Chapter 5 Ellis
Ellis
“Eat and hydrate,” Damon orders. He unceremoniously hands me a plate with a plain bagel and sliced apples. On the bedside table, he places a glass of water.
I give him a look of disgust. “This is the most tasteless looking meal I’ve ever seen.”
“Tough luck. You need to eat.”
“You know what? I’ll head down to the breakfast buffet myself.”
“Suit yourself.”
That’s right. I will suit myself. I stick my tongue out at him. Throwing the comforter aside, I get up on my feet—only to immediately feel woozy and sit back down.
He smirks at me.
“My head feels like it’s full of cotton,” I grumble.
Damon’s face falls. His eyebrows furrow together and he chews on his cheek.
The way he’s treating me as if I’m fragile should irritate me, but…
it doesn’t. He didn’t believe me and called me overdramatic last night, but he came around.
I can’t remember much of last night, my memory coming in bits and pieces, but I do remember him giving me his sweater—which, okay, I’m still wearing—and I remember him giving me medicine.
He even let me get close enough to keep his body heat hostage, and I can’t tell for sure if it was reality or hallucinations, but I think I woke up once or twice to him checking up on me.
I’ve always been sickly, and I’ve always been left to fend for myself.
Growing up, Mom and Dad were way too busy arguing about stupid shit that doesn’t matter to ever help me.
Even when I fainted in high school one day and was sent home, I had to listen to them scream at each other and blame each other for not noticing I was under the weather that morning.
Burning up, I had to crawl out of my bed, searching for medicine on my own.
Honestly, that day was probably the day I swore I’d never make the grand mistake of committing to someone. My parents were so downright miserable, and why would I ever subject myself to that shit?
My promise to never commit to anyone is likely the reason nobody else has ever taken care of me, though. It’s the reason I’ve always felt the need to fend for myself.
Still, I never expected that Damon would be the one to ever take care of me like this, and it rattles me to the core. It makes my heart do a weird, fluttering sensation.
Should probably Google that symptom. Maybe my cold’s worse than I thought.
“I don’t want this,” I say, placing the plate on the bedside table.
He grumbles, “You’re impossible.”
“I don’t have an appetite, but that doesn’t mean I want to eat tasteless food. You couldn’t have at least gotten me a jam? Is this how you take care of sick people? Oh, I have a great idea. There’s this cafe near Camrose that serves lavender-honey croissants. Can you get me that?”
“I think half the city’s shut down because of the snowstorm. There are croissants downstairs though, and I think they had honey.”
“But do they have lavender?”
“I have no fucking clue what you even mean by that. And, again, the cafe’s probably closed because of the snow storm.”
“What snowstorm?” I point out the window.
It’s still snowing but definitely not as horrible as it was last night.
Now that I know he’s the kind of person to take care of a sick person, I’m not letting him get away.
“Please don’t let your sick colleague die of starvation, not after you almost let hypothermia get me. ”
“You weren’t hypother—” Damon snaps his mouth shut and groans, pressing his palms against his eyes. The sight of it thrills me. Makes me grin wide and vibrate with happiness. “Fine! I’ll try to find you your stupid lavender-honey croissants later, but this is what we have right now.”
“Awesome!” I collapse back on the side of my bed. Instantly, I wince, because the sudden movement makes my head throb. I inhale slowly as the room spins.
“What?” Damon challenges. “You still feel like shit, don’t you? Maybe stop trying to be irritating and listen to me. Eat, hydrate, then rest.”
“I love this side of you.” I grin at him, trying to refocus my eyes because there’s currently two blurry versions of him.
He grabs the plate and puts it on my lap, glaring at me until I bite into the bagel.
“Disgusting,” I say dryly. “You’d think for a hotel this fancy, they’d have bagels with actual seasonings on it.
” The corner of Damon’s mouth lifts, and I gape at him.
“They did have better bagels. I swear to God, Damon, if you’re only feeding me this gross shit all day, you’re going to wish I actually did perish of hypothermia.
If you thought I was annoying before, you’re in for a ride. ”
That finally gets a reaction from him. He snaps his attention to me, his mouth dropping. Excitement rushes down my spine. Damon says, “You can actually get more fucking annoying?”
“You’ll see.”
I swear by how his face pales, you’d think he was the one who was sick.
***
Despite my grand plan of annoying Damon enough for him to get actual food, I spend the rest of the morning in bed. All my joints are in pain, my throat’s sore, my head’s throbbing, and sleep is a lot more appealing than watching that vein on Damon’s forehead threaten to implode.
Damon wakes me up after I’ve been sleeping for what feels like the entire day—and nobody’s more surprised than me when my phone says it’s only 12:30 p.m.
I squint at him. There’s a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup on the bedside table.
He points at it. “Eat.
I scrunch my nose. “Do you think I’m a child!?”
“By how immature you’re acting, I believe so.”
“You said you’d get me my croissants.”
“Surprisingly, not much has changed in the last few hours. Most establishments are still closed.”
“Damon,” I say sternly.
“Ellis,” he returns. He points at the bowl, and I pretend that the aroma isn’t making my mouth water. “Please be a little less difficult right now.”
My shoulders slump. Fine. He has a point. Nodding, I take the noodles from him.
As soon as I’m done with the fabulous meal—which, I admit, actually did hit the spot and soothed my raspy throat—Damon shoves a glass of water at me then takes the empty cup from me without asking. He puts it away, along with his own empty cup which I didn’t realize was on his nightstand.
Damon doesn’t say shit when I go right back to sleep, burying my face in my pillow.
***
My head’s more painful than ever the next time I come to. It’s dark, and I get up with a start, concerned that I slept the day through—only to realize that it’s dark because Damon drew the curtains shut.
My phone says it’s 4 p.m.
“Fuck,” I grumble. I don’t think I’ve ever slept this much in a day before.
Damon’s not in the room, and what feels a lot like dread fills me. I force that away though, because what the fuck is that even about? I drag my feet around the room, stretching, and it’s not until I glance toward the door that I realize it’s cracked open and Damon’s soft voice is right outside.
From the few words I catch, he’s speaking to Heather. Frowning, I approach him, stopping close to the door.
“He’s sleeping but I’ll tell him to give you a call once he’s up. He’ll probably want to,” Damon says. “Me? Personally, I wouldn’t mind sharing a room with him for a night or two more. He’s still sick and I’d feel better having my eyes on him… but it’s his decision.”
Huh?
Because I don’t want him to catch me eavesdropping, I back away as quietly as I can. I sit back down on the bed, and a few moments later, Damon comes in. He’s got his phone gripped in his hand, and in the other is a take-out bag labeled Mabel’s Diner. His eyes widen by a fraction when he sees me.
“Oh, you’re up.” He hands me the take-out bag. “Here are your goddamn croissants. I sincerely hope these are to your liking.”
I poke at the paper wrappings. “They’re cold!”
His expression pinches. “Apologies, your highness. Nobody was doing deliveries and no cabs were on the street, so they must have gotten cold during my thirty-minute walk back here.”
“What…?”
“Also, Heather said a room opened up at the Holiday Inn, if you want it. I’m cool staying here. Or I can be the one to go there.”
My eyebrows furrow together, and I replay what he said when he was on the phone.
He’s still sick and I’d feel better having my eyes on him.
Shit, what did I do to deserve this side of Damon?
I clear my throat. “I’d rather stay here with you, if you’re cool with that.”
He arcs an eyebrow at me.
“C’mon, Dee.” I grin widely at him. “I’m sick. Are you going to leave me to fend for myself? Remember what happened when you left me to fend for myself last night?”
“I was literally right next to you.”
“Yeah, imagine what would have happened if you weren’t. I need you. My life depends on it.”
Damon scoffs, but then he chews on his cheek for a moment.
“Okay,” he says after a long pause. “I mean… it is Christmas Eve tomorrow, and I guess spending it with you is better than nobody else.”
“Wow. I’m so flattered,” I say dryly, earning myself a laugh from him.
I lift my head and smile at him, and it takes me completely by surprise when he returns it.
Damon hasn’t smiled at me so warmly since that night I first met him. It makes me avert my eyes.
“I’m going to let Heather know we don’t need the other room,” he murmurs, stepping away.
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but I think his cheeks pinken and his voice takes on a tone that I can’t read—too soft and slow, as if even he can’t believe the words he’s saying.
Damon walks over to the floor-length windows, typing into his phone, and I watch him the entire time.
I watch him until he puts his phone away and he closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He probably doesn’t know I’ve got my eyes on him.
“Hey,” I say, and he meets my gaze. “How do you usually spend Christmas Eve?”
“I spend it in Anchorage. It’s a huge thing with my family.”
“Oh. Is Christmas Eve a fun time in the Marks’ household?”
A fond smile crosses his face. Damon nods slowly, murmuring, “It’s incredible.”
I frown. I’ve never gotten the appeal of spending holidays with family, mostly because it’s not an experience I’m familiar with. To me, it’s like any other day of the year—and if I’m bored enough, I’ll spend it in some random bar and go home with an equally alone guy like me.
Damon continues talking. “It’s my favorite night of the year, and it sucks that I’m missing it this year. My parents will surely chew me out for it, and I’m sure my siblings won’t be happy with me, either.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Two younger sisters. They’re twins and are still in middle school.”
“Oh.” My eyebrows lift. “Wow… what’s that, a fifteen-year gap between you?”
“Yup.” Damon gives me a smug grin. “Practically raised them myself. My parents always tell me to stop fretting over my baby sisters, but I enjoy looking after them.”
"Huh. Well... that tracks.”
“What?” Damon stands taut and frowns at me.
“You know…” I sit up, quickly dragging the pillow over my lap. No need for him to see my semi. “You look after people. That’s your thing. You’ve been taking care of me, and you hate my guts.”
“Letting the boss’s son die while I was in the same room wouldn’t look good for my annual performance review. It simply wouldn’t be professional.”
“Yes, and Dad thinks you’re very professional.”
“After he caught me barefoot with rumpled clothes in his kitchen after a night of debauchery with his son, I would think so.”
I choke in surprise, my eyes going wide. “O-oh. Okay. Wow. So we’re finally making jokes of that night? We’re finally past that?”
His lip twitches and his eyes light up. Damon lifts his chin, exposing his neck, and honestly? Honestly? I’d put my mouth all over that, again, if given the chance. “I suppose so, yeah.”
Oh.
I can’t help but smile, and Damon lets out a huff of a laugh as he heads toward the bathroom, marking the end of that conversation.
Strangely, I’m just realizing that despite working together for a significant time now, and sleeping together, I don’t know much about Damon.
I’m pretty sure that’s the first time we’ve had a half-decent conversation.
I guess he’s not so bad when I’m making it my life goal to get under his skin.
Honestly, now that I know how much Christmas Eve means to him, a sour sensation creeps into my throat.
“Hey, Dee,” I call.
He looks over his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Sorry that you’re likely spending Christmas Eve with me.” I give him a smile that does nothing for the dread in my stomach.
Damon’s eyes widen and his shoulders stiffen. He stares at me for a long moment, and the silence that follows makes me shift in my seat.
Why the hell did I go and say that, anyway?
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. Damon runs his hand through his hair. “We’ll make it a fun time.”
Then he smiles, and my stupid heart rattles in my chest as if it can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing.