Chapter 15
ASHTON
For the third time this month, I’m standing in front of Allie Montgomery’s door wondering what the hell I’m doing.
She called out “sick” again this morning, and I lost my shit.
Every time we have a conversation she doesn’t like, she avoids me or calls out, and I’m done with her disappearing act.
She’s going to face this. We’re going to face it because clearly avoiding it hasn’t worked out for either of us.
I would have come first thing in the morning, but I’ve been caught up in meetings all day and couldn’t get away until it was well past five. Still, she owes me an explanation, and I’m going to get it.
I knock for the third time and am about to check around for a spare key when the door slowly opens.
Before me stands a huddled figure draped in several blankets.
Allie peeks out from under the one around her head, and I see dark circles puffing out beneath her eyes and redness circling her nose.
She sniffles, her body trembling slightly.
Despite all the blankets, she’s shaking as if she’s freezing.
“You’re actually sick,” I say stupidly.
“I was sick last time, asshole,” she croaks back. Guess her illness hasn’t altered her disdain for me.
“Are you okay? Can I—”
“Look, I know I’m new to the newspaper world, but is it generally considered appropriate for an editor-in-chief to come to an employee’s house every time she calls in sick?”
“I think we’re well past what is appropriate,” I point out.
“Whatever,” she scoffs, but it turns into a deep cough. “You checked. I’m not lying. You can go now.” She starts to close the door, but I move my hand out to stop it. When I do, I accidentally brush my fingers against hers, and her eyes flick to mine.
“Jesus, Allie. Your hands are ice-cold.”
Not waiting for her response, I push my way into her house.
It doesn’t take much. She’s clearly weak and doesn’t have her usual fight.
As soon as I enter, I realize it’s the same temperature as outside.
What the fuck? Why doesn’t she have the heat on?
I instinctively walk over to the thermostat on the wall by the front door.
“Ashton, what are you doing? Stop.”
I ignore her, moving the ring back and forth to wake it up, but nothing happens. So I walk over and flick the light switch up and down. Nothing.
“It was a misunderstanding with the power company,” she says, a slight strain in her voice. “It’s fine. I’m sure they’ll fix it later.”
“A misunderstanding?”
I walk over to the window that looks out toward Emory and Luke’s cottage, moving the curtain to the side, and sure enough, I see the soft glow illuminating their windows.
Allie follows behind me, her slippered feet making a swishing sound on the hardwood floor.
“Why did they turn your power off, Allie?” I don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does, but thinking about her being in this frigid house all day while she’s sick is making me irrationally angry. When she doesn’t answer me, I keep pressing.
“Did you forget to pay your bill, Alexandra?” I told myself I wouldn’t call her that anymore. It makes her mad, and not in that sexy way where she huffs and her eyes turn molten. More in a dangerous way. Like the name itself is a weapon she has to defend herself against.
Just as predicted, her defenses go up as soon as the words come out of my mouth.
“It’s none of your fucking business,” she spits out as she stomps into the kitchen.
“Oh, but I think it is.” I’m right behind her, so when she suddenly turns around, she slams face-first into my chest. She backs up and angles her chin upward to meet my gaze.
“You’re my…employee and your well-being is important to…the company,” I continue.
Like an idiot.
The cerulean orbs beneath her glasses bore into me, and her right lip tips up into a ghost of a smirk. She sees right through me, but I don’t care anymore.
“I’m serious,” I continue, softening my tone. “You need to take better care of yourself.”
She rolls her eyes predictably. “Okay, Nate.”
Oh, that does it. Not that I care about being compared to Nate, but he’s clearly had this conversation with her, and she hasn’t listened. I turn away as I take my phone out of my pocket and look up the number for the power company.
She eyes my movements curiously before she realizes what I’m doing. “Ashton, stop. I told you I’ll handle it.”
Ignoring her again, I call the number and wait on hold for a representative. A voice comes through asking for my name and service address, and she must hear it because a wave of panic crosses her face.
“Hi, I’m—”
Allie drops the blankets and grabs for the phone. I hold it up above my head, and that’s when I see the desperation in her eyes. She’s still trembling slightly, but despite her weakened state, she forces herself to jump, clawing at my shirt to reach the phone.
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
“Hello?” the voice on the phone chirps. “Sir? Are you there?”
I end the call and put the phone back in my pocket.
She didn’t forget to pay her bill.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m still catching up since I got the job. Things were tight before then.” She picks her blankets back up, hoisting them around her body. “I don’t need your pity.”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t pity you.”
“Not everyone was born with diamonds dripping from their cribs. Some people struggle, Ashton. It’s called life.”
“I know,” I say softly as I turn toward the cabinets and open one.
“What the hell are you doing now?”
I don’t answer her, instead taking out a container of chicken stock and a bag of rice.
I make a mental note to replace everything I take just in case she’s planning to use it for something else.
I cross over to the fridge and find that it’s still cold when I open it.
That’s good. The electricity hasn’t been out for too long.
I find almost everything I need, then rummage around until I find a pot and a cutting board.
I pour the stock into the pot, setting it to boil.
Luckily, her gas hasn’t been cut off, so her range still works. Then I set to work, chopping carrots.
Allie stands frozen in place, eyes wide, as she silently takes in the scene before her. Seems I have a way of making the little spitfire speechless these days.
“You need to go lie down,” I say as she hobbles over to me. She looks exhausted.
“I need you to stop messing around in my kitchen,” she rasps, but it turns into a coughing fit.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. She can’t make anything easy. “Allie, I swear to God if you don’t lie down, I’m going to make you,” I say in the firmest tone I can manage.
“Make me?” she scoffs. It’s a question, but I choose to take it as an invitation.
“Sure thing, Chaos,” I reply, bending down and scooping her up into my arms. She gasps, but her arms circle my neck instinctively. I don’t even think she realizes that she did it. Even so, her legs make a feeble attempt at kicking.
“What the fuck, Ashton. Put me down.”
“You told me to make you,” I reply innocently as I walk over to the couch.
“I didn’t—fucking hell.” Her protests die when we get to the couch, and I gently place her down on it.
I move the blankets around, tucking them under her so she’s nice and snug.
I chuckle when I look down at my handiwork and see the angry-looking burrito staring back up at me, her eyes smoldering as they usually do when she’s pissed.
“Stalking, breaking and entering, kidnapping,” she says, ticking off each item as if she’s tallying something. “And now unnecessary bondage. Not the sexy kind,” she adds. “Just want to keep it all straight for when I make my report to HR.”
I squat in front of her and lean in. “Would you rather the sexy kind?” I whisper. “If you’re going to HR anyway, we might as well make it worth it.”
Her eyes turn into thin slits, her lips pursing like she can’t decide whether to be enraged or turned on. The way she shifts her hips and lowers her eyes makes me think it’s the latter.
“What? No comeback?” I ask as I stand back up. “You really are unwell. Lucky for you, I have a fail-proof cold remedy.”
“Cold remedy?”
“Yep. Nana’s lemon chicken soup.”
She groans and turns over, burying her head in the cushions of the couch.
I get back to work and half an hour later, the soup is ready.
I pour some into a bowl, placing it on the tray I found along with a glass of water, a spoon, and a napkin.
When I walk into the living room, Allie has ripped all the blankets off and is snoring softly, one leg hooked over the end of the couch, a slight sheen of sweat above her brow.
I put the tray on the coffee table and kneel in front of her, resting the back of my hand against her forehead. Shit, she’s burning up.
After rummaging around in her bathroom for what feels like hours, I finally find a washcloth.
She is definitely not what I would call tidy, and nothing is where you would think it would be.
So I’m not completely surprised when there are mostly makeup and skincare products in the medicine cabinet.
Thankfully, there is also a bottle of Tylenol, but when I pull it out, a little plastic baggie drops to the floor.
As I crouch down to pick it up, a small voice in the back of my head tells me not to look at it.
To put it back on the shelf and not give it a second glance.
Unfortunately, my brain doesn’t send the memo to my hands in time, so I lift it up to my line of sight anyway.
Several small white rectangular bars stare back at me.
I don’t even have to look at the imprinted letters on the sides to know what they are.
I’ve seen my mother dry swallow them enough times when she thought no one was looking.