by Zoe York
As he drove home late that night, he knew his mind would be far too wired to sleep. He'd look in on Piper and hole up in his home office, start working out the specifics to his plan. This wasn't about money. No way in hell could he offer her the kind of salary she'd be accustomed to at a metropolitan paper with serious resources. So he had to play other cards. The benefits of small town life. The chance to take a bigger role and more control in the publication. The opportunity to raise her child in a town where the most serious crime in the last six months had been grand theft auto by a couple of high schoolers looking to joyride. Even connections to the Southern art scene for her wife. He'd get on the latter tomorrow and see if Peter Chadwick would reach out to Leslie Clark-Ellis about the possibility of a show. Might as well get Wishful in both their minds before he made the call.
Piper had left the lights on for him. Thoughtful. Because the po-boy Simone brought had been hours ago, Myles tugged open the fridge in search of leftover Chinese. Nothing.
Huh. She must've changed her mind. Damn, we need to go to the grocery.
He scribbled out a list while he was thinking about it, then walked quietly down the hall, not wanting to wake her.
The light from the bedroom shone into the hall. Myles glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight. Surely, she hadn't waited up for him.
But Piper wasn't curled up in bed reading or watching TV. The door to the bathroom was ajar, the light on in there. He pushed it open the rest of the way, expecting to see her getting ready for bed—and felt his heart stop at the sight of a long, naked leg stretched along the floor.
"Piper!" He bolted into the room.
She lay naked on the bath mat in front of the toilet, partially draped in a towel. Oh God, had she fallen? Somehow struck her head?
Myles crouched beside her, pitifully relieved to feel the warmth of living flesh when he laid a hand on her thigh. No blood. No bruising. At least half the scenarios that'd popped into his overactive mind, faded. "Piper, baby."
She slitted her eyes open, but didn't lift her head. "You're home." Her voice came out in a rusty croak.
"What the hell happened?"
Her eyes drifted shut again, as if even holding them open was too much effort. "Stomach flu. Don't touch me. You'll catch it."
“Screw that. What kind of husband would I be if I fell down on the ‘in sickness’ part?” Self-recriminations ricocheted through his mind for what kind of husband he’d been these past couple of weeks that he hadn’t even realized she’d been getting sick.
He started to scoop her up, but she groaned in protest.
“I don’t think I’m done throwing up.” As if to illustrate the point, she jackknifed up, gripping the bowl and retching. Nothing came up but bile.
“Oh, honey.”
Myles brought her a cold, wet washcloth and wiped her face. She groaned, a blend of pain and relief. He filled a glass from the bathroom counter and brought it back to where she lay draped on the rim, her head lolling on her arm. Sliding an arm behind her back, he lifted her to a sitting position and held the glass to her lips. “C’mon. Sip and swish.”
Once her mouth was washed out, he eased her back down. “You’re freezing.”
“Naked. Tile floor.”
“Yeah, why is that?”
“Barely made it out of the tub.”
Not sure where she’d put her pajamas, he pulled one of his own shirts out of the closet. “Let’s fix that.” Kneeling beside her, he slipped it over her head.
“Thanks.”
“Let’s get you out of the floor.”
“I don’t think I should be far from the toilet.”
“Okay then.” He bent and lifted her, shifting around and settling back on the floor in the tiny room with her in his lap.
“You really shouldn’t—”
“Shouldn’t what? Take care of you? Sickness and health. I’m already exposed. Deal with it.”
“You don’t have time for this,” she protested, shoving weakly at his shoulder. “You don’t have time for me.”
The resentment in her voice was faint but there. It rankled and fed the guilt already nipping at his heels. Did she have any idea what he’d had to do to spend all that time with her before the wedding? None of that was free, and he was having to pay the price for it now. Unfortunately, that meant he’d been a less than perfect spouse lately. What more did she expect him to do?
She wilted into him, pressing her clammy brow into the hollow of his throat. “That’s not fair. I’m sorry. I feel awful and it makes me bitchy.”
She’s sick as a dog and vulnerable. Everybody says stuff they don’t mean when they feel lousy.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say that this was temporary. If he could woo Vanessa into joining the staff, he’d be able to cut back and spend more time on that life Piper made him want. But the deal wasn’t done yet, and Myles wasn’t in the habit of making promises he didn’t know he could keep. Words meant nothing unless backed up with action. He knew that better than most. So instead of dubious promises, he tightened his arms. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about so many things right now.”
Piper stirred, making a noise of question.
He held her in place. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’ll rearrange things so I can stay home with you while you’re dealing with all this. You shouldn’t be alone when you’re this sick.” God knew what he’d have to give up to pull it off, but she was worth it.
“Should you actually be here?” Miranda gave Piper a critical once over.
“I look worse than I feel.” It was the truth. Mostly. She’d been able to keep some oatmeal down, and as she’d made it out the door before Myles started the coffee, nothing else had set her precarious stomach off.
“You look about two steps up from warmed-over death,” Shelby observed.
Piper made a face. “Thanks. You looked awesome, too, after you had the flu last year.”
“Just don’t give it to any of us,” Miranda said.
“Myles has been home taking care of me for days and didn’t catch it. You should be fine.” Which had been both wonderful and irritating. She was a crap patient, and she knew it. For all that she was great taking care of others, she didn’t tolerate it well herself, and Myles seemed to be on some kind of crusade to prove something by playing mother hen. Still, it had been great to spend some actual time with him, even if it had taken dire illness to drag him away from his beloved paper.
And now she was glad to get back to work. Resolute, Piper picked up the first patient chart of the day and went to call Mr. Clemmons back. The moment she opened the waiting room door, the scent of cigar smoke assailed her, making her stomach lurch.
No. Absolutely not. I am not throwing up again.
Eyes scanning the room for the asshole ignoring the non-smoking rule, she swallowed back the nausea. No one was smoking. And other than Mr. Clemmons, the only other people in the waiting room were a mom with two sniffling children and an elderly woman. None of them were likely cigar smokers.
What the hell?
When she was certain she could speak without anything but words coming out, Piper fixed a friendly smile on her face. “Mr. Clemmons, come on back and let me get your vitals.”
She took him into triage, grateful to be back to routine. Temperature. Blood pressure. Oxygen levels. Nature of complaint. That done, she placed him in room one and wandered back out to the office area.
“Does anybody else smell smoke?”
“I swear to God, the burnt popcorn smell is gone,” Shelby protested. “It’s been days.”
“No, not that. I smell cigar smoke. But Mr. Clemmons doesn’t smoke, and I kind of doubt any of the others in the waiting room are lighting up stogies.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Randolph Driscoll was in yesterday,” Miranda said. “You know he chain smokes cigars.”
“Maybe somebody should check the plants in the waiting room to see if he happened to use one for
an ash tray.”
“I don’t smell anything,” said Shelby.
Piper stepped up behind her at the counter that opened out front. The smell all but knocked her back two steps. “Seriously? You don’t smell that?” Her gorge rose, and she covered her mouth, stepping back.
“Oh, no. I know that face.” Shelby rolled back in her chair and picked up the disinfectant spray, brandishing it like a weapon. “Back away.”
“Piper, join me in three for a minute.” Miranda waited until she followed all the way to the room in the back.
When she shut the door behind them, Piper began to worry. “Am I in trouble?”
“Not with me. Sit down. You’re looking peaked.”
“I’m fine. I just want to get back to work.”
“Piper.” Miranda didn’t often pull out the trauma surgeon voice, but when she did, everyone was inclined to listen.
Piper sat, crossing her arms in defense of...she had no idea what. “I’m telling you, I’m not contagious.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Great. We’re agreed. Why are we back here?”
“I don’t think you’ve had the stomach flu.”
“Excuse me, I’ve been puking my guts up for five days.”
“Gastroenteritis doesn’t tend to last that long. The strain that’s been running rampant around here lasts forty-eight hours. And it’s highly contagious. There’s no way Myles wouldn’t have caught it if that’s what you had.”
“So I had some other strain. What does it matter?”
Miranda continued, hazel eyes level on Piper’s. “A stomach virus isn’t going to result in your being able to smell evidence of a patient who was here nearly twenty-four hours ago. One who definitely wasn’t smoking in the waiting room.”
Feeling mulish, Piper scowled. “I’m telling you, there’s something out there. The rest of you have stuffed up sinuses.”
“You’re overlooking the obvious diagnosis here.” Miranda watched her, a faintly amused expression on her face that made Piper feel like the class idiot.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Honey, when was your last period?”
Piper blinked, taken aback by the question. “I don’t know. I’d have to look at a calendar. But I’m not pregnant, Miranda. I’m on birth control.”
“So say members of the one percent all the time.”
“I can’t possibly be pregnant. I’ve only been married for three weeks.”
And I should have started right when we got back from our honeymoon.
The blood drained out of her head. “I can’t be pregnant,” she whispered.
“We can find out for sure and put your mind at ease.”
“Not here. If I do it here, everyone will know. If I am, I can’t risk it getting back to Myles before I have a chance to talk to him.”
And say what exactly? Hey, I know we went into this with an exit strategy in mind, and we talked about it being real, but guess what? Things just got complicated.
“Not something you two have discussed?”
“I don’t even know if he wants kids.” She thought of him with Preston. Surely, he wanted them. Someday, at least.
“Be right back.” Miranda disappeared, coming back a minute later with two boxes in her hand. Pregnancy tests. “Take these. Go home. If anybody asks, you’re still not quite up to being back at work. Find out for certain before you start flipping out.”
Numb, she slid them into her pocket. “Thanks.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
Somehow, Piper made it out the door and all the way home without giving in to the panic. Myles had taken her advice and gone on to the office. For once, she was grateful he wasn’t home. No reason he should be witness to the imminent freak out that would turn out to be over nothing. Because there was no way she could be pregnant.
But half an hour later, two identical positives proved her wrong.
Oh God. Oh God. How had this happened? She’d taken the damned pills like clockwork. She’d counted on them working as intended. And now she was pregnant with the child of a man who, despite all his actions to the contrary, had never even said he loved her. A man who might very well be already regretting his decision to go along with her crazy plan, for all that he’d been sweet and attentive taking care of her the last week.
He hadn’t signed on for this. Neither had she. This was supposed to be a friendship with marital benefits and the real potential for more. A fun adventure with an escape hatch should either of them change their mind. It wasn’t meant to be an instafamily.
She had to talk to him.
Her hand reached for the phone before she pulled it back. No. Not the kind of conversation to be had on the phone. He’d know the moment he heard her voice that something was wrong, and she wasn’t sure she could keep it from all spilling out, fueled by the rising panic beating in her chest.
She’d go to his office. Not ideal, but there was no way she could wait until he got home at whatever ungodly hour was necessary for him to make up the work he’d missed taking care of her. She’d go insane.
By the time she made it to The Observer, she’d managed to find some measure of control. It wouldn’t last long, but it ought to be enough to get past his staff and into his office for a private conversation. Putting on her best everything’s fine face, she went inside.
Patty was on the phone, but she smiled and waved Piper back toward Myles’ office. With a vague sense of unreality, she walked down the hall. The blinds were drawn, but his door was open and voices spilled out.
“I love this paper. I really do. I’ve endured a lot of shit to get it turned around, and that’s finally paying off.” Myles.
Piper smiled at the satisfaction in his voice, proud that he was finally getting what he wanted. But there was something else in his tone she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and it had her hesitating in the hall.
“But I think I’m about to the point where I have to suck it up and admit defeat.”
Defeat? What’s he talking about?
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Simone asked. “I mean, you put a lot into this. Who else would’ve gone so far in the name of the paper?”
Simone knew about their arrangement. Knew their marriage was a means to an end to buy out Myles’ investor.
Heart pounding, Piper strained to hear his response.
“Yeah, I did. And I tried really hard to believe in the possibilities. But I think it’s time to cut her loose and move on. She’s not who I thought she was, and I just don’t have anything left to give. I can’t let it be an emotional decision. It’s just business.”
And she remembered what he’d said when he’d come home to find her sick. I’m sorry about so many things right now.
Apparently, she was at the top of the list.
Piper felt her world shatter. Pain lanced through her chest, screaming down every nerve, stealing her breath. He didn’t love her. The marriage she’d wanted so desperately to be real was nothing but a means to an end, and he wanted out of the deal, just as his investor had wanted out of the paper because there wasn’t enough return on his investment.
It was just business.
Chapter 14
“I THINK I’M ABOUT to the point where I have to suck it up and admit defeat.” The admission left Myles feeling exhausted. Particularly in the wake of having been home with Piper most of the last week. He didn’t want to go back to the sixteen hour days and never see his wife.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Simone asked. “I mean, you put a lot into this. Who else would’ve gone so far in the name of the paper?”
Setting up the potential for a show for Leslie Clark-Ellis. Pulling together information on the local real estate market and showing how much home they could have here versus the city. Even getting information on the local schools—some of the best in the state. It had been a lot of work. But what choice did he have? Vanessa’s counter offer was ludicrous. Ther
e was no way he could meet it.
“Yeah, I did. And I tried really hard to believe in the possibilities. But I think it’s time to cut her loose and move on. She’s not who I thought she was, and I just don’t have anything left to give. I can’t let it be an emotional decision. It’s just business.”
“So what will you do?”
“Go through the process of formal search and see who comes out of the woodwork. There’s someone else out there right for the job. It’ll just take more time.” Meanwhile, there had to be something he could do, something he could change to make sure his marriage was still a priority.
His hand twitched toward his phone, wanting to text Piper and check on her.
Simone read his mind. “How’s Piper?”
“She went back to work this morning. Grumpy as hell after being an invalid for five days. But she still looked a little green, so not sure if it’ll take or not.” Never in his life had he seen anyone so sick, and that included seeing some of his college roommates after a bender. She’d barely managed to keep down more than a little chicken soup, crackers, and ginger ale until day before yesterday. “I want to get things wrapped up here as much as possible, in case I need to work from home again.”
“Jay had some ideas for how we could improve our work flow to allow you more freedom to work from your home office under normal circumstances.”
“Yeah?” All hail my favorite tech guy, he thought. “I’ll give him a call a little later.”
Maybe there was some software or equipment he could buy in the name of work-life balance. Now that he had full access to the trust, he had some more flexibility in his spending. Though Mr. Moncreiff, the attorney who handled Gram’s affairs—and Granddaddy’s before that for decades—might just have a coronary if he asked to pull out any more than he already had to pay off his investor. Myles could just imagine all the thoughts about recklessness and irresponsibility floating through the old man’s head.
Simone rose. “I’m off to finish the article on the new small business incentive program.”
Myles blew out a breath. “I guess I’m about to shoot down Vanessa’s counter offer. Might as well get it over with.”
