Page 103 of With a Cherry On Top

Shit.

She’s sick. My body moves until I knock on the second door—the bathroom. “Charlotte?”

There’s a pause. Then a hoarse, “Aaron?”

“Are you okay?”

The toilet flushes, then the sink runs. A few seconds later, the door swings open and she steps out, her skin pale, her lips pressed together like she’s annoyed to find me standing there. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair messy.

“Why are you here?”

I hesitate. “Uh, I?—”

“I didn’t text you.”

“I know.” Yeah, she definitely hates me. “I was worried.”

She glares like I’m being ridiculous, then moves past me, retreating to her room. She doesn’t close the door, so I take it as permission to follow, stopping just inside the threshold.

“Can I make you tea or something?”

“I’m fine.”

She doesn’t look fine. She looks exhausted, like she barely has the energy to stand. But I know better than to push, so I nod, shifting on my feet.

“I was going to make mushroom risotto for lunch, but if you?—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Okay.” Her voice feels final, like a door slamming shut. I should leave it at that, but I need to say something. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t look up from her phone. “About what? Nausea?”

“No, not that. About what happened yesterday.”

Her eyes narrow. “Yesterday?”

“Yes. The . . .” How do I phrase it? “The whole . . .Colesituation.”

She hisses through her teeth. “Yeah, Aaron, that’s not really ayesterdaything.” Her finger traces a circle around her face. “What’s the one game you should never play?”

“Poker,” I mumble on auto-pilot. Wait, does that mean . . . “Youknew?”

“The moment your eyes went all deer-in-headlights when Beatrice introduced us.”

Oh, for crying out loud. She’s been playing me this whole time—probably laughing at my expense when I tried to hide the fact that I have a cat, or when I slipped up and told her about the art equipment in her room.

I should be mad, but I deserve it after lying to her.

“So you’re not . . . angry?”

“About you not wanting to share with your client’s daughter that you’re the guy who burst into tears after she gave you an orgasm?” Her nose wrinkles, but she’s clearly amused. “Nah, I kind of get it.”

“Not exactly my proudest moment.”

“I know you think so.” She drops onto her bed. “But it was what you needed. I’m just glad I could provide.”

Okay, so that’s...sorted, I guess. But if that’s not the reason she didn’t text this morning, then there’s gotta be something else. Is it because she feels sick? That doesn’t explain her bad mood.

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