Chapter 23
Amelia
By the time Melvin and I have stopped at a drug store and a Whole Foods, the traffic is heavy, delaying us by another fifteen minutes.
When we finally pull up to his apartment building, I’m surprised when Melvin comes around to my side and opens the door for me. I laugh as I get out.
“I’m hardly the boss, Melvin.”
He grins. “I think everyone deserves to have a door opened for them once in a while.”
I rummage in the Whole Foods bag and hand him the brownie I bought.
“I thought you might want a sweet treat with your lunch or something,” I hand it over awkwardly, and Melvin gives me the biggest smile.
“Brownies are my favorite, thanks. I’ll have it with my tea this afternoon.”
I nod, heading inside as he gets into the car and drives away. I travel up to Crawford’s floor in the elevator, wondering what state I’m going to find him in.
Part of me expects him to be sitting on the sunken couch in his living room, pale, grumpy, and berating me for being late as he continues to work as usual.
I step out into his hallway but find only Alexis to greet me.
She meows, trotting over to rub against my legs.
I crouch down to pet her as the elevator doors close and the familiar, mournful cry of Gerald echoes through the hall.
The peacock struts out of a back room, cocking his head at me and narrowing his eyes.
“I come in peace,” I say, holding my hands up as I rise, walking slowly into the apartment with both animals preceding me.
I listen carefully for any sound, but it’s totally silent.
I creep into the main room, expecting to find Crawford working somewhere, but it’s empty.
“Mr. Crawford?” I call, but there’s no reply.
I place the food I’ve bought on the counter and walk slowly through the apartment. I’m nervous about going upstairs without permission, but I can’t see him anywhere on this level.
I remember from the tour that Crawford’s bedroom is at the back, and, removing my shoes, I tiptoe up the spiral staircase and head to the door.
I stand outside his bedroom, uncertain whether to go in when Alexis pads silently up beside me and pushes the door open with her head. A wave of stuffy air hits me as I immediately see Crawford in the bed.
He’s on his back, chest bare, his phone lying on the floor as if he has fallen asleep while working. There’s a sheen of sweat on his torso, and the play of light from the window highlights the beautiful lines of his muscles.
I swallow—Jesus, what a view.
“Mr. Crawford?” I say gently as I step into the room, approaching the bed.
His face is relaxed in sleep, beautiful and soft, his mouth slightly open. I place my hand on his forehead, and it’s hot to the touch.
Walking into the bathroom, I soak a hand towel with cold water, wringing it out before heading back.
When I return, Alexis is sitting on his legs.
She meows at me as I gently shoo her onto the other side of the mattress.
The bed is enormous, and she starts making biscuits on the comforter as I place the towel over Crawford’s forehead.
He mumbles in his sleep, his eyes fluttering open.
“’Melia,” he says, and my heart skips at the sleepy sound of my name.
“Have you taken your temperature?” I ask.
His brow furrows, and he coughs, gesturing to the side of the bed. “Drawer.”
I pull the drawer beside his bed open, unsurprised to see a bottle of lube and condoms strewn inside. I try not to think about the number of women he must have entertained between these sheets and pull out the thermometer.
It’s an infrared design, and I hover it over his forehead, the red light turns to green as it beeps, showing he has a temperature of 101.8.
“You’re sick,” I say, watching his eyes open wider.
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you bring what I asked for?” he sounds more lucid as he begins to wake up.
“I did,” I say. “But you’re not in any state to work. You need rest.”
He tries to sit up, but his arms shake at the weight of his body, and he collapses back into the pillows.
“I need the files.”
“I’ll wake you in an hour.”
“Amelia, I need to review them.”
“Well, an hour won’t make any difference. I’m going to get you some water. Have you taken any Tylenol?”
He shakes his head. “No, I was going to but I fell asleep.”
“Okay, I’ll get you some food, too. Once you’ve had some pills, your fever should go down, and then I’ll think about giving you the files. I’ll be back.”
I stop as he grips my wrist, his fingers warm against my skin. Crawford’s eyes are unfocused as he looks up at me.
“I need to work.”
“And you will, but you can’t do anything right now. I promise I’ll wake you in a bit.”
He leans back on the pillows and nods as I leave the room.
As I open the door, I think I hear a quiet, “Thanks for coming,” but when I turn back, he’s already fallen asleep again.
About an hour later, I’m sitting on the couch in the living room scrolling on my phone, when I hear shuffling footsteps above me.
“How long was I out?” he asks. The towel I prepared for him is dangling from his neck, and his fingers are white knuckled on the balcony rail.
I stand, watching him nervously as he makes his unsteady way down the staircase.
“Only about an hour, how are you feeling?”
“Like shit. I didn’t ask you to let me sleep, I asked you to bring me my work.”
As he gets to the bottom of the stairs, he stumbles and almost falls headfirst onto the floor. I run to him, offering him my shoulder, and pull him toward the couch.
“Jesus, you’re strong,” he mutters as I deposit him onto the cushions.
I’m used to helping Annabelle get around, and I’m a lot stronger than I look. I touch his forehead, and he flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“Your hands are freezing,” he grumbles.
“Not true. Your head is boiling hot.”
He snorts. “You a doctor now?” he asks.
“You should be in bed.”
“Bring me the files, Amelia.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. I can feel my belligerent side coming out.
Annabelle has often said my bedside manner is brisk to the point of rudeness.
I’m not sorry though. If someone is sick, the best thing they can do is rest, and it annoys me when people ignore the signals their body is sending them.
It’s easy for me to slip into the role of caretaker and nurse; I’ve been doing it for years.
“You forgot the magic word,” I mutter.
To my surprise, he laughs softly and shakes his head. “Please bring me the files… Now,” he adds petulantly, and I hide a smile.
I go back over to the counter and grab the files. I place them on the central table and head to the kitchen. I don’t want to get into a full-blown argument with my boss, but there’s no way he should be up and about. There’s sweat on his forehead, and his skin looks deathly pale.
When Melvin and I stopped at the store, I bought some chicken broth, energy bars, and electrolytes. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but nutrient-rich food felt like the best option. I place everything onto a ridiculous marble tray that I find in a drawer and take it over to him.
He stares at me as I approach.
“Where the fuck did all of that come from?” he asks, looking over at the kitchen as if I conjured it out of thin air.
“I asked Melvin to stop on the way here, and I grabbed a few things. My friend is a nurse, so I texted her to ask what would be best. Drink this,” I say, handing him a glass of berry-flavored electrolytes. It’s bright purple, and he looks at it as if I’m trying to poison him.
“What the hell is this, Amelia?”
“It’ll make you feel better. So would being in bed, but I’ve obviously lost that battle.”
He gives the glass an experimental sip, then takes a long, healthy swallow before putting it back on the tray.
“You’re as bad as my mother.”
“Well, if she were here, I’m sure she’d march you straight back up to bed, too.”
He heaves a sigh and returns to his laptop, beginning to type again. I want to pull it out of his hands, but I know he’d be pissed.
Somehow, seeing Crawford sick is messing with my head. He seems so confident and sure of himself in the office, and now he’s just a guy with a fever—perfectly ordinary and vulnerable.
After another ten minutes or so, he’s finished the electrolyte drink and looks up at me with a frown.
“You can go; you don’t need to hang around here any longer.” The dismissal hurts, but I ignore him, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Do you have a housekeeper?” I ask.
He squints at his computer again, peering at the date in the bottom right corner of the screen.
“Not today. She comes on alternate weeks.”
“Alright, well, that means you don’t have anyone looking after you.”
“That’s not your job, Amelia,” he says, but then starts coughing violently. The laptop almost slips off his legs, and I catch it, closing it and placing it on the other side of the couch. It’s amazing that he can give me a death stare when he’s coughing up a lung.
“Give that back,” he says finally as he recovers, tossing back the dregs of the electrolytes.
“No,” I insist. “You need to rest.”
“I’ve been resting,” he says irritably. “I don’t need to—” but the cough comes back, and this time he goes bright red, convulsing forward as if he’s going to throw up.
I sit down beside him, rubbing his back until he stops.
“You’re burning up, you idiot,” I mutter.
He leans back on the couch, groaning.
“I can’t be sick. The merger is on a knife-edge as it is. If I don’t go to the meetings at the start of next week, the deal is as good as dead. He already thinks I don’t care about his people, and I have to convince him that I do. I can’t miss even one meeting.”
“Next week is a long way off, and once you’ve rested over the weekend, you’ll feel better. Go back upstairs, I’ll clean up down here, and then if you need to do work later, I can help.”
I stand up as he looks at me with a confused expression.
“Why are you still here?” he asks. “I don’t pay you to take care of me.”
“I don’t see why showing human decency needs to be reduced to a job. You’re sick, and I’m looking after you.”
He pushes himself to his feet, but the momentum of it makes him sway violently. I step forward, grabbing his arm.
“Goddamn it, I can’t even stand up, for fuck’s sake. Alright, you may have a point. Would you please wake me in a couple of hours, though? It’s taken me all week to review the agreement with legal, and if I don’t send the revisions back to Martha this afternoon, she’s going to lose her shit.”
“Doesn’t she work for you?”
“Sure, but I poached her from my last firm because she was so good. She’s known me since I was twenty-two, and I have as much authority over her as a post-it note.”
I snort, putting my arm around his waist as we move slowly to the stairs. I roll my eyes as his hand lowers over my ass as we make our way to his bedroom.
“God, I’m not even feeling well enough to fuck you. I really must be sick. What have you done to your hair? You look seriously hot today.”
I lower him into the bed, taken aback by the compliment. He rarely comments on my appearance outside of sex.
“I bought some new barrettes,” I say, touching the pieces I’ve braided and pinned at the back.
I go still as he raises his hand and runs his fingers through it. The intimacy of the gesture throws me off guard, and I swallow, my throat tightening.
“It’s beautiful. I love looking at it.”
He lies back in bed. I’m not even sure if he knows what he just said; all I can feel is a rising wave of happiness growing inside me as I tuck him in. As I turn away from the bed, Alexis pads into the room, hopping up beside him as his hand automatically finds her belly.
I watch them, my heart in my throat as my body yearns to crawl in beside them. It isn’t even about sex, I just want to feel part of them—soft and content beside them both.
I leave the room as quickly as possible.
Get it together, Amelia. He’s your boss, and this is just a job.