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“That’s a distressing analogy.”
“But fitting.”
She had to agree and guiltily acknowledged that if she weren’t inside here, she would be out there competing with her colleagues for a scoop. “Did you have any trouble getting past the throng?”
“No, I have an avoidance technique.”
“Which is?”
“I tell them to fuck off.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
He was about to say something but changed his mind, disappointing her. She would have liked knowing what it was. Instead he asked how much longer she would remain in the hospital.
“Barring any setbacks, I’ll be released tomorrow.”
“Hmm. You still look puny, though. Here.” He rolled aside the table bridging the bed and motioned her toward it. “Climb in.”
She stayed where she was.
“Come on,” he said. “You look like you’re about to faint. If you do, I’ll have to scoop you up in that bare-assed gown and call for help. Talk about creating a scene.”
This had been the longest stretch of time that she’d been out of bed and, damn him for the accurate observation, she was feeling weak and light-headed. With what dignity she could muster, she reached around to her backside and held the gown together as she minced over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it.
“Need help getting in?”
He reached out to assist her, but she shrank from him. “I’ll sit.” She tugged a corner of the sheet out from under her hip and arranged it over her lap and thighs. “Why’d you come back tonight?”
“Your interview with The Major is on YouTube. I finally got around to watching it. You did
a good job.”
“Thank you.”
“I brought you those.” He called her attention to a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of wilted carnations tied with a garish glitter bow. He’d stuck it into a vase of elegant long-stemmed roses sent by the network.
“Thank you.”
“Not that you need more flowers.”
The room had been filling up throughout the day. “People have been very thoughtful.”
“Who’s Mark?”
She looked at him with incredulity. “You read the enclosure cards?”
“Just that one.”
She glanced at the elaborate arrangement of calla lilies and white hydrangeas. “Why that one?”
“It’s the fanciest bunch. I figured the sender must be someone special.”
“He is. He’s a very special friend.”
“Yeah?” His gaze dropped to her lap, and when it reconnected with hers, he said, “A friend with benefits?”
That split-second glance, coupled with the insinuation, brought heat to her cheeks, which only minutes ago had been abnormally pale in the bathroom mirror. His audacity was insufferable, but her embarrassed reaction to it was even more so. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”
