Page 16 of Man Flu

Facing the conference room window with the blinds only partially closed, I happen to see Logan running by with Cora cradled in his arms. What the hell is going on? “I uh—”

“Is everything okay, Ms. Pierce?” Caroline asks.

“No,” I say, cupping my hand over my forehead. “My daughter is very sick.”

Not one of them says a word. If they were moms, they’d say something. But they’re all like twenty-three.

“So, can I still ask you some questions, or—”

My baby is sick, and I’m stuck in here with these tweenybots. I look down at my watch, which is such a no-no for sales, and in general, it’s just a rude habit when talking to someone, but it is what it is. I pull in a deep breath, placing my trust in the hands of a hot stranger, who oddly enough likes to be around kids but doesn’t have any of his own. People like him don’t exist. I’m sure of it. At thirty-three, I think I would know. “Of course,” I say, hearing the high-pitched bite of my voice.

“So, say we purchase the space of a web banner for the duration of three months—” I’m not sure I completely hear what comes after the first few words because my mind is spinning with worry.

“Yes, you’re correct,” I tell her. “A web banner for three months will offer you the highest exposure.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Caroline deadpans.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat your question.” My head is not at this meeting and not on veggies or ad space, or—shit, is she talking again?

“Would you be willing to negotiate in with a link on your sidebar as well?”

“Typically, that isn’t something we do, but I like you, so yes, we’ll offer that incentive for the first month of your plan.”

“Great, so what about—”

“Caroline, normally, I wouldn’t do this, but as I mentioned, my daughter is very sick, and I’m going to need to end this meeting a bit early today. Please don’t take this as any form of disrespect, but my daughter must come first, before I can give you my full attention. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, we’ll—” Caroline looks around to the other three. “We’ll be in touch, I suppose.”

I ignore the frustration in her voice and jet out of the meeting room to go find Cora and Logan.

The moment I exit the department doors, I find them in the corner, hovering over a large plant.

“We didn’t make it too far,” Logan says.

Cora is leaning over the plant, vomiting.

“Oh, baby.” I run over to her and take her hair from Logan’s hand. “I am so sorry.” I’m apologizing to both of them, but I’m looking at Logan.

“You think I haven’t seen puke before?” he asks with laughter.

“I suppose.” I’ve never been a fan of watching anyone else vomit their guts up, but it comes with the mom territory. I don’t have a choice in the matter, but I want to spare Logan from the experience as much as possible, especially after all he’s already done for me today. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“She woke up, interrogated me for a full two minutes, finished by asking who the ‘hell’ I was, then told me she was going to be sick.” Oh, Cora. Why? Why? Why?

I place my hand on my forehead. “That’s my daughter.”

“Feisty little thing,” he says.

Cora stands up and wipes her arm across her mouth, with a sickened look tugging at her sad eyes. “I think I feel better now,” she rasps.

“Oh good, sweetie. Let’s get you some water, and I’ll take you home.”

“Who is this beefcake? Is this the Batman man, Mom?” My eyes nearly fall out of my head, hearing her mention the words beefcake and Batman, which was only said by me late last night when I was talking to Brielle on the phone for a whole two minutes. Cora had been asleep for at least three hours when I made the call.

“Cora!”

Logan looks up toward the fluorescent lights and bites down on his bottom lip. I’m absolutely mortified and have nothing to say in response to this. I’ll scold her later when we aren’t standing in front of the beefcake.