Damn. If Pippa’s in the mood to argue, this could go on forever. In a moment of inspiration, I try using my best bossy Dom voice. “Pippa,” I say in a hard tone and she goes still. “Open your mouth.”
She blinks, then does what I say. “Now swallow.”
She makes a face, but she does.
“Good girl. I’ll be right back. Just lie down and rest, now.”
“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 lookedbetter. But for someone who just finished hurling, you’re stunning. Gorgeous. Top-tier.”
