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“I don’t think I like you,” she says, bursting any illusion I have about dating her.
“Why not? I’m a nice guy.”
“That’s what people keep telling me.”
So, she’s been talking to people about me? “But you don’t believe them?”
She stumbles, and I pull her more tightly to my side. Burying her face in my chest, she says, “You smell nice.”
I chuckle. “Old Spice deodorant.”
“Yummy.”
We’ve barely made it out the door before she twists away from me, falls to the ground, and vomits.
I hurry to hold back her dark, shiny hair. She vomits until there’s nothing left. Then she begins to dry-heave.
I kneel next to her, stroking her back. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”
She looks over at me, and I see that she’s vomited hard enough to burst the little blood vessels in her eyes. Tears well in her bloodshot eyes, and moments later, tumble down her face in a torrent. She buries her face in her hands as sobs wrack her body.
Even now, in this miserable state, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I want to pull her into my arms and never let go. I’m desperate to tell her that I’ll spend every waking moment for the rest of my life devoted to her happiness. She will never be this miserable again. Not if I can help it.
Instead, I help her to her feet and lead her to my car. She’s not allowed to date me.
Even worse than that, she doesn’t even like me.
I’ve never felt more hopeless in my entire life.
Chapter 4
Cressida
I wake up to the most wonderful smell in my apartment. Is that coffee and… bacon? I sit up quickly, immediately regretting it as a splitting hangover headache rattles around in my skull.
The events from last night come rushing back, increasing the intensity of my headache by the second. I puked my guts out in front of Jonah Griffin…
I. Puked. In. Front. Of. Jonah. Griffin. Holding my pillow to my face, I scream.
Wait… who’s cooking breakfast? In a tentative voice, I call out, “Petra? Is that you?”
Jonah materializes in my doorway like a genie from a magic lamp. He’s wearing my floral apron and holding a pink whisk, looking sexier than any man has the right to be. Suddenly, it occurs to me how I must look after a night of retching and sobbing. With a shriek, I pull the blankets over my head.
“Everything okay under there?” Jonah asks.
“Kill me,” I murmur.
He chuckles. “I put a bottle of Gatorade next to your bed. Hydrate. It’ll help with the headache.”
I reach a hand out from beneath the covers, scooping the drink from the nightstand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. Can you make it to the kitchen, or should I bring you breakfast in bed?”
Jonah Griffin is offering me breakfast in bed? Why is he making me breakfast at all?
I gasp as a thought occurs to me. Letting the blankets fall, I stare at Jonah in horror. “We didn’t… I mean… you and I? There was no—” I search my brain for the word in my employee contract “—fraternizing?”
“Of course not,” he says indignantly. “I would never fraternize with someone as drunk as you were! I brought you home, that’s all.”
