Page 91 of Embracing the Beat
“And think about Arrhythmic. I really think you’d like it.” Jax meets my gaze, and I get that impression too.
Maybe Arrhythmic is different.
I don’t get to respond before Nick is pulling Jax down the back hallway, leaving me alone with the attorney that I hope can make my ability to choose a reality.
“Let me show you what I’ve found so far.” Michael drops back into his chair, and we spend the rest of lunch going through the contract.
“Thank you for doing this,” I tell him as he packs up the documents I’ve given him and tucks everything into his bag.
“No thanks needed, Ms. King.”
“Michaela,” I correct him. “You can call me Michaela.”
“Only if you call me Mike.” He smiles and extends his hand. “Lunch is on me today. I’m going to finish reviewing this contract, and I’ll get back to you when I do. Do I have your contact information?”
I shake his hand and nod at the bag. “My boyfriend suggested I put a contact page in the folder.”
“Smart man.”
“Very smart,” I agree with a smile.
“Take care of yourself. And avoid any further contact with Reverb. They’re only in it for the scare tactics at this point.” Michael says goodbye and heads to the door.
I follow behind him, ready to walk back to the hotel, when my stomach heaves.
Gagging, I barely make it to the restroom before everything I ate at lunch makes a reappearance.
My forehead and cheeks are clammy, but not feverishly warm. First the cheesesteak, and now my burger—two of my favorite foods. Finally standing up from my crouched position on the floor next to the toilet, I think about Googling food allergies, but my eye catches on the silver machine advertising pads and tampons.
How long have I been home? Quickly calculating, I come up with a month. And I’ve been consistent with my birth control because I like knowing when my periods are coming. So why hasn’t one come yet?
My period was supposed to happen three weeks ago. Right after I got sick—
Oh.
I’ve been consistent with my prescription, except for the weekend I got sick. I doubled up the dosage like my doctor told me to and figured, with the stressful month I’d had, my period would show up when my next pack was done—next week.
My eyes drop to my flat stomach, covered by a dressy summer tank.
There’s no way.
Right?
