Chapter 36 – ryan #2
“No.” Pippa’s hand closes around my wrist, tugging me back toward her.
Fuck, every part of me wants to crawl into bed with her and cuddle her for as long as she actually wants me close.
I don’t care if it’s fever-induced, I’ll take any affection she’ll give me.
But Pippa probably hasn’t eaten since last night, and she needs fuel and fluids stat.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” I reassure her, stroking her hair back. “I’m just going to get you a Gatorade and some crackers, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
She settles back onto her pillow and pulls her ratty purple blanket up to her nose.
While I get Pippa’s snacks ready in the kitchen, I dial James, who picks up immediately. He’s glued to his phone during business hours. “Ryan? What’s up?”
“Uh, you have that on-call doctor who comes to you if you’re sick, right?” I ask. It came up in conversation ages ago. Apparently, Sequel has someone for all the execs, in case they get a stomach bug before an investor presentation or something.
“I do. What’s wrong?”
“Pippa’s sick. Fever, chills, all that. Could I just call him and ask if I should take her to the hospital or something?”
“Of course.” I hear the sound of typing. “I’ll have my assistant talk to him and call you. Anything else you need?”
“No. I gave her Tylenol, and I can make the chicken noodle soup she likes—”
“Not from scratch, right?” James says, with something like horror.
I roll my eyes. “From a can. I’m not that bad a cook.”
“We’ll discuss that later. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks. I’m still pissed at you, for the record.”
“I’m aware,” James says dryly, then hangs up.
Back in Pippa’s room, I sit on the edge of her bed. “You still awake, Pips? I’ve got your Gatorade.”
“What color?” she asks, not opening her eyes.
I grin. “Pink.”
She extends a hand. I unscrew the cap for her, and she props herself up on an elbow so she can drink.
She must be thirsty, because she drinks about half the bottle.
When she sets it down, there’s something resembling light in her eyes.
For a second, I think she’s been healed by the power of light affection and liquid Tylenol.
Then she bolts to the bathroom and pukes.
Swearing, I follow her, pulling back her hair so it doesn’t get messy. “You’re okay. Whatever you need, I got you.”
She wretches for a few minutes while I hold her hair, rub her back, and whisper comforting words. Finally, she sits up straight and closes her eyes.
“Go away, Ryan,” she mutters, and my heart stops. Fuck, has she come to her senses and remembered that she asked me to stay away from her? Then she sniffles and adds, “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Relief washes over me. “You look beautiful, Pips.”
She glares at me. “Liar.”
“I mean, you’ve looked better. But for someone who just finished hurling, you’re stunning. Gorgeous. Top-tier.”
She cracks a little smile, and it’s like the sun’s finally come up from behind the clouds.
I wrap her arm around my shoulder and help her back to her bed. She promises to finish all the Gatorade while I warm her up some soup.
The afternoon passes quickly, with Pippa alternately eating tiny bites of soup and snoozing.
She lets me lie in bed next to her, playing online poker while The Vampire Diaries plays on her laptop.
James’s doctor calls, and he confirms that Pippa probably has the flu that’s been going around.
He assures us that rest, liquids, and Tylenol should be enough to avoid a doctor’s visit, unless her fever goes above 104.
After the first missed call from Ingrid, I hide Pippa’s phone under the pillow on my side of the bed.
If Pippa were in her right mind, I know she’d pick up and do whatever insane thing her boss is demanding, and she needs a break.
Hell, the fever probably only got this bad because of how hard she’s been grinding.
The season one finale has just started when Pippa finally opens her eyes again. “Huh?”
“Good morning, sunshine.” I brush some hair off her face. “You’ve been napping.”
“Mmm. Nap,” she mumbles, burying her head against her pillow. “I love naps. What time is it?”
“Almost dinnertime, if you’re up for some more soup.”
Pippa’s eyes go wide. “No. It’s when?”
I glance at my watch. “About 6:30.”
“No, no, no! Oh, shit, where’s my phone?”
Reluctantly, I slide it out from under my pillow and hand it to her. She moans.
“Eight missed calls from Ingrid! Fuck, I have to call her.”
“No, you don’t. I’m sure there’s nothing she has to say that can’t wait.”
“Are you insane? I didn’t even tell her I was missing work!
” Pippa hits Ingrid’s number, holding the phone tightly to her ear.
“Ingrid, hi! I’m so sorry I missed your calls, I was sick, and—” She stops, and I can hear a woman’s voice from the other side.
“I’m so sorry, I had a fever and fell asleep.
I know, I’m behind a date in the series.
I was going to make one tonight, but—no, I know we had a deadline. I’m so sorry.”
Hearing Pippa grovel after she just spent most of the day hurling her guts out is more than I can take. I snatch the phone out of her hands.
“Hi, this is Ryan Archer. Ingrid, right?
“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “The stepbrother, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” Pippa gestures wildly at me to hang up. “Pippa’s got the flu. She’s spent the whole day fighting off a fever, so yeah, she won’t be coming in tomorrow.”
“Will she be working from home?”
I laugh, low and cold. “Are you fucking serious?”
“She does have deadlines—”
“Pippa needs a goddamn break, lady. You’re working her like a fucking dog, so if you care about her talent, like Pippa always says when someone criticizes you, you’ll stop working her so fucking hard.”
There’s a moment of quiet on the other end, and I get a sinking feeling that I’ve gone too far. Pippa lives for this job—what will she say if I lose it for her?
“I hear you,” Ingrid says, finally. “I suppose she doesn’t need to finish the 12 Dates series, anyway. It looks like she found a much more interesting ending.”
“Sure. Whatever you need to say to make her taking off for a few days okay.”
“Goodbye, Ryan. It was so nice to meet you.”
I hang up and shake my head. “Your boss is a quack, Pips.”
She smacks my arm. “Oh my god! Ryan, you made her mad at me! What if she takes back my promotion?” Pippa’s eyes go wide. “What if she makes me give back my couch?”
My brow furrows. “You’re not making sense. You’ve got to lie down and rest.”
“I can’t! I’m gonna get fired,” she moans. “Why did you do that?”
“Because somebody has to look out for you, and you aren’t doing it. Ingrid says you can take off work, by the way.”
“Oh.” Her eyes narrow. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“No. You can text her to confirm if you want, but you’ll probably just come off even more crazy.”
Pippa examines my face, and she must decide that I’m telling the truth, because she sighs. “Okay. But if I get fired, you’re paying my rent and living expenses for the next year.”
“I can make that much in one tournament,” I say, shrugging.
She giggles. “Tournament of champions. Jeopardy. I should watch more Jeopardy. Turn it on, please.” She picks up her hand, pressing buttons on an imaginary remote. Jesus, she’s loopy. Frankly, it’s adorable.
“Later. Now, get some rest. I’ve got some shit to do in the apartment, but if you need me, just yell and I’ll come.”
Her mouth turns down. “You’ll come back, though, right?”
I shoot her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”
If she doesn’t kick me out, I’ll sleep on the other side of the bed. Hell, I’d probably sleep on the floor if she wanted me to. She could have me whipped, if she was just a little more demanding. I don’t even hate the idea of it. I’d simp for Pippa any day.
But for now, there’s work to do. If Pippa’s feeling any better tomorrow, she’ll probably want to watch TV in the living room. It’s gotten kind of messy, and the kitchen’s not looking too great, either.
I grab a roll of paper towels and get to work.
–
By the time she wakes up the next day, I’ve already showered, made breakfast for me and Waffle, and come back to my side of her bed to read some mystery novel Luke loaned me. I can already tell that the wife did it, but hey, mysteries are about the journey, not the destination.
“How long have I been asleep?” she asks groggily.
“About seventy-two hours.”
She smacks my arm weakly, and I know that she’s mentally back, even if she’s still physically miserable. “How long, really?”
“About twelve hours, minus the twenty minutes where you got up to puke at midnight.”
“Oh god, I forgot about that.” She closes her eyes, looking miserable.
I put my hand on her forehead, which is still blazing hot. “You’re still sick.”
“Ugh. I’ll have to call Ingrid and let her know I’m out.”
“She already knows.”
Pippa’s eyes flash open. “What do you mean, she already knows?”
“Don’t you remember our conversation with her yesterday?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows.
“Oh god,” she groans. “This can’t be good.”
“It went great. She doesn’t expect you at work today,and said you shouldn’t worry about the 12 Dates deadline.”
“Why would she—you know what? I don’t want to know,” she says. She feels vaguely around her. “Where’s my purple blanket?”
“In the dryer. It needed a wash after an unfortunate puking-related incident. I’ll go get it.”
While Pippa wallows in unnecessary humiliation, I jog over to the laundry room. The blanket is toasty warm, perfect for me to wrap around her. She smiles lazily up at me, her body already dragging her back to sleep. Then, she frowns.
“Wait a second. Aren’t you supposed to be at a poker tournament right now?”
I shrug. “Dropped out.”
“But why? I thought you had to make up for losing at your tournament.”
“Because you’re more important.” I stroke her hair back. “Now go to sleep.”
A few minutes later, she does.