And wait! I hate Holland.
He shouldn’t be in my lakeside, perfect day dream. I must be more feverish than I thought. I’m practically delusional right now.
“You did that on purpose,” I slur, trying to focus on Holland.
“What? I told Inez the truth.”
“You know how it sounded.”
“How did it sound?” Holland makes it to the top of the stairs and shifts me slightly.
“Like we’re going up here together.”
I hear his key being inserted into the door, and then he kicks it open. He carries me inside, and my head is too fuzzy to consider how Holland is cradling me like I’m a bride he’s carrying across the threshold.
“Aren’t we?”
“You know what I mean.” I’m too exhausted to play his teasing games right now. “What if she thinks we’re going to be doing…stuff.”
“You’re in no condition to be doing anystuff. And I’m a gentleman, despite what you may think about me.”
He adds the last bit more quietly, and for a moment, I think I imagined it. I don’t respond, because what do I even think about Holland these days? Everything is blurry. Lines have been crossed. It’s a messy mess.
Holland keeps the lights off, so I can’t see what his apartment looks like. Not that I’m in any condition to look around right now. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to see how he decorates the place. I bet it smells like fresh herbs and that he has a comfy couch, perfect for cuddling up and watching sports. I wonder if he has a copy ofAnne of Green Gablessomewhere around here.
Ugh. No!That’s the fever talking. I absolutely, positively should not be curious about anything related to Holland…except his golf game.
“Do you want anything before you lie down?” he asks. He’s moving through the main space in the apartment, and I’m half asleep in his arms, hanging here like a limp noodle.
“No. I’m good.” My voice is hoarse.
Holland carries me down a hallway and pushes open a door to the right. He eases me gently down onto the bed, and I pinch my eyes closed because the reality of my vulnerability just crashed into me with the force of a Mack truck.
Why am I letting this man—my boss!—see me like this? How did I let this happen?
A gentle finger drags slowly from my hairline, over my forehead, and down to the bridge of my nose. “Relax your face,” Holland says softly. “You’re tense.”
I force myself to take a deep breath.
“Good. That’s good. Just a sec. Do you remember what kind of medicine you took?”
I mumble the name brand, and he searches something on his phone. “Okay. I’m going to grab you some ibuprofen and a glass of water. That’ll help with your symptoms and those two drugs are fine together. Don’t go anywhere.” I can tell he’s smiling as he says it, but it’s not in a goading sort of way. It’s more in anI find you incredibly endearing right nowsort of way.
Dangerous.
That’s what that is.
Unfortunately for me, I can’t get up, no matter how badly I might want to.
So I snuggle under the covers, wincing when my ponytail jabs into the back of my head. I’m too tired to take my hair down. Instead, I turn onto my side. If I can go to sleep, maybe I’ll wake up and find this is all a terrible dream.
The door to the bedroom squeaks, and I blink my eyes open, watching as Holland strides across the room. He fills the space with his broad shoulders and strong legs and nice butt. He doesn’t look like a dream. He looks like a handsome, very real man—one who I should absolutely not be checking out right now. I squeeze my eyes shut.
The bed dips a second later, and I blink my eyes open to find him sitting near my head. He holds his palm outstretched, and there are two tiny pills in the center of his giant hand. “Can you sit up and take these?”
I nod. My throat is on fire, and I can’t tell if it’s with humiliation or the result of whatever I’m sick with, but the glass of water Holland produces from his other hand may as well be a fountain in the middle of the desert.
I wedge myself to a sitting position, leaning against one elbow. I reach for the medicine with my other hand, but I misjudge it, and I end up knocking Holland’s fingers and sending the pills clattering to the floor.
