“Looking forward to it, Nicole.” The way he said that made me stomach flip. Maybe I was just worrying for no reason. We were good. We were fine, and he said he was looking forward to seeing me.
When I woke up the following morning, my entire body ached. My hands, my head, my throat, and I was pretty sure I had a fever. I could barely open my eyes, and when I did I realized it was eight forty and I was going to be late. Before showering, I called Marcus because there was no way I could drive like that. By the time I finished getting ready, he was standing outside, his mouth dropping when he saw me.
“You look tired.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. At least he found a nice way to tell me I looked like crap. “We should be quick, and the quicker we go, the quicker I get back to bed.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t make small talk. Shocker. And for once I was completely glad for the silence in the car, which I think was a shock to him. He kept looking over, probably to make sure I was okay, but I was too busy blowing my nose and trying to keep my snot from going everywhere to care. I’m pretty sure he was completely disgusted by the time we reached Victor’s office.
As soon as we got there, paparazzi swarmed my car.
“What the hell happened now?” I asked, my voice nasally in my own ears.
“Stay in the car. I’ll go around,” Marcus said.
I did as I was told and kept my head down as he walked me to the front door. I couldn’t even make out their questions because of the pounding in my ears, but I did catch Victor’s name, which further confused me.
“What were they saying?” I asked Marcus as I buried my nose in a tissue.
He frowned. “I didn’t really understand them.”
“Me either.”
When I stepped out of the elevator, Grace looked at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. The last time she gave me that look was when rumors about my divorce began circulating. I smiled and waved at her as I walked down the hall, because even if I had time for her crap, I didn’t feel like dealing with it today. Marcus stayed behind as I walked up to Victor’s door and knocked. It opened and Corinne stepped out. She gave me a quick once-over and smiled.
“He’s on the phone, but you can go in.”
“Thanks,” I said, stepping in as she stepped out.
My blood was vibrating with nervousness. I’d been there a million times, but it felt different, though I couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Was it because of what we’d shared? Would things be weird now? Would he be weird toward me? Would I be awkward? We’d had sex, yes. Like in the past. But not like in the past. It felt like more. Something about what had been going on between us even before we hooked up this time felt like more. And he’d said he had the final papers. The final papers.
Victor straightened in his chair when he saw me. His eyes searching my face, wandering down my body and back up in a slow caress that made my breath hitch. Whatever Mr. Perfect saw now when I was makeup-less and wearing sweats was definitely good, because he was eyeing me the same way he did when I was in a skintight dress. I plopped down in the chair across from him and put my arms on the table to lay my head down, hoping to relieve the pounding in my head, because despite his very wanted attention, I felt beyond sick and very exhausted.
“I’m going to have to call you back,” he said into the phone and hung up. I heard the squeak of his leather chair as he stood up and walked around his desk, and felt his hand on my hair as combed it with his fingers. I moaned a little. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft as he crouched down beside me.
“I think I caught whatever you had.” I sniffled and shivered.
His hand stopped moving. I lifted my head up as he stood. “You should have told me. I would have come to you.”
“Maybe if you would have called,” I said. I closed my eyes momentarily, trying to regain composure. What was it about this guy that made me revert to my teenage self? “Just . . . let’s get this over with so that I can go back to bed.”
He sighed and took a seat beside me instead of going back behind his desk. He was quiet for so long, I accidentally dozed off in my chair. When I woke, it was with a start, blinking rapidly.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Please, just . . . do I need to sign something?”
“I should have called. I’m sorry. I just,” he paused to take a long, deep breath, his eyes looking pained, “just this.” He handed over a paper similar to one we’d gone over in the past. I signed and handed it back, when I did he held my gaze. The seriousness in his eyes made my stomach dip. “Nicole, we need to talk.”
An array of possibilities crossed my mind in a split second, and if I wasn’t already on the verge of crying because of how sick I felt, I would have cried over what he was insinuating. I closed my eyes. Those words were never a good sign. Flashbacks of how this had happened the first time assaulted my thoughts. We can’t do this anymore, he’d said then. If he said that now . . . God. If he said that now I wouldn’t know what to do, what to say, how to react.