Page 37 of His to Win

Our weekend together was perfect in every single way, but now that it’s over, I have no idea what to expect when I go to the office. Will he turn back into his cool, ruthless self? Are we going to fall back into our old ways and start arguing and pushing each other’s buttons again? Or, will he turn up the heat and expect a quickie in his office?

I wish I could just call in sick for the next three weeks. It’s hard to believe that’s all the time we have left together before Doug makes a permanent decision and chooses who he’s going to sell Holloway Corp. to. The competitor in me has to win. But, win at what cost? And, is it really worth it?

After applying my makeup and brushing out my hair, it occurs to me that I can’t have both. If I want Holloway’s company and I win it, then I’m going to lose Enzo. How could I not? He’s going to be pissed.

Conversely, if Enzo is chosen, won’t I be angry, too? I’m a competitor, so yes, I will be upset. At the same time, I’m so ready for a decision to be made and for all of this to finally be over. There are other companies out there to buy, I suppose.

I hate thinking about it. Not seeing Enzo every day is going to be so strange.

Unless we can get over our egos and take a chance on each other outside of work. Like we did this past weekend. When I wasn’t viewing him as the competition and we were able to relax and live in the moment, it was all so wonderful.

Maybe I’m not being realistic. But, I’d like to think we have a chance together. A part of me wishes we would’ve discussed what happens next. Unless that’s just wishful thinking. God, I’m so confused and now my stomach is starting to rumble again.

I have a feeling today is going to not be a good day.

And, I’m right.

First off, I get to my office late because the moment I arrive, the nausea hits again…and hits hard. I spend another fifteen minutes puking. Afterwards, I rinse my mouth out with some water, but all I have is an old gooey mint at the bottom of my purse. No toothbrush or mouthwash. Ugh. I suppose I could run down to the corner drug store, but that’s going to make me even later and I hate being late. With a passion.

So, I suck it up and decide to show my face for a bit then sneak out on an errand to get some goodies to freshen my breath. I finished the mint and my mouth still takes like crap when Enzo appears in the doorway of my office. He looks as unsure as I’m feeling.

“Hi,” he says, voice quiet.

“Hi,” I respond.

He squints, studying me far too closely, and I squirm. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I manage to force out just as my stomach starts churning again. Oh, God. Hoping it’ll go away, I smile. Unfortunately it feels all wrong. Fake as hell. I look away, pretending to be searching for something on my desk when I know I’m going to have to make another run for the bathroom. Shit. I must be getting a stomach bug or the flu.

Getting up, my heels wobble slightly and I grip the edge of the desk to steady myself. Of course, Enzo doesn’t miss a thing and he frowns. Since when did he become so detail-oriented? I wonder crossly.

Okay, now I need to move and I walk quickly to the door and try to skirt around his large frame, but he stops me. “What’s going on?” he asks in a low voice, grabbing hold of my elbow and squeezing lightly. “You look pale.”

Our faces are close and I know my breath must reek, so I discreetly cover my mouth with the back of my hand and turn away from him. “Nothing.”

“Stop saying fine and nothing, Bri. Tell me?—”

My stomach gurgles and I pull my arm free and bolt down to the bathroom, barely making it into the stall. As I’m retching for the freaking third time this morning, my brain almost explodes as one ominous thought goes crashing through it…

Am I pregnant?

“Oh, God,” I groan and throw up again. But there’s nothing left inside my poor stomach and my throat burns with the taste of bile. Leaning my head against the stall wall, I close my eyes and wait for the nausea to fade.

My eyes pop open when the bathroom door opens and I almost cry when I hear heavy footsteps enter. “Gabriella?” Enzo asks. “Are you okay, honey?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Can’t he just let me puke in peace?

I reach out, grab a wad of toilet paper and wipe my mouth. The last thing a woman wants is for the man she likes to associate her with any kind of bodily function. Yes, I know that’s silly and every human being burps, farts and poops. But, I do not need Enzo Rossi knowing that right now. Maybe if we’d been going out for a while or living together, I wouldn’t be so self-conscious. But right now I feel like Carrie Bradshaw the moment she first farted in front of Mr. Big in Sex and the City.

Kill me now.

“No,” I whisper, deciding to be honest. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

I can hear him walk right up to the stall I’m locked in and see his shiny leather shoes when I look down.

“Will you open the door?”

“No! Go away, Enzo,” I moan. “Let me die in peace.”

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