Page 21 of Twins with Daddy’s Bestie

“Oh, I can imagine what he'd do,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I remember one time in college when someone said something about your mom. I won't get into the details, but he almost got expelled.”

Her eyes widen and she chuckles. “He's older and wiser now.”

“And much more capable of hiding a body,” I add with a wink. “But seriously, I understand. I'm sorry if you were in an uncomfortable position.”

An unbearable tickle in the back of my throat forces me to clear it abruptly. “Excuse me. I must’ve swallowed something wrong.” I do it again with no luck. I reach for my water bottle and take a long swig, feeling temporary relief as the cool water rushes down my throat.

“Are you okay?” Olivia leans forward with concern.

“Yeah, I'm just—” I clear my throat again, and it turns into a loud, hacking cough as I reach for my throat. I see my hands for the first time, and they’re bright red. I'm definitely having an allergic reaction.

I look at the plate in a panic, picking up the spring roll to see a tiny, pink shrimp nestled inside the vegetables. I lose focus on our conversation and begin searching my desk for an EpiPen.

“Oh, my God, are you having an allergic reaction?” Olivia asks, jumping up from her chair and rushing around the desk to try to help me. “What can I do?”

“EpiPen,” I croak out, hardly able to say the word as my throat swells.

She sees me rooting through my desk and tries to help me, but after a few moments, we realize it isn't there. I suddenly remember the first week in the office when Tyler ordered Thai food for everyone, and my pad thai had shrimp in it. I never picked up a new one from the pharmacy.

“Call... help...” I say as my vision blurs from the lack of oxygen. I watch as Olivia fumbles with her phone and dials 911, rushing out of the office shortly after they arrive.

Two EMTs kneel beside me, one of them grabbing an EpiPen from their bag and plunging it into my thigh. I feel immediate relief as the epinephrine rushes through my system and I can take a full gasp of air for the first time in minutes. Everything else happens in a blur as I try to make sense of everything while they put me on a stretcher and take me out of the office.

Olivia is running behind them trying to keep up. She tries to climb into the back of the ambulance with me, but one of the EMTs stops her and asks her something I can't quite comprehend as the other straps an oxygen mask to my face.

“I’m his fiancée,” Olivia says as she fights for a position in the back of the ambulance. It's the first thing I've picked up from this ordeal, and all I can think about as they turn on the siren and rush through the busy L.A. traffic is that her hand is clamped around mine.

13

Olivia

All I can think about while I sit in the chair next to Drake’s hospital bed is our interview when he joked about being allergic to gluten. “Is this the kind of recklessness I can expect from you?” he said, giving me a hard time. Apparently, I proved him right.

“I served scallops at your dinner last week,” I say out loud, almost to myself as Drake is still too out of it with the oxygen mask on. “I never would have made shrimp egg rolls if I'd have known you have a shellfish allergy.”

Drake mumbles something that I can't quite make out. His eyes are heavy as he looks around the room almost drunkenly. “I'm so sorry,” I say for the hundredth time.

Maybe all the stressing I've done this week about potentially losing my job was for nothing. I'm not going to lose my job because of anything related to my relationship with Drake; I'm going to lose it for almost killing him.

This is the worst-case scenario for any chef. We take a vow to cook cleanly and ethically and pay attention to allergens. I didn't do that. If I had, Drake wouldn't have been rushed out of his office on a stretcher.

“Don't worry,” Drake says, slowly pulling the oxygen mask off his face to speak. “I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.”

I move closer to him and try to put it back on, but he grabs my wrist. His eyes meet mine and I see the haze that he's under and smile apologetically. “You're not all there right now, Drake. I'm sure you'll change your tune when you're back to normal.”

He stops me before I put the mask back on him and shakes his head. “No. I like you too much to be mad at you. You're perfect. So beautiful, funny, and smart, too.”

I know it's the shellfish talking, but I'm tempted to not put the oxygen mask back on him. My better judgment convinces me to stop listening to his compliments and let him recover. I already almost killed him with my food, the least I can do is make sure he gets the treatment he needs.

I turn on the small TV in the corner of the room and flip through the channels next to Drake as he shakes his head whenever I stop on something I think he might like. Eventually, I land on a rerun of Friends, and he gives me a lazy thumbs-up to keep it there.

I lean back in the chair and cross my arms while we watch the show. Drake laughs hysterically through the oxygen mask almost like he's high, and I smile at everything he does. He's loopy and out of it, and this is a version of Drake I've never seen.

Eventually, the doctor comes into the room, checks on him, and removes the oxygen mask. Drake is discharged soon after, and I call for an Uber to take us back to the office.

“I'm fired after tonight, right?” I ask him after we get out of the Uber and walk to my car. Drake laughs and shakes his head.

“It was an honest mistake.” I unlock my car and we climb inside. Drake is in the middle of fastening his seatbelt when he turns to me with a serious expression. “That being said, if you make this mistake twice, it will look intentional. I've got my eye on you.”