number Dr. Reeves had given me that I had no idea how to find in a week.

“It won’t happen again,” I said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have right now.”

The room went very quiet.

Damien tilted his head slightly, the way he did when he was reading something he couldn’t see. His grey eyes landed just past my shoulder and stayed there.

“Henderson has been a client of Cole Enterprises for nine years,” he said. “Nine years of quarterly calls, on time, without exception. Until today.”

“I understand.”

“Do you.”

“Yes.”

“Then explain to me,” he said, very quietly, “why I should not end your employment right now.”

The question sat in the room between us.

I thought about the forty-three dollars. About Caleb making himself small at eight years old. About Eli’s inflammation, progression, aggressive, and the number I had a week to find.

I needed this job. He knew I needed this job. We had both known it since the interview and he was asking me anyway, which meant he wanted something from me and that something was not an apology.

“Because I’m the best assistant you’ve had,” I said. “And you know it. And one missed call doesn’t change that.”

Something shifted in his face. Too fast to name.

“You have a lot of confidence for someone who just cost me a nine year client relationship.”

“Henderson will reschedule,” I said. “I’ll call his office in the morning and I’ll fix it. And it won’t happen again.”

“You already said that.”

“Because it’s true.”

He said nothing.

I stood in the doorway with Eli’s scan results sitting in my chest like a stone and my hands completely steady at my sides and waited.

“Get out,” he said.

“Mr. Cole—”

“Get out, Mr. Carter. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Not you’re fired. Not clear your room. Tomorrow.

I got out.

Walked back down the hall and into my room and closed the door and stood with my back against it and pressed both hands flat against the wood and breathed.

Tomorrow.

I still had until tomorrow.

My phone buzzed. A text from Caleb.

Did you eat today?

Eight years old and checking on me.

I stared at the screen for a long time. Then typed back: Yes. Go to sleep.

Three seconds later: Liar. Eat something Noah.

I put my phone face down on the bed.

Sat next to it.

Tomorrow Damien Cole was going to decide whether I still had a job and I had a week to find money I didn’t have and my brother was getting worse and Caleb was eight years old and already knew when I was lying.

I picked my phone back up. Called Dr. Reeves’ office and left a message.

Then I sat in the dark and did the math for the fourteenth time and got the same answer I always got.

Tomorrow.

I just had to get to tomorrow.