Peggy Moreland – The Texan's Business Proposition (страница 3)

She remembered the shock she’d experienced when she’d walked into his office for her job interview and gotten her first look at the owner and founder of Donnelly Consulting. Based on the size and value of the company, she’d expected an older man. One with at least a spattering of gray at his temples.

What she’d found was a thirty-six-year-old hunk with the disposition of a grizzly bear.

With a shake of her head, she sat up and reached for the bottle of sunscreen, squirted a blob on her palm. Thirty minutes, she promised herself as she smoothed the cream over her arms, chest and legs, then she’d go inside and tackle the tasks her boss had e-mailed her overnight.

Grimacing, she mentally added workaholic to her boss’s faults. The man was relentless. In the four months she’d worked for him, she’d never known him to take so much as a day off, which was a shame, since his business trips took him all over the world.

With a rueful shake of her head, she lay back and closed her eyes again. If she were required to take business trips all over the world, she’d darn well stay over a day or two and see the sights. Tokyo. Paris. Venice.

She smiled dreamily, easily able to imagine herself floating on a gondola along the canals of Venice.

“Sally!”

She shot up from the chair, to find her boss standing in the open French door.

“Vince,” she said dully. Remembering how she was dressed, she snatched up a towel and whipped it around her. “What are you doing home? You aren’t supposed to be back until Monday.”

“Cut the trip short. Wasn’t feeling good.”

She peered at him more closely and had to admit he did look kind of sick. His face was pale, his shoulders stooped, his clothing rumpled. “Did you pick up a bug or something?”

Shaking his head, he rubbed a hand across his chest. “Heartburn. Something I ate must not have agreed with me.”

She started toward him, praying whatever he had wasn’t contagious. “When did you get sick?”

“Hit me last night. Caught a red-eye home.” He braced a hand against the doorjamb as if needing its support as he turned inside the house. “Did you update the spreadsheets on the Holmes deal?”

She rolled her eyes, but dutifully followed him inside. “No.”

He shot her a frown over his shoulder. “Didn’t you get my e-mail?”

“Yes. This morning. I planned to do it this afternoon.”

“I need that report now.”

Before she could remind him it was Saturday and technically her day off, he clamped a hand over the back of a chair and bent double with a groan.

“Vince?” When he didn’t reply, she moved around him to peer at his face and saw that his skin had turned a deathly gray and his breathing was labored. “Vince? Are you okay?”

He pressed a hand against his chest. “Can’t breathe,” he choked out.

She bolted for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Stay right there. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

A step short of reaching her destination, she heard a loud crash behind her. Quickly reversing her direction, she raced back and found Vince sprawled on the floor and the stainless-steel end table that usually stood beside the chair on its side less than a foot from his head. She burned a full twenty seconds wringing her hands, trying to think what to do, then noticed his cell phone clipped at his waist. Snatching it from its holder, she punched in 911.

“911 operator. What is your emergency?”

She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead. “I’m not sure. I’m at my boss’s house. He said he wasn’t feeling well. I went to get him a glass a water. He must’ve fainted or something because now he’s lying on the floor.”

“Is he conscious?”

She shifted her gaze to Vince’s closed eyes and gulped. “No.”

“Your name?”

She frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Your name.”

“Sally Gregg. Please,” she begged. “Send an ambulance. I don’t know what to do.”

“Your relationship to the victim?”

“What difference does that make?” she cried. “The man needs help!”

“Try to remain calm, ma’am.”

She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, telling herself that losing her cool wasn’t going to help things. “We’re not related. He’s my boss.”

“The victim’s name?”

“Vince Donnelly.”

“Address?”

She rattled off Vince’s address.

“Phone number?”

“For God’s sake!” she snapped. “I don’t want you to call me, I want an ambulance! He could be dying!”

“Ma’am, I understand your concern, but I’m required to collect this information.”

“It’s 555-423-6597,” she said in a rush. “I’ll leave the front door open.”

Before the operator could ask her any more ridiculous questions, she threw down the phone and ran to unlock the front door, then raced back and dropped to a knee beside Vince.

“Vince? Vince, can you hear me?”

She held her breath, watching his face for a reaction and bit back a moan when not so much as an eyelash fluttered. “Vince, please,” she begged. “Hold on. An ambulance is on the way.”

There was a rap on the door.

“Houston Fire Department! Is there an emergency?”

Sally jumped to her feet. “In here!”

A man appeared, followed on his heels by a second man carrying a bag.

The first to arrive moved to stand with Sally, while the other dropped down beside Vince and began pulling equipment from his bag.

“What happened?” the man beside Sally asked.

She wrung her hands. “I don’t know. He just returned from a trip. Said he wasn’t feeling well. I went to get him a glass of water. He must have fainted, because I heard this loud crash. I ran back and found him lying on the floor.”

“He’s breathing,” the second fireman reported.

A third man appeared and dropped down at Vince’s head to support his neck while the second fireman fastened what looked like a thick, padded belt around it.

“What’s he doing?” Sally asked in concern.

“Applying a C-collar,” the man at her side explained. “In the event he injured his neck when he fell, the collar will prevent further damage.”

Gulping, Sally watched as the men continued to work, one attaching a heart monitor to Vince’s chest, the other wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

“EMS!”

Sally snapped up her head to see two more uniformed men rushing into the house, carrying a stretcher.

The man beside her quickly shifted his attention to the EMS team and reported, “Male, midthirties, possible cardiac arrest. Witness reports he passed out and hit his head on the table. We’re holding C-spine, have applied oxygen via nonrebreather at fifteen liters per minute. Blood pressure 178/96, pulse is 102 respirations at 24 rapid.”

Wide-eyed, Sally scooted out of the way and watched while the EMS team positioned a backboard beside Vince. On the count of three, the fireman rolled Vince to his side, and the EMS team slid the backboard into position. After lowering Vince to the backboard, they cinched straps around him to secure him. On the count of three again, the men lifted him onto the stretcher.

“You’ll need to meet the ambulance at the hospital,” the fireman told Sally, as the other men gathered their equipment, preparing to leave.

Sally took a step back. “Oh, I’m not family,” she said. “I’m just his secretary.”

The fireman gave her a slow look up and down and Sally cringed, knowing what he must think. A woman at her boss’ house on the weekend wearing a towel wrapped around her? No, this didn’t look good, at all.