“Do you need anything? Is there anything I could do that would help you?”
Emma needed a nap and some food, in that order. Asthma attacks always left her exhausted.
“No, boss, I’m good,” she said. “I kind of can’t leave my room, on paramedics’ orders, but I can get room service later. Don’t you have plans tonight anyway?”
Emma hadn’t made the plans, which was rare, but the evening was blocked off on Jo’s schedule. It was a personal thing, not a work thing, or Emma would’ve known what it was.
“Yes, well...” Jo didn’t say anything more.
“I appreciate you checking in,” Emma said when Jo stayed silent. “I have your six o’clock wake-up call already scheduled for the morning. Let me know if I can do anything else, yeah? Other than that, I’ll just spend the night watching bad television or something.”
“Right,” Jo said. “I’d better go.”
“Have a good night.”
“You, too, Emma.”
—
Emma took a nap,and when she woke up, she felt almost normal. Almost like her lungs never had any issue. She was starving, though. She thought about the ramen place she went to last year at upfronts and again earlier this week. She thought about the best slice of pizza she’d ever eaten, from this walk-up window in Brooklyn. Maybe she could get away with sneaking out for dinner. Except there was still just the slightest twinge in her chest, and really, she knew better.
It didn’t mean she couldn’t get dinner brought to her, though. Thank God for technology. Emma scrolled through one of the three food delivery apps on her phone. The number of choices overwhelmed her. She had researched restaurants, as she didbefore any trip, but she hadn’t fully narrowed them down. And for some, the ambiance of the place was important—ambiance she wouldn’t be getting with delivery.
There was a knock on her door. She thought, wildly, that food was arriving before she’d even ordered it. But it wasn’t delivery—obviously.
It was Jo.
“Hungry?” she asked when Emma opened the door. She waved the pizza box she’d brought in Emma’s direction.
Emma was barefoot and not wearing a bra under her tank top. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What?”
“You haven’t eaten, have you?” Jo asked. Emma shook her head. “Good. I’m starving.”
Jo stayed in the hallway until Emma pushed the door farther open. Then Jo strolled in like she owned the place, set the pizza box and a plastic bag on the desk, and pulled paper plates and napkins from the bag.
“Ms. Jones,” Emma said. She finally managed to close the door to the room. “You had plans.”
Jo fluttered her hand. “Evelyn was being obnoxious,” she said. “And you can’t miss out on New York pizza.”
Emma was not going to ask who Evelyn was.
Emma wished she’d closed her suitcase. The bra she was wearing earlier was strewn over the top. There was no way to surreptitiously close it. Jo didn’t seem to mind. She took a seat in the chair at the desk and opened the pizza box.
“Extra-large cheese,” she said. “We’ll have to get drinks from the vending machine.”
“Let me get it,” Emma said, eager to contribute something to the meal.
“Paramedics said you had to stay in your room, I thought,” Jo said. “Be right back.”
As soon as the door closed behind Jo, propped open by the latch so that she wasn’t locked out, Emma was in motion. She stuffed all the clothes on the floor into her suitcase, grabbing the bra before flipping the top closed. She hid in the bathroom to pull her shirt off, get the bra on, then put her shirt back on.
By the time Jo got back, Emma was serving herself a slice of pizza, fully clothed.
“Sprite or root beer?” Jo asked.
“Either is fine,” Emma said. “Can I pay you back for some of this?”
Jo rolled her eyes and didn’t even respond. She handed Emma the root beer.