"That's not necessary."
"I know, I know. I am legendary for not being the best cook. I wasn't going to subject you to that. But I will have Helen make you something. She likes that kind of shit. Do you need anything else? Fluids? Drugs? A ride to the emergency medical office?"
"I think I'm all set. It's just a cold. I should be better in like two or three days, tops."
"The office will fall apart without you, but take as much time as you need to get better. And try not to be too offended if I Lysol you from head to toe when you come back. Feel better!" she said, making her way toward the door. "Oh, and I have it on good authority from the owner of a sex shop that the vibrator I brought you is aces. I imagine orgasms have healing powers. Have fun with your guybrator!" she called from the hallway as she left.
Alone, I made myself some tea as I looked through the basket again, taking the items to their rightful places. I even put the guybrator in the nightstand in case I decided to take her advice.
I drank my tea while flipping through possible documentaries on my TV, but mostly replaying our conversation in my head.
I should have been humiliated.
That she knew.
Not only was she my boss, but she was—in some convoluted way—related to Rush.
But I guess Fiona just had the ability to make you comfortable with touchy subjects because she was just so open and carefree about everything. I guess you had to be to sell your own used panties and build a whole phone sex operating business.
She was also one of the prettiest women I had ever seen. So she knew a thing or two about beauty. And on top of that, she was incredibly blunt. I'd once overheard her tell one of the girls at work that she sounded like a hamster stuck in a wheel when she pretended to orgasm with her callers.
So, like she said, she wasn't someone to blow smoke.
And she told me I was pretty.
Fiona thought I was pretty.
Rush had kissed me in bed.
Maybe I had spent my entire life seeing myself the way a handful of bullies had described me.
Those were things I needed to discuss with my therapist.
Once I got better.
I took Fee's bath bomb, filling my tub, soaking until my head felt less congested.
Later that night, I got a text telling me there was soup in front of my door, and I went out to find chicken and barley soup that was better than anything I'd ever tasted.
After that, I passed out for another eight hours, feeling reasonably better, able to breathe out of one nostril. But, hey, that was better than the mouth-breathing I had been doing the day before.
I was just taking the soup out of the fridge to reheat when there was a knock at my door.
"It's open, Ma," I called, taking the lid off the soup. "Fiona brought me soup. Do you want to try some?" I asked. "It is amazing. Like maybe even better than Gram's soup. I know, that's sacrilege to say, but it's true..."
When I got no response, I turned, expecting my mom.
And seeing Rush instead.
"Jesus," I hissed, hand flying to my heart that had tripped into overdrive. "Rush, what are you... how are you here?"
"You're sick?" he asked, gaze moving over my robe, my bed-messy hair, my swollen sinuses.
"I, ah, yeah. That's why I haven't been at work. I caught something on the plane back. I mean, I think anyway. Those things are Petri dishes."
"Probably because you slept in the cold that last night."
"You can't get sick from being cold," I told him, shaking my head. "It was probably from the plane. The woman next to me had twelve grandchildren. She probably gave me something one of them got from school. You thought I was faking it?"
"I don't... I thought..." he started, his hand reaching up to run through his hair.
"I'm supposed to be the one stammering," I told him, giving him a weak smile.
"I thought you were trying to avoid me," he admitted.
I wanted to say that was ridiculous, that I would never do something that pathetic. But, deep down, I knew I was capable of that. Just for a few days, while I sorted things out.
Still, it bothered me that he thought I was that torn up over a kiss that I would avoid work to avoid him, that he saw me as that weak and sad.
Even if I could be weak and sad.
"I have no reason to avoid you."
"You seemed to be avoiding me pretty well at the cabin. Talking to Beau to get out of talking to me."
Was that insecurity in his voice?
No, it couldn't have been.
Men like Rush freaking Rivers didn't deal with pesky things like insecurity. He was gorgeous, funny, interesting, sexy, and charming. He had the whole world at his feet. There was nothing to be insecure about.