Scrooge

23. Alexander

23

ALEXANDER

“W ell… that was one hell of a Thanksgiving,” Laurent says as he sits in the chair in front of my desk. I have been here since seven this morning, but I’ve done nothing. My eyes are watering, my nose is running, my body aches. And my mind is elsewhere.

“Which part?” I ask. The past day or two are a blur.

Anytime I try to focus on work, I think back to the kiss Haylee and I shared on her doorstep. Where I took her in my arms and put my lips to hers when no one else was around. It was just me and her, and I couldn’t hold back. I don’t regret it, but we haven’t talked since, and I don’t know whether to send her flowers, ask her for another date, sweep her up and bring her to my apartment, or let her make the first move.

“Well, first, there was the proposal?” he says, watching me carefully. “You didn’t have to get engaged; the tide was already turning.”

“That was the initial plan, so we are sticking to it,” I say firmly, feeling surprisingly good about my decision.

The media are frothing over the news. I’m getting followed. There are media at the front of my building and out in front of Tucker Toys, but Haylee and her family are taking it all in stride. They are all remarkable people, resilient, and have accepted me into their lives, no question.

“Well, you didn’t have to give her a rock. She will have to give that back,” Laurent says, and I shuffle in my seat.

“She needed a rock. Anything less would cause suspicion,” I tell him as I run my hand through my hair, thinking about how good my ring looks on her hand. I wanted something significant. I want the fucking world to know she is mine.

“And then there is Deloris…” Laurent’s less than pleased that he wasn’t briefed on that saga. Media got wind early of us finding Deloris. A tip-off from someone at the first shelter told them all about me driving around homeless shelters in my car worth more than a few hundred thousand dollars. Not a good look. By the time we got to the ER, I hadn’t realized, but we had a small following and photos from a long-range lens captured the moment I helped Deloris out of the car and walked both her and Haylee into the care of medical professionals.

“Deloris is a homeless person who needed care,” I state calmly. I shouldn’t feel so connected to her cause, but I do. It is unlike me, and I’m tense about it.

“She also has a record. Prostitution, robbery…" He gives me a pointed look, concerned with how this could affect my reputation, and I frown. This is information he emailed to me last night. I didn’t think about the ramifications of helping Deloris. Now, there are two headlines making waves in the media. There are more positive stories about me helping a homeless person on Thanksgiving than there are negative stories of me being with a prostitute on Thanksgiving, but both are running hot.

“What are our people saying?” I ask, wondering what the staff and the shareholders are thinking.

“Mostly shock, intrigue, and dare I say, it’s favorable,” he comments, like it surprises him. “So it looks like this little contract we have with Haylee is working. Your likeability has increased, but now after Thanksgiving, it has skyrocketed. Apparently, the connection with Tucker Toys is a positive step because everyone is familiar with the store, so immediate kudos from that is coming your way, too. Not to mention, the engagement to top it all off.”

Needing to move, I walk to the windows. The city looks the same. It hasn’t changed, but it feels different and looks different in my eyes. I find the spot where Tucker Toys is located. The solid beacon in my life now, sporting cars and people on the sidewalk outside.

“I’ve fielded calls from three designers who want to make her dress, four venues who are offering their establishments for the reception, not to mention, the flowers and cake operators… they are coming in by the dozen,” he says like he’s checking items off a list. “They now want you as a keynote at the conference, New York Business magazine is calling, wanting an interview and cover shot, and I am even getting calls about Haylee.”

“What about Haylee?” I ask, feeling extremely protective, even though my head is thumping and my sinuses are burning.

“Interviews, offers of clothes and jewelry. I mean, she is hot property and everyone wants to know who she is and how she captured your heart… which brings me to the next thing we need to discuss.”

“What else?” I ask, wishing this conversation would end already. I just want this day to end so I can sleep off this cold.

“We need to start thinking about the breakup,” he says matter-of-factly, and I feel like I have been punched in the stomach.

“Breakup?” I blanche.

“We need to strategize how to manage it. What we are going to say and when. I was thinking she could cheat on you,” Laurent suggests, and I still.

“Cheat on me?” I grit out as I rub the back of my neck and walk back across my office, the blood pumping through my body making me feel lightheaded.

“Well, we need to keep you in a favorable light…”

“It won't work. Anyone who knows Haylee would know that is not something she would do. She is caring, empathetic, so friendly and smart. Really fucking good at painting too. You know, she does these portraits of people, it looks like they’re photographs, but it is her paint, her strokes, her brush…” I trail off, feeling energized just talking about her. “She is well-known in the community. People gravitate toward her. She has this energy that shines out of her, you know?” I say to Laurent, who is now staring at me, mouth agape.

“Oh my God…” he whispers, looking shocked.

“What?” I ask, eyes narrowing at his reaction.

“You like her, really like her,” he states like it’s a fact, and I pause.

“No. This is an agreement,” I lie easily, hating the taste of the words on my tongue.

“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s it anymore. You have fallen for her hard.” Leaning back, it looks like he’s thinking of a plan.

“Pfft.” I wave him off as I sit back at my desk, acting like he is wrong while fear crawls up my chest because he is actually right. Already, I can’t imagine my life without her in it. And I don’t want to.

“You’re sweating just thinking about it.” He scoffs.

“I’m sweating because I have a fucking fever,” I tell him, and he frowns. Though, I might be sweating for both reasons at this point.

“You are looking a little sick… Maybe you need to go home and rest,” he says, and I roll my eyes. I’m never sick. I have never had a sick day. I’m fit. I drink green juice every fucking day.

“Not going to happen,” I say, just before I sneeze, and he smirks.

“Get out of my office and go do some work,” I tell him, and he stands, not looking convinced. But he walks out anyway, closing the door, and I lean back, feeling like I am dying.

* * *

“Alexander. Haylee is here to see you.” Angela’s pleasant tone feels like needles in my ears as I try to read through this contract for the third time in half an hour. I’ve pushed back a few meetings, but I’ve been sitting here for the past two hours, trying to get some work done, and all the while, I feel my health declining. But I sit up, not expecting the visit, suddenly feeling slightly more awake because of it. I run my hand through my hair and take a sip of water, hoping I look better than I feel. Because I feel like shit.

“Send her in,” I say, wondering if my voice always sounds this husky.

“You're sick?” she says with an adorable pout as soon as she pushes through the door. She looks like an angel. She is in her usual blue jeans, her hair bouncy, curly, and shiny, with hardly any makeup on her beautiful face. My favorite look.

“I’m not sick,” I tell her as I stand, then cough, grabbing a tissue from the nearby box, which is now already half-empty.

“Come on. Dan is waiting.” She walks toward me with purpose.

“What do you mean, Dan is waiting?” I ask her, leaning against my desk, feeling the deep desire to sleep.

“Laurent called me. I am taking you home. You are too sick to be here.” Grabbing my briefcase, she slips my laptop inside.

“Sunflower, I appreciate the gesture, but I have to read through this contract, then I have a conference call with a new contact in Asia,” I say with a sigh, exhausted just thinking about it.

“I told Angela to cancel them all. I am taking you home,” she says softly yet firmly, everything now in my bag as she takes my hand. “Let’s go.” Her fingers slip through mine effortlessly, pulling me along, and while I have been sick before, I have never felt this level of concern from someone. It’s nice.

“You canceled them?” I ask as my feet seem to have a mind of their own as I follow her willingly.

“Yep,” she says, popping the P as she drags me past a grinning Angela.

“You are in on this too, aren’t you?” I ask Angela in a tone meant to sound like Doctor Evil, but it comes out in a murmured gargle because my throat is on fire.

“One hundred percent.” She rushes to get the elevator, hitting the buttons to my private basement. “Get better soon, sir. We will hold down the fort.”

“So Laurent called you?” I ask Haylee as the elevator doors close, leaning against the wall, my strength leaving me.

“He did. Then I called Dan and spoke to Mary. I am taking you home to bed, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

At that thought, I get a whole range of different scenarios playing out in my head of her taking me to bed, ones that are obviously written all over my face.

“You need sleep . Plus, you can barely stand,” she murmurs, looking at me from under her lashes. From the flush coloring her cheeks, maybe she was thinking the same thing. I can only hope. Guess I’ll need to get better first, though.

“I’m okay,” I tell her, pulling her to me, hating her being so worried. She ducks into my side the way she does, and I immediately feel better having her close. Her small body fits in with mine, and I kiss the top of her head. She worries after everyone, I’m starting to realize, and I feel somewhat privileged that I am included.

“You are not. You probably have the flu like Deloris,” she says, shaking her head against me, and it makes sense.

“I don’t get sick,” I say under my breath as the elevator opens, and Dan spots us, grabs my briefcase and opens the back car door for us.

“Well, apparently, you do,” she says with a lifted eyebrow. Pushing me into the car, I fall into the seat, relieved to be resting and letting her lead.

“I’ve never had a sick day.” My mission in life to be fit and healthy has been just as important to me as working hard in the business.

“This is going to be fun, then. Because man flu is the worst.” Her sarcasm has Dan chuckling, and I look at her as we start to drive.

“Man flu?” I ask her, wondering if that is a particular strain or something. Maybe I can be vaccinated against that.

“It hits men hard. They are in bed for days…” she says in an exaggerated tone, and I wonder if she is serious or not, but then I see her lips quirk. I lay my head back against the seat, close my eyes, and groan, extreme tiredness taking over my body. When I feel her cool hand hit my forehead, I sigh in contentment, needing her touch more than ever.

“Are you going to stay with me?” I ask. My eyes remain closed so I can’t see her reaction, but she doesn’t remove her touch from my face, and I’m thankful for it.

“Don’t worry. I will be with you the whole time.”