Lara’s early morning text message scared me to death. After reading it, my hands shook so badly I was barely able to type a reply before I started making arrangements to get myself to Chicago as quickly as possible.

I was almost prepared to make the long drive by myself, breaking the speed limit the entire way when one of my contacts returned my call.

All things considered, making the trip took less time and went more smoothly than I could reasonably have expected it to, but that didn’t stop me from resenting every single long second it took.

Something about the tone of Lara’s text message made it impossible for me to even imagine what she could possibly need to see me about. The variety of different horrors that line of reasoning triggered inside my mind was too much to bear.

My first thought upon reaching the Blind Pig and seeing Lara sitting at the table, her head bowed, phone in front of her, is thank God she’s here and not in some hospital somewhere.

Her expression caught somewhere between horror and pleasure, she pushes away from the table and walks toward me, each step seeming more reluctant than the one before it. The tension that settled between my shoulder blades when I received her text now ties itself into a stubborn knot. For someone who wanted me here, she doesn’t seem very eager to talk to me.

Not a good sign.

While I don’t see any visible injuries, she doesn’t look healthy. The jeans and sweatshirt she’s wearing hang on her body, like she’s lost weight during the past few weeks. Her pale skin stretches across her high cheekbones, and the dark shadows under her eyes make them look impossibly big.

Not seeing any potentially life-threatening injuries does little to ease my anxiety. For all I know, she could have been diagnosed with some horrible illness. Maybe even been told that she has a few months to live. The idea is almost enough to bring me to my knees.

It’s hard to believe that someone I’ve known for such a short time has become so important to me.

She chews on her lip as she unlocks the door. I don’t wait for her to open it fully, managing to bang my shoulder against both the door and the frame as I try forcing my body through a too-small gap.

“Are you okay?” I wrap my arms around Lara’s upper arm, holding her in place so I can study her more closely.

“I’m fine.” She jerks free from my grasp and spins on her heel, angling back to the table she just vacated. “How did you manage to get here so fast?”

“I chartered a flight.”

Her head whips around so fast she stumbles. I reach out to steady her. “You chartered a flight! Who does that?”

Billionaires worried their best friend is in a world of shit.

Rather than say that, I opt to keep it simple. “I occasionally need a chartered flight for work. My contact was happy to help out this time.” And it didn’t hurt that I offered three times his usual rate. It never ceases to amaze me how much more smoothly life goes now that I have a little walking around money.

With a hand on the small of her back, I guide Lara to the table and wait for her to take a seat before I settle into the chair across from her.

“What did you need to see me about?” Her pale skin and the lines of strain radiating from the corners of her eyes convinces me to keep my voice gentle.

Lara stares down at the table top. “I thought I’d have a little more time before I saw you.”

“I can leave and come back later if you want.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

In my head, I know Lara and I can’t be more than friends.

More than likely the differences between us are why our one night together felt so different, so magical. And the memory of that night is likely the reason I’m tempted to take our relationship past the friendship stage.

But how long before we started to clash, when one of us feels like they are making all the sacrifices? And once that happens, everything, including the friendship I value, will crumble to dust.

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s probably best this way. Gives me less time to change my mind.”

“Okay.”

“The reason I asked you to come instead of phoning or texting you-”

Lara’s already pale face grows even paler, until the only color is a faint, unearthly greenish tinge and the deep shadows beneath her indigo eyes. Her shoulders hunch forward as her torso heaves. She scrambles to her feet, the back of her forearm clamped over her mouth, and races away from the table, disappearing into the bathroom.