Page 17 of The Plus-One Deal
“It’s your suite,” she said, when I came inside. “I’ll take the couch, but I want the first shower.”
“I’m fine with the couch,” I said, but Claire was up already. She marched out to the lounge and tossed her bag on the couch, and went rooting through it. I watched as she pulled out a pink, fluffy robe, one I thought I recognized.
“Is that from college?”
She looked up at me. “What?”
“Your robe. That’s from college.”
“Excuseyou. It’s new.” She shook it out. I tried not to laugh, but it was worse than her college robe, cotton-fluff pink with teddy bear patches. Big, puffy pompoms hung off the cord. I grabbed one and squeezed it.
“Are you serious with that?”
“What? It’s comfy. And you weren’t supposed to see it.” Color rose in her cheeks, darkening her freckles. She dipped her head so her hair hid her blush.
“Where’d you even find that thing?”
“I Googled ‘soft robes.’”
“And that was the softest?” I ran my hand down the sleeve. “Ooh. Thatissoft.”
“It’s made of this fabric that gets softer when you wash it.” Claire snatched her robe back and flicked me with a pompom. “Now, if you’re done making fun of me…”
“I’m not,” I said. “Want to see something?”
Claire eyed me suspiciously. “I don’t know. Do I?”
I went to my travel bag and pulled out my slippers, moccasin-style, lined with soft wool. “See? Fuzzy slippers.”
For the first time since dinner, Claire laughed for real. A tight line had formed between her brows, and now it unknotted, and her shoulders went loose.
“You donotwear those.”
“Then why did I bring them?”
“I have the same ones at home, but pink, like my robe.”
I laughed along with her, but my own tension stayed. I’d never expected the no-fly rule would apply to us. Not many rules did, when you had your own jet. Who could say now, how long we’d be stuck here, my empire crumbling without me to run it?Don’t turn your back, that was rule one. The moment you did, it all fell apart, everything you’d worked for. Everything you’d built. What if they kept us grounded two days? A week? A week in tech was like a year in most fields. Anything could happen in the space of a week.
Claire put her hand on my shoulder. “We’ll make some phone calls tomorrow. Find a way out.” Then she was gone, heading into the shower. Outside, the wind sighed and surged in the ferns. The palms on the beach shivered and bowed. I could see the clouds now, rolling over the stars, blurring out the horizon with a curtain of rain. The storm was coming, no doubt about that. I hurried to grab my laptop before we lost Wi-Fi.
By the time Claire came out, I was deep in Peanutgate fix-it mode, lining up cleaners and a new menu. Just nixing the peanuts wouldn’t be enough. When you’d screwed up, or were perceived to have done so, fixing the problem was only the start. You had to go further. Better than “not broken.” I ordered a selection of low-allergen menus — low-carb, low-FODMAP, something for every palate — and forwarded them to catering for them to sort through. Then I set to work on our twin PITA mergers.
“It’s raining,” said Claire, reaching for her own laptop. “But if this is the worst it gets…” She didn’t finish the thought, already buried in her own work. I hovered over my calendar, my lips a tight line. I needed to set meetings, lunches, sit-downs. Joe could handle some of them, and my legal team, butIwasConstel, not any of them. Which would be worse, a delay, or my absence? If I played it right, keeping them waiting could read as a power move. As long as they didn’t find out I was stranded.
A soft snort caught my ear, and I glowered at Claire. I’d thought she was laughing, amused by my plight, but her face had gone slack. She’d gone to sleep.
“Hey, Claire…?”
She didn’t answer. Her laptop slid to one side. I caught it adroitly before it could fall and wake her, and set it on the table where she’d see it when she woke. Then I took the spare blanket off my own bed, shook it out quietly, and draped it over her form. Claire muttered and sighed as I pulled it up to her chin.
“Shh,” I told her. “Sleep tight, okay?” I leaned over, not breathing, and switched off the light.
“Mm… night,” she said, not opening her eyes. She snuggled into the blanket and my heart kind of stuttered, like a skipped beat, or a sudden flutter. I thought of those cherry flowers that night in Manhattan, pink as Claire’s lips. What if I’d kissed her, asked her out on a date? If she’d said yes to me, and all this was real? I pictured myself coming back to my penthouse, finding her sleeping on my custom-built chaise. Slipping a pillow under her head. Gracing her with a soft kiss, not to disturb her. I pictured doing that every night, doing it by habit. And then in the morning — in the morning, what?
My reverie screeched to an ungraceful halt. In the morning, I’d be up for my run at five. She’d be in the shower by then, or at the gym. I wouldn’t see her. She wouldn’t see me. We’d be off circling our separate orbits, schmoozing our clients, working till late. I’d be lucky to catch her sleeping one night in ten, lucky tospeak to her half that, even. We didn’t have time for more than we had, more than this friendship, this plus-one deal. Even this, some day, we might have to drop it.
“Sleep tight,” I said again, and headed back to my laptop.