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“Okay. You sit here for a minute, and I’ll get you some water.”
I make my way across the office to the fridge, stopping to shut the lid on the pizza box and put the cork in the wine bottle—no one throwing up their guts benefits from either of those aromas.
“Are you prone to food poisoning?” I ask.
“No.” She looks both pale and flushed at the same time. “Only had it once before when my littlest brother made chocolate mousse. It had egg yolks in it, and I guess they weren’t the freshest.” She pulls a face and holds her stomach.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and offer it to her as I drop back to the floor beside her. She immediately presses it against her forehead and closes her eyes. “Oh, that feels good.”
“How long did it take you to feel better that time?”
She opens the bottle and takes a tentative sip. “A good day or so. It was awful. I had a terrible fever, and I think I hallucinated a bit. My dad said I was saying all kinds of weird, delirious things. But I don’t remember much about it.”
The blood drains from her face again. “Oh God.” She leans forward over the bin.
I resume the hair-holding and back-rubbing as she’s gripped by another wave of vomiting.
“I’d forgotten about that.” She wipes her watering eyes on the napkin again. “Even the tiniest sip of water would set me off.” She sits up and looks at me. “I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes are filled with sadness and shame. My heart goes out to her. “It’s okay.” I run my finger under a stray strand of hair stuck to the corner of her mouth and tuck it behind her ear. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes stay locked on mine. “Thank you.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone mean it more.
“Ew,” she says, looking at the floor by her knees. “Shit. Are there holes in this bin?”
“Maybe?”
She looks back up at me. “I’m kneeling in my own puke.”
A snort of laughter bursts from me. I slam my hand over my mouth to try to hold it in, but it’s too late.
“Bastard.” She shoves me hard in the shoulder as she joins in.
“Sorry. Couldn’t help it. Look, why don’t you lie on the sofa for a bit? Then when you feel like you can go twenty minutes without hurling, I’ll call a car and take you home.”
“I don’t think I can stand without throwing up again.” She pauses and looks at the floor. “But I might be able to lie down here for a little minute.”
She kicks her legs out and slowly lowers herself onto her back.
“I’ll join you. It might help.” Ridiculous suggestion, but in the absence of anything useful I can do, at least it’s a chance to lie next to her. Probably the only one I’ll ever have.
She closes her eyes as she relaxes. Man, even smelling of puke, red in the face, and with smeared mascara and eyeliner, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Even more beautiful right now in her vulnerability.
I reach over and gently place my hand on her forehead. It’s scorching hot. “You feel a bit warm.”
“Hmm.”
There’s no point trying to get her to take a Tylenol if even the tiniest bit of water made her vomit again.
I guess if lying on the carpet helps calm her insides, we’ll go with that for now. While I’d hoped working on the launch together would be a chance for us to get to know different sides of each other, I hadn’t exactly envisaged getting to know this side of Charlotte.
I turn my gaze to the ceiling. “Do you have just the one brother? The bad mousse cook?”
She knows so much about my family from working with Max, but I know almost nothing about hers—it hardly ever comes up when we chat.
“Two. Both younger.” Her words are soft around the edges, not clear and crisp like usual. “By a few years.”
