And a drawback to partying like a rock star when I am no longer one is that I don't have staff and crew available to help nurse me back to feeling human again. I'm missing the water and ibuprofen and B-12 and greasy eggs that would appear out of thin air the morning after a night out.
Jeez, even my hair hurts.
I get up, stumbling a bit and trying to navigate a strange apartment without actually opening my eyes. Of course I run into the dresser. And the door.
Ouch.
By the time I get to the bathroom, which seems about six blocks away, I'm covered in a cold sweat. Puke is most certainly going to happen.
Great. I can only imagine the story Henderson will sell to the tabloids. Though I can't really think of that right now. I lie down on the floor, the cool tile feeling like heaven against my head. I don't even have time to wonder if the floor is clean.
Frankly, it doesn't matter. I'd lie down on the floor in the bathrooms at Grand Central Station. I must doze off for a minute—or twenty—as I'm startled awake by the door opening.
And then closing.
I've never claimed to be that smart, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Henderson just snuck out.
Bastard.
He probably knew who I was all along. He probably has pictures of me in my bra and underwear, passed out on the bathroom floor. Or at least a lurid story to sell. At least Paisley wasn't around to be in it.
But what if he talks about how I talked about my daughter? There aren't that many Paisleys in the world—I know, I checked. If Paisley gets linked to Jonathan Spencer Maxwell through me, there will be hell to pay.
For me.
Secrets suck.
I want to smack myself, but I really don't think my head can take the pain. What was I thinking? Going out with a complete stranger.Bringing him home.God, I've learned nothing from my past mistakes.
Nothing.
I'm no better than my mother.
But … Angie and Sergei set me up with him. He's one of Sergei's friends. Sergei should have known better. He should have vetted Henderson for me. Heck, they should have been here with me like they were supposed to be.
It's all their fault.
I mean, in reality, I know I'm a grown-ass woman who should know better than to drink too much and bring a perfect stranger home. It's easier not to take that on, though.
I should probably get up and make sure that Aussie scumbucket didn't steal money or any of my stuff. I bet the pervert stole my underwear to sell on eBay. I bet—
"Tabitha, are you still in the bathroom? I ran and got some Maccas for you. Well, for us really, but I bet you need 'em more."
I sit up way too quickly, causing the room to spin like a ride at Disneyland.
Whoa.
"Henderson, is that you?" I croak, managing to get to my feet. I grab a swig from the mouthwash bottle on the back of the sink, swishing it around in an attempt to rid my mouth of the taste of a thousand dumpsters lingering there.
"Yeah, Tabitha. Were you expecting some other bloke?" He pokes his head in the bathroom door, which is still open. "Where do you want the Maccas?"
"What's maccas?" I squint as I turn to face him, the light hurting my eyes. Nothing makes sense.
"McDonalds. There's one not too far. I got a bunch of different brekkies. Didn't know what you'd like."
I stand there for a minute, feeling like death warmed over. I don't expect my eyes to fill with tears, but they do.
He didn't leave me.
