“Oh God, take me now.”
He had to face facts. He didn’t have a cold. He wasn’t making it to set today. He needed to call Simone and warn her he was sick. This would throw off the scheduling. It would be a nightmare for the studio. He mustered the energy to turn his head toward his nightstand. Empty. Must’ve left his phone downstairs.
He whimpered.
Okay, this wasn’t an insurmountable problem. He wasn’t helpless.He was sick, not dead. He’d go downstairs and get his phone.
All right, buddy. On a count of three, we’re getting up.
One.
Two.
Three...
He lifted his head. Strained to lift his shoulders. Grunted.
His head fell back to the mattress. Yeah, he wasn’t going anywhere. The phone would have to come to him. Thank God Chloe hadn’t left.
He rested a moment, his pulse beating out a painful tattoo in his temple. Then he opened his mouth and called, “Chloe!” But the call was more like a whisper.
He’d try again. In a minute. After he took a few more deep breaths and rested up. Called on his reserves. But by the time he caught his breath, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open another second.
Chapter20
What was taking Liam so long? Chloe gave the kitchen counter one last swipe and tossed out the paper towel. Her gaze drifted over the clean dining room table, the spotless floors, and the sparkling windowpanes. Liam kept an immaculate home. There really wasn’t anything else for her to do.
She glanced upstairs where he’d disappeared almost an hour ago. Even allowing for Hollywood grooming and hair products (because that hair didn’t happen by accident), he should be finished by now.
Was he okay? She hadn’t heard him moving around in a while, but then, she’d been making noise of her own. “Liam?” Her call was surely loud enough for him to hear through the cracked bedroom door. But he didn’t respond. She tried again, a little louder.
Nothing but silence.
What if he’d passed out or something? She should check on him. She crept up the stairs. The house was built like a castle—not even the stairs creaked.
She reached the landing, approached the door, and gave a little push. “Liam?” she all but whispered. But silence met her call.
She stepped into the room, which was well lit by a wall of windows, and found him face down and sideways on a king-sized bed. Buttercup curled at his side, both of them sound asleep. At least she hoped Liam was just asleep. What if...?
No, that was unlikely. He was young and otherwise healthy. Shezeroed in on his back and yes, indeed, his chest rose and fell. He was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but alive.
Being in his bedroom felt a bit intrusive, but man, did it smell like heaven. She took one more deep breath before she checked her watch. He was due on set soon. And he couldn’t have called Simone since his phone was downstairs on the coffee table.
She walked toward the bed, noting his flushed cheeks and unshaven jaw. His hair lay damp on his forehead and his lashes were still spiky from the shower.
When she reached the bed she leaned over and touched his forehead with the back of her hand. Still warm.
His lids fluttered open and his eyes locked on hers. “Save yourself,” he croaked.
She bit back a smile. Reality had apparently set in somewhere between the shower and bed. “Don’t worry about me. I never get sick. But your fever’s back and I don’t think you’ll make it to set today.” Or tomorrow or the next, but she probably shouldn’t hit him with all that right now. “I’ll get your phone so you can call Simone.”
“Thanks.” His eyes fell closed as if he didn’t have the energy to hold them open. His hands lay on the bed like dead fish washed up on the shore, and Buttercup was making a fishsicle out of one of them.
“Want me to put Buttercup downstairs?”
“She’s fine.”
“Okay, I’ll get your phone.”
