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“What are we going to do, Paula?” I asked shakily. I always wanted to project confidence and a self-assured presence in front of my boss, but I was having trouble finding the strength to do so now.
“Well, it’s not a great thing. But there are other companies in the city. I’ll call around to some of my contacts.”
I feel like I’m going to throw up. This is such terrible news. Oh wait, no, I’m actually going to throw up.
I launched myself out of my chair and made it to the wastebasket inside Paula’s door just in time to empty the contents of my stomach in spectacular fashion.
Paula was there beside me in an instant, tissues in hand, yelling out the door for her assistant to grab me a bottle of water.
I wiped my mouth with the tissues, mortified at hurling in front of the woman who was quickly becoming my mentor.
“I know it’s bad timing, but I think I need to go home.”
“I think you’re right. Are you going to be okay getting there? Maybe you should take a car instead of the Metro.”
The thought of navigating the blocks to the station, only to crowd onto a train with hundreds of other commuters, sounded absolutely miserable.
“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll just head back to my desk and request one. I’m sure with a good night’s sleep, I’ll be right as rain and be back here tomorrow. We can figure this all out?”
Paula nodded in a motherly fashion that made me miss my mom for the first time in a long time.
“Keep me posted on how you’re feeling, Charlotte. We’ll come up with something.”
I nodded meekly, then I headed back to my desk, accepting the bottle of water from Paula’s assistant that she held out to me as far away from her body as possible. That was easy for Paula to say. She’s already cemented her legacy at the IBA.
Taking a car home was a much better idea than the Metro, but I still felt like I might ruin my passenger rating with a repeat performance at any moment. Luckily, I made it to my building without anything else leaving my body—other than carbon dioxide and several muttered curse words—and dragged myself out of the backseat and onto the sidewalk.
The trip to the fifteenth floor had never seemed longer, and as I put my key in the lock, I was surprised to find it already open. I pushed open the door, taking a few slow steps in, and dropped my bag on top of the shoe rack in the entryway, too exhausted to carry it another foot.
The door-unlocker himself was in the kitchen and he turned around as he heard me enter. His guarded face morphed into one of concern as he took me in, but I was too miserable to respond. I took a few steps into the foyer—unsure if I was aiming for the couch, the bathroom, or my bed. I just knew I needed to no longer be standing.
The last thing I heard before everything went dark was a deep, concerned voice asking, “Charlotte, are you okay?”
Chapter
Eleven
Hayden
It was the first time I made it back to the apartment before dark in two weeks. Once I realized Charlotte was going to ice me out completely, it seemed much more attractive to put in ten- or twelve-hour days at the office. Our building’s water was out for emergency repairs this afternoon though, so I found myself home in the daylight for once.
I was standing in the kitchen, wondering what to do with myself, when I heard the door open. I braced myself for Charlotte’s cold shoulder as I heard her drop her bag in the entryway.
Turning around to face her, anything I considered saying to make her talk to me again abruptly left my brain when I took in her appearance. Charlotte’s skin had taken on a grey pallor and she looked like she had run a marathon to get home. Her usually well-kept hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat.
“Charlotte, are you okay?”
No sooner had the words left my mouth, I saw Charlotte stumble forward and start to fall to the floor.
“Fuck!”
Flinging myself toward Charlotte’s falling body and sliding along the hardwood of the entryway, I managed to get my hands under her head before it hit the hard surface of the floor. While I wished I had been closer to stop any part of her from aching tomorrow due to the contact, I was relieved we didn’t have to add concussion to our list of current concerns.
She was burning up.
I gently laid her head on the floor so I could get into a crouching position, then I slid my hands under her shoulders and knees to lift her.
I slowly got into a standing position, careful to adjust my grip to ensure she was secure in my arms. Charlotte’s head lolled so her face pressed into my bicep, and I realized this was the first time I had touched her on purpose. Sure, there were the times we ran into each other on those first days of being roommates, and normal “pass me the remote, I’ll grab you a beer” contact had been made, but there had never been a situation where I intentionally reached out to hold her. Her weight in my arms felt grounding, and under a slightly sweet smell of sweat from her obvious fever was the scent of jasmine and vanilla.
