His Personal Assistant

19. | Sick

I sit at my desk, my head in my hands as my head pounds. I fell asleep crying again. I rub at my temples to try and soothe the ache, but nothing seems to be working.

"Nomi! Nomi!" Azzy squeals, running to me.

I giggle, pulling away from my desk. "Hi, Azzy."

She climbs into my lap and grins, but it turns into a frown. "You okay?" She tilts her head, her brows furrowed in a way that makes her absolutely adorable.

I smile. "I'm okay." I stand up with her in my arms. "Come on, let's go see Uncle Ree-Ree." I turn away from her to sneeze, listening to her little 'bless-you'. I set her down as I open Rhys' door. "Uncle Ree-Ree, look who's here."

Rhys stands up from his desk, walking to Azzy and picking her up. "There's my little munchkin. How you been doing? Have you been good for Mommy and Daddy?"

"Yup!" She grins.

I try to stop myself as I sneeze. Another follows right after. Rhys looks up at me with an eyebrow raised, but I just wave a hand. "Allergies." He nods slowly. "I should get back to work. You two have fun." I smile before turning around and walking to my desk.

Later that night, I sit at the table, staring at the many bills I still need to pay. Plus, I still need five-grand by next friday. I rub my eyes in frustration.

I've managed to pay a few of them, but there's so many. My house phone rings, but I ignore it. When it stops, there's a voicemail.

"Hey Naomi. This is just a reminder for next Friday. Don't forget the money." Then the voicemail ends.

Gee, as if I didn't already know.

There's a knock at my door. I walk to it and open it, Rhys standing outside.

I feel some of the tension leave my body at the sight of him. "Come in," I wave at him, and he listens, stepping inside. He walks through the corridor to my dining room and I rush around him to the bills, cleaning them up and stashing them.

"How you holding up?" He asks, ignoring what I just did.

I sigh. "Better, I guess. Not ready for the funeral, but I'll manage." I turn away as I sneeze, him raising an eyebrow at me.

My dad's funeral is Monday, and only my aunt, his sister, is coming. She's the one aunt I can tolerate, while the other is conceited. She married rich and she's wanted nothing to do with me since.

"I brought you some dinner." He sets a bag on the table. I open it, taking out the take-out container as I sneeze once more. I sniffle, eating the fries and leaving the burger for later. It's still warm. "So, who all's coming?"

I swallow a fry. "My aunt."

When I don't say more, he tilts his head. "That's it?"

"Yep. I invited my other aunt, but she's conceited and self-absorbed, so she won't be coming." I explain, stuffing another fry in my mouth.

I barely finish swallowing before I stuff another in my mouth. Then another. I reach for another, but Rhys catches my wrist. "Let's...slow down. You don't want to choke." He takes the container, sealing it again. "I'll put this in the fridge for now." He walks away, putting it in my fridge, then returns. "I'll see you at work?"

I nod. "Bills to pay."

"Yeah. I'll see you." I wave, and watch as he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

***

I sit in a meeting with Rhys and his business partner, listening as they talk. I can feel a sneeze coming, but before I can stop it, I'm sneezing.

They pause, looking at me. That's the fifth time I've done that today. "Sorry. Continue." Rhys's business partner nods slowly before returning to the conversation him and Rhys were having.

Overtime, I grow nauseous and I sip on water to try and starve it off. But it doesn't work and I feel a bile rise in my throat. I place a hand against my mouth, pushing myself up and hurrying out of the room.

I rush to the bathroom, bursting through a stall and hurling into the toilet bowl. Damn it. I knew I shouldn't have came in today.

I vomit until I'm dry-heaving, but then I feel someone grabbing my hair and pulling it up into a makeshift bun. Once I manage to stop, I lean back against the stall. Rhys crouches beside me. "If you were sick, why would you come to work?"

My head rolls against the wall to look at him. "No matter how shitty I feel, unless I'm vomiting, I'm coming to work." I grunt as I push myself up, Rhys standing with me. The toilet flushes and I wash my hands at the sinks. I cup the water, using it to wash out the foul taste in my mouth.

"Come on." I look up, my eyes meeting Rhys's as he nods to the door of the bathroom.

"What?" My brows furrow.

"I'm taking you home."

I turn away from the mirror. "Why?"

"Because you're sick, and you don't have a car." I roll my eyes, walking to the door. He stops me, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. I lean away from him, but it doesn't stop him. "You have a fever."

I smack his hand away. "No touch." He looks at me annoyed, but I ignore him, walking out of the bathroom and to my desk, gathering my things.

Lindsey walks toward me, but she pauses, grimacing. "You're so pale."

"Lindsey, get the disinfectant and clean anything Naomi could've touched, including the chairs in the boardroom." Rhys instructs before placing a hand on the lower of my back and guiding me to the elevator.

"W— How am I supposed to know what all she's touched?" Lindsey complains.

"Do it, and I'll up your pay this week." She groans as we turn the corner, walking to the elevator. He presses the button and we step inside, the elevator already up here.

"You know, you don't have to do all of this." I say on the walk to his car.

"I want to." He shrugs.

I feel another bile rise into my throat. My eyes land on a trashcan and I hurry to it, doubling over it. I hear Rhys groan from behind me, the wave of extreme nausea passing by. I pull away from the can, wiping at my mouth.

"Are you good now?" He asks, his brows raised slightly in concern.

I shake my head. "I can't get in your car."

"Yes. You can." He walks toward me. "I can give you a bag or a trash bag on the way to your house. I don't care if I have to clean my car, either." I frown at him. "Come on. Let's go."

The entire ride home, I try not to puke all over his car, and manage to succeed. He takes me to my room, where I climb into bed and curl up in my sheets. He turns on my fan before leaving my room. I don't say anything, allowing my body to relax.

I feel something cool press against my forehead and open my eyes. "The rag should help lower your fever." He mumbles. "I'll go make you some soup."

He begins to walk away when I call after him, "Rhys?" He turns, humming. "You don't have to do this...but thank you."

He smiles at me. "I'll be right back."

Turns out, it wasn't allergies. Looks like crying in the rain results in getting sick.