Love Proof (Laws of Attraction)

Ten

Sarah looked at the clock. 5:02. AM or PM? Which day was it?

Her body ached. Her mouth felt . . . disgusting. There was no other word for it. Her throat was raw.

She fumbled for the lamp switch beside the bed. The light burned her eyes, so she turned it off again.

She was in her hotel room, she knew that much. Dressed in the courtesy white robe, which smelled like she hadn’t treated it very courteously. She cautiously pushed herself out of bed, then unbelted the robe and let it fall to the floor. She would deal with it later, she told herself, once she felt like she might live again.

She padded into the bathroom and reluctantly turned on the light. She looked like hell. No, worse than hell: hell’s monster, the one with dark red frizzy hair and a freakishly white face to scare all the sinners. She must have sweated through every hair treatment she gave herself the day before—or was it the day before that? And Joe had been right about the dark circles under her eyes: Sarah looked like she’d been punched.

She pulled her toothbrush out of its travel case and attacked her sour mouth. She gave it two separate applications, finally tasting more normal after the second. Then she reached into the shower and turned it on as hot as it would go. She might need to stand there for a long time before she started feeling even halfway well again. She had the flu, she didn’t doubt. That sick, passed out man on the plane the previous Friday must have given her the bug. Sarah had never been one of those germaphobic people who wore face masks out in public, but she could understand the appeal. She hadn’t been sick in nearly a year. This wasn’t the time or the place for it.

She unhooked her bra, slipped out of her underwear, and stepped into the shower. The tile was dingy, the bathtub floor chipped in places, but it was glorious, and she never appreciated hot water more. She stood there soaking up the heat, letting it penetrate her skin and bones, letting it wash away the sweat and sickness until she began to feel almost human again.

She thought she heard a sound, but the water muffled it. She opened her eyes and stuck her head out of the stream. There it was again: a soft knocking on the bathroom door.

Sarah jerked the shower curtain aside just in time to see Joe Burke enter with an armful of towels.

“Burke! Get out!”

“Good morning to you, too.” He calmly laid the stack of towels on top of the toilet seat.

“Get out!” Sarah said again.

“I’ve seen you in the shower before.”

“Not lately. What are you doing here?”

“I thought you’d want a towel when you got out.”

“No, what are you doing here—in my hotel room?”

“Don’t you remember?” he asked.

For one panicked second, Sarah thought maybe she’d blacked out—maybe they’d . . . but no. The last real memory she had was of puking her entire life into the bowl of the toilet. Even the most desperate man wouldn’t have wanted a woman in that condition.

And she doubted Joe Burke was desperate.

“I slept on the couch,” he said.

“What couch?”

“Yours. You walked right past me—didn’t you see me?”

“When?” Sarah asked, still clinging to the edge of the shower curtain, wondering how sheer its thin white fabric looked from the other side.

“Right after you took off your robe,” Joe said.

Sarah replayed the scene. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes ago. Had he really been right there? And why?

“You slept here?”

“Yep,” he said.

“Why?”

“Mission of mercy.”

“No one asked you, Burke.”

“I know, but it seemed more fun than watching TV.”

Sarah closed the shower curtain again and took a moment to collect herself under the hot water. Just that little bit of sniping had left her exhausted. She needed to crawl back into bed.

“I’m getting out now,” she said, even though she’d planned on taking a much longer shower. “Do you mind leaving?”

“I do mind,” he said, “but I’ll do it.”

She stuck her face out again. “You really slept here? All night?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why? Was I . . . that bad?”

“No, you mostly slept,” he said. “Except for the times when you talked in your sleep.”

“I don’t talk in my sleep.”

He shrugged. “Must have been my imagination.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know I don’t talk in my sleep.”

“Whatever you say, Red.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Joe sighed. “I can’t do anything right today. I bring you towels—”

“You barge in while I’m naked—”

“I clean up your vomit—”

“You didn’t,” she said, horrified. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Joe shrugged. “Feeling better?”

Sarah thought about it for a moment. “Some. Yes, a little.”

“You slept like the dead,” Joe said. “I was hoping you’d wake up better.”

“The dead don’t talk in their sleep,” Sarah said, hoping he really had been joking.

“I heard my name a few times,” Joe said, “but it might have been something else.”

“Shut up.” She jerked the shower curtain closed again and stood there for five seconds more. Then she finally shut off the water. “I’m getting out,” she called, knowing he was still in there.

“Can’t wait.”

“Burke, this isn’t funny now. Thank you for the towels. I mean it—I appreciate that. But now you’ve had your fun . . . ”

Had he really cleaned up her vomit? Fun. Right.

“Sure you don’t need some help in there?” Joe asked.

Sarah’s jaw tightened. “Very sure. Get out.”

“I had them bring you a new robe, too,” he said. “I knew the other one would probably be a toxic waste site.”

“Shut up,” she said again, feeling like a child for saying it. But he was egging her on like they were twenty years younger. If he was going to act like a fifth-grader, so could she.

“I’m going to order some coffee,” Joe said. “Interested?”

Sarah stood behind the shower curtain, shivering. She needed a towel more than she needed to win the point.

She pulled the curtain back enough so that she could reach out toward the toilet seat, but Joe beat her to it. He handed her one of the thick towels, and smiled when she met his eye.

“I like your hair,” he said.

Her hand flew to the mass of curls the water had activated. She was on the verge of saying, “Shut up” again, but stopped herself. Instead she closed the shower curtain again and began toweling off.

“I’m sure I’ve looked wonderful the whole time you’ve been here,” she said. “Barfing over the toilet . . . ”

“Hallucinating in bed . . . ”

“I didn’t,” she insisted.

“Okay, if you say so.”

The truth was, there might have been a dream right before she woke up. And he might have been in it. If she’d said any of that out loud . . .

“Burke, why are you messing with me? Do you think I’m feeling up to it right now?”

“I don’t know, that’s what I’m testing,” he said. “I’m trying to gauge whether you can fly back home today, or whether you need to stay here.”

Sarah paused in her drying. “We have depos in Idaho.”

“Not anymore,” he said. “Not this week, anyway.”

“Why?”

“No one wants what you have,” Joe said. “Especially right before Thanksgiving. Paul saw you go down yesterday morning, and he was on a flight home by the afternoon. The court reporter, too. We’ve all agreed to reschedule.”

Sarah stepped out of the shower with the towel wrapped around her torso. She used one of the other towels to hide her spiraling hair. “Rescheduled them when?” she asked, feeling less self-conscious now that they were talking about work again. “We don’t have time.”

“We’ll stop by here again as part of Montana next week,” Joe said. “The flight from Missoula to Billings goes through Salt Lake anyway. And we’ll squeeze in Idaho after that. Don’t worry, Henley, it’s all taken care of.”

She liked it better when he called her “Henley” than when he called her “Red.” She almost felt like they were back on normal footing now. Except for the fact that he was standing in her bathroom wearing loose cotton pants and a T-shirt, and she wore nothing but two towels.

“Chapman left yesterday?” she said, finally processing that bit of information.

“Yep.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Nope.”

She looked at Joe in the small space between them. He gave her an easy look back, not trying to get credit, it seemed, but just stating the facts: he had taken care of her. He had stayed to watch over her. And he was still there.

Sarah shook her head. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Joe looked her in the eye. “I know.” Then he turned to leave, saying, “Coffee, Red?”

Sarah bit back her first response. She forced herself to be pleasant—for her own sake, not his. Yes, what he had done was very kind. Above and beyond, even. But if he expected anything in return—anything more than the most basic, polite gratitude—he was deluded.

“Tea would be better,” she said.

He walked over toward the bed and picked up the hotel phone. While he ordered breakfast for them both, Sarah closed the bathroom door and changed into the white robe. Her hair was appalling, but she didn’t have the strength to do anything about it. And like Burke said, he’d seen her straight out of the shower—and in it—before.

“I let your office know yesterday,” Joe said when she emerged again.

“Know what, exactly?” she asked, her pulse jumping.

“That you were sick and the depositions were off.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What did you think I meant?”

That we used to be lovers, that you carried me to my room, that you helped me undress, that you held me so I could vomit, that you spent the night with me despite how disgusting that must have been—

“What did they say?” Sarah asked, deflecting his question.

“I spoke to your secretary.”

“Not mine,” Sarah corrected. “I’m just sharing her—”

“I spoke to someone,” Joe continued, “and I told her you’d call her when you were feeling up to it.”

“Oh. Okay.” Sarah sat on the edge of her bed. Sleep was calling to her, but she needed to deal with business first. “Thanks for letting her know. That was . . . probably right.”

“I try to be right,” he said, looking amused at how hard it seemed to be for her to give him any compliment or a thank you.

He pulled on the sneakers lying next to the couch she hadn’t even noticed before. All the hotel rooms seemed so alike to her now, all she cared about was whether they had a bed and a bathroom.

“I have to go down to my room for a few minutes,” he said. “I’ll be back before room service is here. You should get into bed.”

Sarah decided he wasn’t ordering her around if it was something she wanted to do anyway. She wrapped her robe more tightly around her, then slipped back between the sheets. Joe stepped over to the bed and tugged the blanket and bedspread up closer around her shoulders.

“Burke?”

“Yeah?”

“I think . . . that was good, what you did for me yesterday.” She nodded, convincing herself. “Thank you. I doubt Chapman would have done the same.”

“He would if he’d known he could see you in a black bra and panties.”

“Shut up,” Sarah muttered before diving deeper beneath the blanket.