“Rizatriptan?” he asks.
“It’s a migraine medication. I forgot it here the last time I had one and I guess... I never picked up my next prescription.”
I try to calculate the days since my last migraine but the numbers swirl together. All I know is that forgetting something likethisisn’t like me. I have to stay on top of these drugs to prevent this very thing from happening.
I eye Wesley as he studies the empty pill bottle. I think I know exactly what distracted me: punishing Wesley Chambers. I’ve been horrible to him and he’s being so kind to me. The thought of it makes me want to cry. I stomp my foot and shake my head, trying to physically will away the tears. But all I do is make Wesley jump and send another bolt of pain through my head.
“Ms. Blunt, you need to go home.”
I prop myself up against the desk and nod. Asking for help hurts nearly as much as the drill behind my eyes.
“Would you be willing to drive me home?” I wince. “I need to stop at the pharmacy on the way and refill my prescription.”
He pauses, pulling at the collar of his shirt, twisting his tie around his fingers. “Sure,” he says slowly. “You have that presentation tomorrow...”
I close my eyes, trying to picture my schedule in my head, but it slides by like the credits of a movie.
“The Grimes presentation,” he prompts.
Shit.
“I’ll... I’ll finish it up after I’ve had a little rest.”
I start to sweat at the amount of work I still have ahead of me. If I’d enlisted his help earlier I wouldn’t be here right now. Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes.Again.I turn away. He already knows I barfed. I can’t let him see me cry, too.
“I can...” He pauses. “I can take care of it. If you want.”
“No.” The word is out of my mouth faster than my brain can keep up.
“Why not?” he asks. Instead of pissing me off, the challenge in his tone makes me proud. He makes me want to trust him. This migraine is turning me soft.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask.
He looks down. I follow his gaze. Overlapping pride flags on his socks peek out from underneath his pant leg and something inside of me folds over.
“I just...” He pauses again.
I want to open his mouth and pull the words out so I don’t have to wait.
“I know what it feels like to hear that your mom is sick and I...” He clears his throat. “I know what it’s like, okay? I want to help. If I can. And I want to show you that I’m not the person you think I am.”
Now I look away. “Listen, it was a misunderstanding.”
And I realize as I say it that I do actually believe it. I know I heard him laugh that day but I also know that he’s a good person. So maybe I don’t have all the facts.
Pain like a railroad spike through my eye hits my frontal lobe. Another wave of nausea passes over me and I list toward the desk. He takes a step toward me, concern furrowing his brow, but I hold my hand palm up to stop him. “We can talk about this later. Right now, I just need to go home, sleep it off, and get started on that presentation.”
His mouth twists and he fidgets with his cuff, like he’s fighting the urge to say more.
“Yes, Ms. Blunt.”
His formality rings like a bell in the room. I realize I haven’t called him Mr. Chambers once this morning. Maybe it’s the extreme vulnerability I feel at barfing in front of my intern. Or it’s just the pain, in my head, or in my heart, making me foolish. But right now, I really wish he’d call me Corrine.
Chapter 13: Wesley
Trying to be Corrine Blunt is not easy. When the head of an entire department takes a sick day, it’s like throwing a grenade into a chicken coop. Without the authority to make any decisions, the most I can do is rearrange schedules and collect ruffled feathers.
By the time I raise my head from ongoing calendar rearrangement, the only light in the hallway is the orange glow from the sun low in the sky. The only sound is the high whine of a vacuum somewhere else on the floor. I lean back in my chair and loosen my tie. Slowly I roll my shoulders down from where they’ve been hunched around my ears for hours.
