28
THANKS, AUDITORS
Remedies when you’re sick?
Cole:I can’t remember the last time I was sick. I power through.
Bridget:Tea. Like, gallons of it with honey. And before bed, Vicks VapoRub on the soles of my feet and my chest.
BRIDGET
Like him, Cole’s building was massively tall, and like mine, it had a doorman. I smiled at him as we passed on our way to the elevators. He straightened his uniform jacket and nodded back, but Cole stared straight ahead as he carried his curly-haired daughter like she weighed nothing. I pressed the button, and when the doors slid open, Cole said, “My card’s in my coat pocket. Can you grab it for me and tap it to the sensor?”
I held my breath as I slipped my fingers into his coat pocket. The lining was satin, and the coat itself was likely cashmere made from the hand-shorn hair of fluffy baby goats who livedon a remote mountainside and ate only the choicest shoots of emerald-green grass. The card was warm from his body—and the baby goats—when I plucked it out and held it to the pad. “Which floor?”
“It’ll take us straight up,” he said.
Of course Cole lived in a penthouse. I did as he instructed, and we rose toward the top floor. During the long ride, he gave me a weak smile over his daughter’s head. She clutched his broad shoulders and dug her knees into his waist as she buried her face in his shoulder. I looked away, remembering waking up sprawled across her dad in a similar position.Totally inappropriate.I’d come here for work, not play.
At last, the elevator opened onto a small lobby with two doors. Cole headed left and nodded at the sensor. I tapped the card to it and opened the door.
I’d expected bright-white decor and an open floor plan, but Cole’s space was warmer than that. The floors were a medium-brown with dark-brown grain patterns. The walls were white, but modern art hung on them. I wondered if Zara had lived here and chosen the art, or if Cole moved here after they split, and a designer had picked everything out, or if he’d selected the pieces himself. The condo didn’t quite look lived-in, but he probably only slept here, spending most of his time in the office or the gym.
He laid Caitlyn on the light-gray sofa that somehow looked hard. He glanced around as if there’d be a blanket, but in the end he took off that soft coat and laid it over his daughter. “Okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Her voice was croaky, and she winced before she swallowed.
Turning toward me, he lowered his voice and said, “Do you think we should take her to the ER?”
I almost snorted. This was a garden-variety fever if I’d ever seen one. But I liked that he was worried about her. I still couldn’t get my mind around the fact that he was a dad, and I’d admit—though never to him—I’d come with him as much to observe his parenting skills as to finish our work. “Do you mind if I feel your forehead, Caitlyn?”
She shook her head, and I rested the back of my hand on her tan forehead. It was barely warmer than my skin. “Doesn’t seem so bad. We can confirm if you’ve got a thermometer.”
He stroked his daughter’s hair, then strode down the hall. He returned ten seconds later with a digital thermometer, which he passed over her forehead. “Ninety-nine point nine. But my Children’s Tylenol is expired.”
“Okay, I can run out for some. I saw a drugstore on the drive over.”
His jaw went tight, and he clasped my hand. “We’ll get supplies delivered. We can order dinner too. What would you like, Cait? Sushi?”
She crinkled her nose. “Blegh.”
“I thought sushi was your favorite,” he said.
“Not when my throat hurts.” She tucked his coat against it.
“Okay.” Cole suggested another half-dozen types of takeout, and she rejected every one. He threw up his hands. “What do you want, then?”
I couldn’t help it. “Something simple and comforting,” I said. “How about toast? Or some noodles with butter?”
“Yes, noodles. Please.” She swallowed.
“I can order that on Red Rover.” Cole pulled his phone from his inside jacket pocket.
“You seriously don’t have pasta?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t cook a lot. Like, ever.”
I huffed out a sigh, barely keeping from rolling my eyes. Men and their kitchens. Why did they even bother? “Let me see.”
