Twist of Fate (Taking Chances #2) - Tia Louise Page 0,39

even try to act miffed, just remember he put you in my old territory after five weeks. That’s a record. I worked five months before getting the Southeast region. It’s the last stop before Northeast.”

“I’m not miffed…” Acid burns at the base of my throat, and I clasp my hand over my mouth. Shaking my head, I manage a “Sorry!”

Running as fast as I can, I just make it to a tall, brass trashcan in the corner behind a rubber tree plant before I throw up my entire lunch.

“Oh… shit.” I grip the sides of the bin, waiting to see if more is coming.

When it seems I’m safely done, I stagger to the water fountain, pressing my palm against my forehead. Cold sweat is on my upper lip. What was that?

Bracing the side of the water fountain, I hold a hand under the cold water and carefully touch it to the back of my neck as I lean down to rinse my mouth.

Spencer strides over, curling his nose at the trash. “Jesus, Daisy, I know it’s a hell of a promotion, but you’ve got to be able to take big news without tossing your cookies.”

“I’m so sorry.” I pat more cool water on my neck. “That’s never happened to me before.” My eyes are heavy, and I’m overwhelmed by exhaustion. “I think I might go home. I’m not feeling so good.”

“Which is precisely why I don’t hug them. Or you.” He takes a step away from me and whips out his handkerchief, holding it over his nose and mouth. “You probably have a virus. Go home, and let me know when you’re better. I’ll tell Miles your country-girl heart landed you a nasty stomach bug.”

Pressing my hand to my forehead, I don’t feel feverish. Still, I nod. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks, Spence.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

I’m too ill to laugh. I go straight home and crawl into my bed. I hate being alone and sick, but I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself before sleep overtakes me.

The next morning I’m feeling much better. I decide I was either tired from our last trip or I really do need to work on receiving good news—or the tuna salad I had at lunch had turned.

I wash my face feeling completely better after sleeping for fourteen hours. Fourteen hours! What the hell? Maybe I have been pushing myself too hard.

In the kitchen, I switch on the Keurig before digging a scrambler cup out of the fridge and cracking an egg into it. It goes in the microwave, and my stomach growls. I pop a slice of bread in the toaster for good measure.

Heading for my bedroom, I pick out a tweed blazer and black skinny jeans with an ivory silk tank. Now that I’m director of the southeast region, I should dress more the part. Spencer and Miles wear suits to the office.

The microwave beeps, and I dance back into the kitchen sliding a pod into the coffee maker.

“I’ve got to tell Dad!” My voice goes higher, and I think this might be the news that actually gets his attention. Maybe I’ll call him on the way to work…

Grabbing a fork, I take the scrambler cup out of the microwave. I love these savory little breakfasts. The toast pops as I put the first bite of scrambled eggs, sausage, and cheese in my mouth. All at once, my throat closes.

“Oh, shit!” I slam the cup on the counter and barely make it to the half bath before I vomit my one bite of breakfast into the toilet.

Exhaustion hits me again—just like yesterday. I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train, and I just want to curl up on the couch and sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to Spencer.

Still barfing. Going to the doc today. Sorry.

It doesn’t take long for him to reply, in typical Spencer fashion. Do not bring the plague to this office. Stay home until you’re well.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or annoyed by his response, but I’ll take the pass. Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.

I pull my robe tighter around my waist as I walk to my bedroom Googling the number for urgent care. I’m just touching it when my finger freezes over the screen, and a wash of fear floods my veins.

“No.” It’s the only word I get out before I run to my laptop and pull up the calendar