Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

6. Madison

I clungto the porcelain bowl as if it might try to make a break for it. After the way I’d abused it for nearly two hours, who could blame it. My knees ached from the tile floor. And my stomach? Dear God, my stomach felt as if that disgusting creature from The Alien was intent on making its way out through my abdominal wall.

Just thinking about food made me ill. I’d hardly eaten anything in the last few days and what little I did eat returned as a thin stream of bile that accompanied my dry heaves.

The door to my penthouse opened and the rapid click of high heels on the hardwood floors sounded outside the bathroom door.

“Madison?” Liane’s voice was muffled as she called to me.

I yanked a hand towel from where it hung on the wall and wiped my mouth. I desperately needed to wash my face and rinse my mouth, but standing wasn’t a viable option at the moment.

“In here,” I croaked.

“Where?”

I pushed past the ache in my throat and forced myself to call out louder. “Here. In the powder room.”

The door opened and I leaned back against the vanity to look up at my best friend. Her hair was scraped back into a tight ponytail. Her navy suit and white silk blouse was perfection. And her Jimmy Choo’s were to die for. In fact, I might just do that.

Die. Right here on the bathroom floor. Unrelated to those shoes though.

“Oh my god! You poor thing,” Liane crooned. “How long have you been down there?” She took the towel I was holding, ran it under the faucet, and handed it back to me.

The cool, clean comfort was a reprieve from the past couple hours.

“Have you been down there since you called me?”

I nodded as another wave of nausea hit me. I rose up onto my knees and hung my head over the bowl.

“Oh shit,” she muttered, backing out of the bathroom. “Please don’t puke in front of me. I’ll end up puking right beside you.” She pulled the door closed so swiftly, a breeze wafted over my damp neck.

I heaved two or three more times, but nothing came out. I was officially empty. Bone dry. A husk. One more heave like that and I’d be turned inside out.

A timid tap sounded on the door. “Is it safe?”

I mopped my face with the damp towel. “I hope so.”

The door opened slowly, and Liane peeked her head around the corner wearing a paper surgeon’s mask over her mouth and nose.

“Can you help me up? I don’t think I have the strength to stand on my own.”

She reached for me, and despite how much I felt like dying, I laughed when I saw she’d also donned a pair of bougie, lime-green cuffed rubber gloves—the kind you wear to wash dishes.

Dizzy upon standing, I leaned against the vanity before attempting to make my way up the stairs to my bedroom. “I see you came prepared.”

“I did. I also brought ginger ale, saltines, and a bucket.”

“A bucket?” When I swayed to the left, she captured my elbow and held on as she led up the stairs.

“Yes, a bucket. You can put it near the bed in case you can’t get up in time to get to the bathroom.”

“The only thing I want is something to put me out of my misery.” I scooted back onto the bed, groaning as I lay back against the pillows.

Liane pulled the covers up. “It’s not funny. I know. It’s just so weird to see you like this. You are the most pulled together person I’ve ever known, next to me, of course. Honestly, I can’t ever remember seeing you sick.”

“You do realize that you’re teasing a person who is literally on their death bed, right?”

“Sorry. Should I call a priest to administer last rites?”

I curled onto my side. “Don’t bother. I’ll be dead before he gets here.”

“Poor baby.”

Liane disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a plate and a glass for the crackers and ginger ale. She shouldn’t have bothered since I’d given up eating after this morning. She unscrewed the lid on the bottle of ginger ale and poured it into the glass.

She reached over and pressed a rubber gloved-hand to my forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever.”

“I don’t, but even if I did, how could you tell wearing those gloves?”

“No need to get snarky.”

I shifted and tried to find a comfortable position, but it was nearly impossible.

“Wait. Before you settle in and fall asleep or something, drink some ginger ale.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. I promise, it’ll help. When my mom had her hysterectomy, the only thing they let her have for the first twenty-four hours was warm ginger ale. She didn’t throw up once.” She popped a colorful bendy straw into the glass. “C’mon, you barely even have to lift your head.”

I lifted my head as far as I could. “I swear, Liane, if I get sick again, I’m grabbing my bucket and hunting you down.”

She laughed. “Noted. Now take a few sips and then rest. I can’t stay long. I need to get back to the office. I have a few things I need to wrap up—like finding one of my clients. While I’m there, I’ll check your calendar and your email and see what I can deal with or push off until you’re feeling better. Samantha rescheduled your meetings for today and tomorrow for the end of the week. Hopefully you’ll be feeling better by then.”

Liane was as efficient as ever. So I couldn’t help but wonder how she lost a client.

“Hold up,” I said. “Define ‘finding one of my clients’. Who did you lose?”

“I didn’t lose anyone. The Gravel Hill Boys wrapped up their tour a few weeks ago, but since then, I haven’t been able to get hold of Beau. He’s not answering his phone or texts, and there’s been no sightings of him either. That boy can’t pop into the Piggly Wiggly without TMZ finding out and dispatching paparazzi to catch him skittering through the parking lot.”

“The piggly-what?” My head ached and trying to decipher nonsense words wasn’t helping.

“Piggly Wiggly. It’s a southern grocery store chain.”

“Beau Edward Taylor is worth millions and still does his own grocery shopping?”

She held out the glass again, trying to get me to drink. “Probably not. I’m just saying that wherever he pops up, it’s all over the entertainment news. Between him and Ian, their bass player, every hair on my head should be snow white.”

I snorted. When I started Madison Enright Public Relations three years ago, I was excited to work with smaller companies to build their brands, as well as a variety of celebrities, entrepreneurs, and organizations to help them grow and expand their reach. I achieved all that and more, but now, because I employ a staff of nearly two dozen junior and senior PR representatives, a social media expert, and a content creator, I get to focus on the less difficult clients. No more rock stars, actors, or models, thank you very much. Liane had a knack for keeping them in line—usually. While I’ve had to step in every now and then with crisis communications and on the very rare occasion, litigation support, I no longer have to deal with the headaches that she fully embraced.

“You love it.”

Her mouth was covered by the mask, but I could tell from the way the skin around her eyes crinkled that she was grinning. “I do, but trust me, there are days—” A ringing phone interrupted her.

“Speak of the devil. Be right back,” she called over her shoulder.

“Where the hell are you?” Liane snapped, stomping out of my bedroom as she answered her phone. She listened for a few moments, but then…

“What about your record company?” she sputtered.

Well, that snagged my attention. Maneuvering carefully, I climbed out of bed. I could still hear her, but it sounded like she might be snarling instead of using her words. I swayed as I stood to make my way to where she was pacing, then used my hand along the wall to guide me until I got my bearings.

“Cow what?” She hollered.

Cow?I slowed my steps.

“Damn you, Beau. My head is spinning!”

I made my way to the settee in the corner, keeping my distance from Liane, who paced in front of the doors that led to the terrace.

“Beau?” she yelled. “Goddamn it.”

She turned, and when she saw me, she held up her phone. “He hung up on me.” She sounded surprised. I’d only ever met Beau when he’d hired my firm to represent him and his band. Liane had been excited to work with them, but I’d bet she was rethinking that right about now.

I gingerly lowered myself onto the settee. “Sounds like you found him. Where was he?”

“West Virginia. He’s gone off half-cocked and is now hosting some huge festival to benefit some family down there.” She began to take a seat beside me, but thought better of it, and took a step back.

“He’s going to email me all the details tonight. Somehow he’s already got his record company on board, and he wants me to coordinate with their marketing department to publicize this festival, which he and the band will be headlining. And, get this, he’s suddenly got a girlfriend, and he wants me to meet him in West Virginia at the end of the week.”

“West Virginia?” I covered my mouth to hide a burp. Good lord, what’s happening to me? “What could possibly be in West Virginia?”

“Beau, apparently.”

“Hopefully, whatever I’ve got will be short-lived, and I’ll be back in the office by Wednesday. If not, I’m sure Samantha and Thomas can manage without us. I can at least work from home if I’m still contagious.”

Liane picked up her wool coat that had been tossed over the glass railing at the top of the stairs and slid her arms in through the sleeves. “Speaking of which, I can’t afford to get sick. Especially if I have to go to West Virginia later this week.” She rolled her eyes. “Do I have your permission to kill a client?”

“Kill? No. But feel free to bust any and all balls as you see necessary. I trust you.”

I snickered as she’d slipped the mask back in place and put on the rubber gloves.

“You’re making me feel like Typhoid Mary.”

“Yeah, well…” She followed me back into the bedroom and waited for me to climb back under the covers before insisting I needed to drink more ginger ale and eat at least one cracker.

“Is it just me, or does this straw look like a penis to you?”

“It is a penis. They were left over from my cousin’s bachelorette party.”

I pulled it out and looked at it again. “Okay. At least I’m not delirious.”

“No, but you most likely have the flu.”

I breathed out a deep sigh. “You’re probably right. You’d think flu season would be over by now.”

“I looked it up,” she said, grabbing the Louis Vuitton tote I’d given her for Christmas and slipping it over her shoulder. “Flu season runs until the middle of May in Pennsylvania.”

“Lucky me.”

“You look better than when I got here. You’ve got some color back in your cheeks.”

“Honestly, I’m feeling much better. Must be the ginger ale.”

“Don’t forget sucking on a penis straw.” She grinned. “Can’t forget that.”

I smiled, even though my cheeks ached. “That must be it.”

“I’ve got to fly. I’m heading back to the office for a few hours. Call me if you need anything.”

I nodded as she blew me a kiss.

“Oh, hey.” She slowed to a stop. “What’s a cow pie?”

“A cow pie?”

She nodded.

“It’s probably some country-folk name for a chocolate cream pie or something. You know, like the way they call a French silk pie a Mississippi Mud Pie.”

She paused while she tucked her phone into her bag. “I don’t think so. Beau said something about packing a pair of sturdy boots in case I step in one.”

I gave it some more thought. “Maybe it’s a divot. You know, the kind ponies kick up at polo matches or amateur golfers when they tear up the greens. Maybe cows dig up the ground too.”

She thought about it for a moment. “I bet you’re right. Although I don’t know what difference a pair of boots would make if I stepped in one.”

She blew me a kiss and after she’d gone, I reached for my phone and googled cow pie.

“You have got to be kidding me.”