I turned to leave and heard the man sigh behind me as he got out of his chair. I made it to Lola’s room before he could catch up with me. I knocked hard. “Lola, open up,” I called, pressing my face close to the door to make sure she’d hear me.
“Mister, I’m going to have to ask you to get off my property.” The man was behind me now with a fucking shotgun in both hands. He had it aimed at the ground just in front of my feet, but his eyes were hard as he glared me down.
The door opened to reveal Lola wrapped in what looked like a little kid’s blanket. It was red and white checkered with patched up spots. Her eyes went wide when she saw me, and then wider still when she saw Old Yeller’s shotgun.
“You know this asshole, darlin’?” The man asked in a completely different tone than he’d used on me. Did this asshole think he had a chance with her? That if he played white knight hard enough she’d let him in her fucking pants?
I had a sudden urge to yank the gun from his hands and hit him over the head with it, but Lola smiled sweetly. Her eyes were red rimmed and looked tired, but she still managed to look painfully kind. “It’s okay, Rusty. Thank you for looking out for me though. This is my Boss, Mr. Stone.”
“From that big ass eyesore of a tower? Maybe I should shoot him after all,” Rusty said, but he relaxed his grip on the gun and let it aim more to the side.
“He’s probably just here to make sure I am actually sick,” Lola said. “Missing work is a capital offense at Stone Financial.”
“Or maybe I was making sure you didn’t need anything,” I said.
Lola looked surprised at that. Hell, I felt surprised to hear it come out of my mouth. I’d mostly convinced myself I was only here for the exact reason she said. I was just being the hardass boss who was making sure she didn’t think she could play hookie and fake sick.
“Alright, then,” Rusty said. “You just holler if he causes trouble. I’ll keep Betsy loaded.” He headed back down toward the stairs.
I took another look at Lola and saw she certainly wasn’t faking. Her eyes were heavy lidded and her lips looked dry. Her voice was soft and hoarse.
“Have you been hydrating?” I asked.
Lola tugged her blanket tighter around herself, leaning in the doorway like she could fall asleep on her feet. “I’ve been throwing up and sleeping.”
I pushed the door open wider and stepped inside the apartment. “You need water.”
“Hey,” she said weakly. I heard the door close and the sound of her shuffling after me. “I didn’t invite you in.”
“I’m not a vampire. I don’t care. And Jesus, what the hell is that smell?”
“The Tinkerbells,” she said.
I opened a few cabinets until I found a sad assortment of paper cups wrapped in cellophane. “Are these your glasses?”
“My asshole boss hasn’t given me much time for new house shopping.”
I felt a very real stab of anger at that. I may push my employees, but I took care of them financially. I paid above average at every position and provided some of the best benefits and stock options in the industry. Seeing the way Lola was living made me feel like absolute shit.
I took one of the little cups out and filled it with water from her fridge. I noticed the “change filter” light was blinking.
“What have you taken for your symptoms?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Where is your medicine?”
“New York,” she said. She was laying on the couch with an arm draped over her eyes.
I clenched my jaw, setting the water on the table beside her. “Drink this.”
“No, I’ll just throw it up.”
“You need to drink something.”
She sat up, wincing and looking at the water cup like it was a snake.
“At least a sip,” I said, softening my voice with considerable effort.
Lola met my eyes and took a small sip of the water. “Happy?”
“No. Stay here. I’m going to go get you some things.”
“Christian,” she sighed. “If you want me to organize your itinerary, can you at least wait until I’m done barfing?”
Jesus. She really thought I would push work on her right now, didn’t she? And yet I couldn’t exactly blame her. My fear of following in Hector’s footsteps had me acting like the boss from hell around her. I couldn’t help replaying the way she’d called me Christian instead of Mr. Stone, though. Maybe it was seeing me outside the office, but she strictly kept things formal with me under normal circumstances.
“No,” I said. “I’m not talking about work. I’m talking about medicine. Maybe a thermometer. Something to drink with electrolytes to keep you hydrated.”
She watched me through narrowed eyes. “You want to help me?”