“Sorry,” she said. “I thought you were the Gatorade delivery. You caught me by surprise.”
Her voice was an octave lower than normal and I found it sexy as hell. She could have read the phonebook to me and I would have been rock hard and ready the whole time. Then I felt like a jerk for thinking about sleeping with her when she was in such a vulnerable state.
I held up the soup. “I brought you a present.”
She stared at the soup like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, then stepped back to let me pass. I knew I was risking getting sick by walking in there but I didn’t care.
The apartment looked different than it had a few days ago. The couch was covered in blankets and tissues. There were medicine bottles on the coffee table. A humidifier was running in the corner, making the air warm and slightly damp.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Ina said, shuffling toward the couch and collapsing into what was clearly a carefully constructed nest. “I’m disgusting and contagious and you’re going to get whatever plague I have.”
“I don’t get sick.”
“Everyone says that and then they wake up half-dead.” More coughing.
I went to her small kitchen, found a bowl, and poured some soup into it. It was still steaming hot, exactly how I’d requested. I brought it to her along with a spoon and set both on the coffee table.
“Eat up,” I said.
She looked at me with those fever-bright eyes. “Are you always this bossy?”
I gave her a dry look. “I am your boss.”
Ina shrugged and picked up the bowl. “You bring all your employees soup when they’re sick?”
I didn’t answer.
With shaking hands, she took a careful sip, then closed her eyes. “God, this is so good. How is this so good?”
“Those deli guys are annoying but they make damn fine food.” I sighed. “Artists are always difficult.”
She took another sip. “You went back there for me?”
“The soup cured your roommate. Figured it might work for you too.”
She smiled. Her puffy eyes and red nose did nothing to dim the beauty of that smile. I would buy Ina gallons of soup if it made her look at me like that.
I sat down in the chair across from her, trying not to stare.
“I’m sorry I’m not at work,” she said between sips, her voice a smoky baritone. “I know there is so much to do with the Valentine’s campaign.”
“We’re fine. Norma’s handling it. Heidi is in her element. This is her show this time of year anyway. The campaign has been planned for months. All we need to do is execute, and she doesn’t need either of us for that.”
“Still. I should be there.”
“You should be here,” I countered. “Resting so you don’t end up with bronchitis like your roommate did.”
She was quiet for a moment, just drinking soup. “Have you ever actually used Cupid’s Arrow? Like, made a profile?”
The question caught me off guard. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I never saw the point in it,” I said honestly. “Not for myself, anyway.”
“But you built the company. You’ve seen it work for people.”
I nodded. “I’ve seen the algorithm work. I’ve seen the matchmakers do their jobs well. I’ve seen people find companionship and partnership and all the things we promise. But the kind of love we sell? The overwhelming, all-consuming, changes-your-life kind of love? I’m not sure that’s real. Or if it is real, I’m not sure it’s meant for people like me.”
