Chapter 8
Technically, Emma's spell shouldn't have been able to hurt a human.
It only worked on Voldemort.
But the man in front of her seemed to take the hit anyway.
His entire body tilted dramatically to the side.
Emma's eyes immediately lit up.
No way.
Lawrence is a fellow troll?
Actually, it only took her about a second to realize who he was.
His height and build were unmistakable.
"Thud!"
Lawrence hit the floor hard.
Emma:
"......"
Seriously?
We're committing to the bit this hard?
Then Emma realized something.
Lawrence wasn't playing along.
She quickly aimed her phone flashlight at him.
He was actually unconscious.
Emma's eyes widened.
"Hey! Wake up!"
"Slap! Slap! Slap!"
When calling his name didn't work, Emma gave him three solid slaps across the face.
The heat coming off her palm told her everything she needed to know.
Lawrence had a fever.
And judging by how hot he was—
It was a high fever.
When you make three grand a month, your boss is your boss.
When you make thirty grand a month, your boss is basically your dad.
When you make ten grand an hour, your boss coughs once and you start wondering if you need to call 911.
Lawrence was burning up.
Emma started to panic.
She pinched the spot between his nose and upper lip, trying to wake him.
The moment his eyelids twitched, Emma immediately bent down and scooped him off the floor.
"Mr. Vance, where's your bedroom?"
Emma had grown up doing farm work.
She might look thin and delicate, but as a kid, she could haul several heavy grain sacks at once.
So carrying a man who weighed a little over a hundred pounds wasn't exactly impossible for her.
Meanwhile, Lawrence was barely conscious and completely confused.
What's happening?
Did I die from the fever?
Why am I floating?
Then a faint, pleasant scent reached his nose.
He struggled to open his eyes.
Through the dim light, he saw a delicate little face.
She seemed to have a soft halo of light around her, making her look almost unreal.
Beautiful enough to take his breath away.
For a moment, his heartbeat actually skipped.
Emma looked genuinely concerned and asked again,
"Where's your bedroom? I'll take you to bed."
His head felt like it was splitting apart.
But even through the fever, Lawrence managed to understand what was happening.
Emma was carrying him.
He had no idea how someone so small and seemingly fragile could manage it.
People could unleash astonishing strength under extreme circumstances.
Does she really like me that much?
Emma still had her phone in one hand.
The flashlight wasn't pointed directly at his face, but it was bright enough for her to see clearly.
Lawrence's entire face was flushed red from the fever.
She had to admit it.
The man was handsome.
With his flushed cheeks and weakened expression, he looked completely different from the cold, domineering man she usually saw during the day.
There was even something strangely soft about him.
No wonder female leads in romance novels always fall for CEOs when they see their vulnerable side.
They would suddenly forgive all the CEO's unreasonable behavior.
Sometimes even the things he'd done to hurt them.
But Emma wasn't a female lead.
She felt absolutely nothing.
If anything, she wanted to slap him again.
Say something already!
My arms are getting tired!
She had always stayed on the first floor whenever she came here for work, so she genuinely had no idea where his bedroom was.
Finally, Lawrence spoke, his voice rough and hoarse.
"Not the bedroom."
Emma blinked.
"Not the bedroom?"
Good.
At least he was still conscious.
A replacement doesn't get to enter the bedroom.
That's reserved for the untouchable ideal.
Lawrence frowned.
Does she really want to get into my bedroom that badly?
He had called her here to take care of him.
That was all.
"Not the bedroom," he repeated. "The couch is fine."
"Okay."
Emma followed the light from her phone and quickly spotted the large sofa in the upstairs living room.
She dropped him onto it.
Then she asked,
"What about your doctor friend? Call him. He needs to come over."
Lawrence looked at her suspiciously.
"How do you know I have a doctor friend?"
Emma:
"......"
How exactly was she supposed to explain that she knew because she'd read this kind of story before?
Obviously, she couldn't.
She blinked and gave him a sweet smile.
"I heard about him."
"You investigated me?"
Lawrence's voice was cold.
The fever had made it rough and hoarse, giving it an oddly sexy quality.
Emma didn't care about his voice.
She just wanted to roll her eyes.
Investigated you?
Please.
"I was just concerned about you, Mr. Vance," she explained.
Emma never forgot her professional admirer persona.
"Let's not worry about that right now. Call your doctor first. Your health is more important."
Please don't die.
Good clients like you are hard to find.
If I lose another one, I might actually cry.
Lawrence exhaled.
"Guess why I called you here."
Emma's eyes widened.
"You had a fight with your doctor friend?"
Because you both fell for the same woman and became sworn enemies?
Lawrence stared at her blankly.
"He's a psychiatrist."
Emma:
"......"
Emma rubbed her nose.
"Then I'll call 911."
You could've said that earlier!
I already wrote an entire novel in my head.
Lawrence looked at her.
For some reason, he found her both irritating and amusing.
She wants to call 911 because I have a fever?
And when she said she'd investigated him, she clearly hadn't dared to dig too deeply.
She was probably afraid he'd get angry if he found out.
Such a timid woman.
"No need."
Lawrence closed his eyes.
"There's fever medicine downstairs. Go make me a glass."
Emma nodded.
She didn't know how much time had passed.
Then Lawrence suddenly felt something cool against his forehead.
He opened his eyes.
Once again, he saw Emma's delicate face hovering above him.
A small lamp had been placed on the side table beside the sofa.
It gave off enough light to see by without being harsh.
At this distance, he could clearly see her long, curled eyelashes.
Every time she blinked, they fluttered like butterfly wings.
Beautiful.
Without thinking, he raised a hand toward his forehead.
A soft little hand immediately caught his wrist.
"Don't move."
Emma's voice was gentle.
"A cold towel can help bring your temperature down."
Emma remembered what her mother used to do whenever she had a fever as a child.
Back then, there had only been one hospital in the entire town.
Going there in the middle of the night was inconvenient.
And they couldn't afford medical treatment anyway.
A fever was just a fever.
It wasn't worth borrowing money over.
If the temperature was still slowly rising, a warm towel could help.
But Lawrence's temperature was clearly approaching forty degrees Celsius.
At that point, she had to start with something cold.
Lawrence's entire body stiffened.
A strange tingling sensation spread from the spot where her fingers wrapped around his wrist, racing through his entire body.
He immediately pulled his hand back and placed it flat against the sofa.
His fingertips, however, couldn't help digging into the cushion.
The cold towel really did help.
Lawrence felt a little more comfortable.
Just then, a straw appeared in front of his lips.
"Here you go, honey. Bottoms up! It's got everything you need to keep that heart of yours ticking."
Lawrence:
"......"
He stared at Emma's pretty face.
His voice was so hoarse it sounded almost gravelly.
"Who exactly are you calling your honey?"
He narrowed his eyes.
"You're crossing a line."
Then he bit down on the straw and closed his eyes, drinking the medicine.
Emma:
"？？？"
What the hell was that?
Rich people don't watch TV or something?