Chapter 2: Slippery Floors and Scripted Lives

I tried to steady myself, but the absurdity of the moment almost made me laugh. This was the kind of thing you’d see in a sitcom, not real life. I could already imagine the memes.

Maybe it’s not too late to update my resume.

I could already see the headline: Local Woman Banished After CEO’s Butt Injury.

After all, he’s a CEO, so the family doctor showed up in record time.

It was like a casting call for Grey’s Anatomy—he burst in with his black bag, looking all business, like a NASCAR pit crew for billionaires.

He expertly set up an IV, nodded at the panicked heroine beside him, and said,

He was about to launch into his monologue, the same one I’d heard a hundred times before. It was almost comforting in its predictability. Still sticking to the script, huh?

I cut him off: “Doc, he fell on his butt.”

I couldn’t help myself. Someone had to inject a little reality into this soap opera.

The family doctor, holding the bottle of Pepto-Bismol, blinked, looking completely lost for a second.

Confirmed. So far, it seems I’m the only minor character who’s snapped out of the script. The others are just running on autopilot, lines and all.

It’s like being the only person awake at a sleepover—everyone else talking in their dreams, while you wonder what’s real.

I glanced at the CEO, who had passed out from the pain, and sighed: “Give me some bruise cream. Oh, and leave the stomach meds too.”

I tried to sound nonchalant, but my hands were shaking. It’s one thing to watch chaos unfold, another to be the one responsible for cleaning it up.

Might as well keep them handy.

You never know when someone’s going to collapse dramatically. Occupational hazard, I guess.

Honestly, I hesitated a bit.

There are lines you just don’t cross—unless the plot demands it.

But the heroine? She’s pure and innocent.

Honestly, she’s kind of clueless.

I even suspect she’d try to make the CEO drink the ointment that’s meant for external use.

I could just picture it: her pouring bruise cream into a glass and insisting it was medicine. The thought made me shudder.

To be safe, I found an excuse to send the heroine away. Told her the kitchen needed her help, or something equally mundane. She skipped off, blissfully unaware. Bullet dodged.

After turning the CEO over, I quickly pulled down his pants…

Wow. Honestly? Not bad.

I had to bite my lip to keep from snorting. Who knew all those hours at the gym paid off?

I poured some bruise ointment, rubbed my palms to warm them, and just as I was about to apply it, I heard a cold voice:

“What are you doing?”

His tone was so icy, it could have frozen the ointment in my hands. I jumped, nearly dropping the bottle.

“Mr. Morgan, I’m putting medicine on you.” I glanced at his sour expression and took the hint. “Then I’ll go get Miss Elena Ramirez.”