Never again.
Chloe lied curled around her orange pumpkin. The pressure on her temples was worse in that position, but being on her side reduced the bouts of nausea to a vague itch in the back of her throat. After hours of feeling her stomach rolled up and down as if she was caught in the storm of the century, the migraine was the less of two evils. If only the bed could stop heaving…
"Hello there."
She refused to open her eyes. "Go away Oliver."
"Drink this."
"No."
She would never again accept a drink from him. Ever. His chuckle shook the bed, damned him. "It'll help, I promise."
"You promised the sangria was safe, too."
His hand felt wonderfully cool against her skin when he cupped her neck to help her straighten up. The lead in her head banged on her forehead. She didn't like the feeling.
"I hate you."
Whatever he brought close to her face pricked her nostrils. Chloe eyed the glass through slits. "What's in that? It smells."
"I'll tell you after. Bottom up."
The mixture scalded her tongue and pipe so bad she coughed. Chloe braced herself for the humiliation of emptying her stomach on Oliver's lap. He deserved it, anyway. Nothing happened. The ball of fire rolled in her belly. The spices made her sneezy. Her head hurt more than ever.
Her so-called savior laughed—the jerk. At least he took pity on her and allowed her back into her fetal position so she could die in peace.
"Give it ten or fifteen minutes. You'll feel better."
Chloe moaned in disgust. She hugged her pumpkin tighter. Even if there was a slim chance that she survived this, she'd have to face the man himself… She'd clung to Oliver like a monkey last night. Probably groped him too, that part was a little fuzzy. It was his fault for giving alcohol to an underage person. And he smelled too nice. He was too handsome. When he gave you his undivided attention, you felt… unique. No wonder women, including her apparently, walked all over themselves to be a notch on his bedpost.
Chloe licked her dry lips, surprise to feel her tongue had regained its normal size and texture. Her mouth still felt like she'd swallowed a bag of rusty nails coated in dust, but her ears had stopped ringing. She opened one eye. The empty room didn't wobble. Much.
She pushed herself fully upright, surprised she actually managed to sit without the world tilting upside down. "In for a penny…"
Her legs shook, but held. Chloe staggered toward the ensuite bathroom. If she sat down on the floor in the shower, no one had to know.
As Oliver predicted, she felt mostly human fifteen minutes later. Her headache had abated when she shampooed her hair. A dull drum subsided, that she ignored easily. As far as migraines went, it wasn't worse that what she'd lived with for the best part of the last months. Moving felt like threading through water, but she was upright. At least she was on her feet, albeit with knees as firm as jelly.
Her stubborn streak pushed her to select a jeans skirt and a cotton stripped blouse. The outfit was light and comfortable. She forwent perfume—the scent bothered her— and makeup then ventured out of the bedroom. Her quest for coffee took her to the kitchen. Since the office door was closed, she assumed that Oliver was in another of his endless supply of meetings.
Mug in hand, Chloe relocated to the terrace with her laptop and her phone. She scanned her email, pleased to see that Barbara Stall' sources had been correct. She had two offers for her interview of Cecile Adams. The good doctor's assistant had also emailed yet another edited copy of her article—some of which made her ground her teeth—so she set to work.
"I bet this is a sight this apartment doesn't see often, one of Oliver's blondes actually working."
Her head jolted up at the interruption. She smiled when she recognized her visitor. "Maybe I'm just faking it."
Tess laughed as she slumped onto the seat next to her. "How's the head?"
"Not so bad. Coffee helps. What are you doing here?"
"I took the afternoon off. It was either that, or kill the intern. The Institute can survive half a day without me. Plus, we couldn't really talk yesterday. And you forgot your scarf."
The redhead looped the soft pink and gold fabric around her neck in loose circles. "There. It really works on you." She peered at Chloe' screen. "What are you working on?"
"Cecile Adams' interview. Can you believe that she sent me a fourth version of the article? She tried to correct my grammar this time."
Tess laughed. "The nerve!"
Chloe stuck out her tongue at her friend. She saved her document and put her laptop away. Meanwhile, Tess glanced around the terrace, stretching her neck to peek in the living room through the bay window. "I must say, those billionaires know how to live in style."
"Yes, it's nice. You wouldn't think so, because it's all so pristine but… It actually feels like a home." Contrary to my apartment, Chloe thought. She grabbed her mug and pulled a face at the cold coffee.
"Come on, I'll give you a tour of the kitchen."
Tess followed her through the double doors of the bay window then across the living room. Seeing that Oliver's office was still closed, she assumed he'd only interrupted his work to let Tess in, so she decided against inviting him to join them.
"How come I'm the only one hungover today?"
"Experience."
Chloe rolled her eyes. She let Tess inspect the kitchen, while she concentrated on the sophisticated coffee machine. "You lot should have known better than serve alcohol to a minor."
"Don't tell me you never fell into your parents' booze as a teenager."
Chloe glanced over her shoulder as she put the coffee maker on. "My rebel years were a bit… different."
Tess had the decency to blush. Chloe eyed the loaf of fresh bread by the toaster. Now that her symptoms had relented, she felt a little hungry. Then there was that nagging thought in the back of her head, which kept swirling and swirling since she'd woken up.
She sliced a thick piece of the bread, popped it in the toaster. The idea wouldn't leave her alone. "Tess, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"Do you… Do you think it's a mistake? Me staying here with Oliver? Considering my situation?"
"I'll go on a limb here and assume that by situation you're talking about your escape from the wonderful land of Oz. Yes, it is."
Chloe looked at her toast jumped out, its perfect golden brown less mouthwatering that she originally thought it would be. The whiff of baked bread made her stomach rolled uncomfortably. She forced herself to put the square of bread onto a plate, grabbing a knife to spread some butter on the top.
"Oliver lives his life in the spotlights, where you cannot afford to be."
"I know but…" It scared her to death to admit the rest. "I don't think I can go back to the shadows. To the way I was before."
Saying it aloud lifted a weight from her shoulders. Chloe squared her shoulders. Sullivan-Lane women don't wallow in self-pity. They stand up and they fight. She lifted her chin to meet her friend' stare dead-on. "The original plan was to stay here for another couple of days. I will go back to my place at Salinas Point next week after the Masquerade." She broke a corner of her toast, munched and swallowed cardboard. "It doesn't mean Oliver and I can't see each other. We're friends. Friends are allowed to spend time together, have diner, that sort of things. Just keeping a low profile."
"Actually, this might prove a tad difficult. I'm sorry, Chlo. I should have known this was going to happen."
Both women turned toward Oliver.
