Aaron kept glancing at me between calls, and I pretended not to notice, twirling a piece of my hair like I was completely unbothered. Finally, he hung up and turned toward me.
"We'll be having dinner later. Wear something casual and bring your laptop to take notes during the meeting."
I jotted it down, then glanced up at him with a smirk. "Would you like anything else, Mr. Simmons?"
He raised an eyebrow and slid closer, his hand reaching for the back of my ponytail. He gave it a slow, deliberate tug. A bolt of heat shot through me so fast it made my breath hitch. I looked away, suddenly very interested in the view outside the cab window.
Aaron leaned in, his voice low and thick with promise. "Oh, the things I'm going to do to you, Miss Jackson."
His hand slid onto my knee, and I felt my entire body react—an involuntary warmth blooming from his touch, leaving my skin tingling and my mind spinning.
He let go of my hair, tilting my face toward his, and our lips were just inches apart when the cab driver slammed on the brakes. My wrist slammed against the hard edge of the seat. There was a sickening crunch.
I gasped, sucking in a sharp breath. A loud honk startled both of us, followed by a string of angry Mandarin from the woman driving us—totally oblivious to the fact that my wrist had just snapped like a twig.
I tried to mask the pain, tucking my hand into my lap, but nausea hit me in waves.
Aaron was still smiling—until he looked at me properly. "What's wrong?" he asked lightly, his voice fading when he saw my face.
I forced a smile. "Nothing. Just startled me."
He didn't buy it, but he didn't push. He got out first and opened my door, his eyes on me like I might shatter.
I should've told him then. But I didn't want to ruin our first night here—not for something as ridiculous as a broken wrist. My first trip overseas, and I'd managed to maim myself before dinner.
The moment we got to the hotel, I rushed to my room. As soon as the door shut behind me, I collapsed onto the bed and pulled my wrist into my lap. It was already swelling, the skin turning red and puffy, with a blue bruise forming beneath the surface. A thin, sharp bone threatened to break through the skin. I nearly threw up again.
I found a small ice bucket and shoved my wrist inside, biting down on a washcloth to keep from screaming.
There was no way I could put my hair in a bun. I let it fall over my shoulders and down my back, soft waves cascading past my collarbone. I slid into the red dress— dress—and nearly cursed out loud trying to zip it with one hand. The heels were worse. I almost gave up entirely, but somehow, I managed.
A knock at the door.
I opened it and there stood Aaron, looking devastatingly good in one of his sleek black suits. His gaze raked over me from head to toe, and for a moment, his expression softened.
"Wow," he said, his voice low. "You look… incredible."
"Thank you." I turned away, trying to hide the effort it took just to move.
I made my way to the vanity, reaching for my necklace with my left hand—instantly regretting it. The pain shot up so fast I had to grip the table for support.
Aaron noticed. Of course he noticed.
"You okay?" he asked, stepping closer.
"I'm fine," I lied quickly. "Just a nail."
But when I reached for my purse, he caught my wrist and I cried out before I could stop myself.
I slapped my free hand over my mouth, eyes wide, but it was too late. Aaron's face turned from concern to alarm. He gently lifted my arm and examined it. His jaw tightened, his brows pulling together.
"Alaina," he said, voice low, "your wrist is broken."
"It's not that bad," I said, sounding like a liar even to myself. "I'll ice it again after the meeting. I just want to get through tonight."
"Sweetheart," he said, almost gently. "You need to go to the hospital. Now."
I shook my head. "Please, let me do this. I'll go after, I promise."
He studied my face for a long moment, probably realizing how stubborn I was before sighing and pulling out his phone. "If you're in too much pain, we leave immediately. Deal?"
"Deal."
Aaron helped me into my coat, moving carefully around my arm. I grabbed my laptop with my good hand and followed him out, pain still pulsing through me—but so was something else.
Resolve. Pride. Maybe even a little excitement.
Because even broken, I wasn't about to let anyone—especially him—see me fall apart.