Scrooge

24. Haylee

24

HAYLEE

H e slept for twelve hours. The few moments he was awake, I fed him warm chicken soup that Mary made for us. I checked on him hourly, offered a cool cloth, gave him pain relief and a constant supply of water and liquids.

It’s exhausting, but there’s something about seeing this man, who is usually so put together, so in control, so hard with everyone else, now melted into a man who lets me take care of him. I know he wouldn’t let anyone else see him like this. Not even Mary, his housekeeper, can get too close without him shutting down. But he’s given me free rein over him and his house, and that’s how I know I’m getting the real him. Not the Scrooge everyone else thinks he is. That’s not who he really is at all.

After our kiss the other night, I wasn’t sure what to think. I mean, I enjoyed it and wanted more, but we have an agreement, a legal document, and I didn’t want to read too much into everything. And even though he’s sick and mostly sleeping, he has grabbed my hand and kept it in his, tried to keep me close, and in a way, this moment of sickness has allowed us to just be comfortable around each other at a very vulnerable time, in the confines of his penthouse without the world watching. It has been nice, and I’m feeling closer to him.

I left the shop in Mom’s and Jillian’s hands yesterday, and I’ve been here in his penthouse ever since. After Mary made the soup, I sent her home. No use having anyone else catching his disease, although so far, I have remained all clear. Surprising, really, since I have been seeing Deloris every day to check in on her, and now being with Alex.

I heard him in the shower earlier, so I slowly pad down the hall toward his room, wondering if he is awake. Peeking through the door, all is quiet and dark. The blinds are still drawn.

“You sneaking around?” he asks, sounding a little better, but he’s still congested.

“I didn’t know if you were awake. How are you feeling?” I ask, pushing open his bedroom door and seeing him back in bed. Now, with damp hair and a fresh change of t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He looks normal, out of his suit, a regular guy, albeit sick, yet still extremely good-looking.

“Still like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he sulks, resting his head on the pillow, looking at me through dopey eyes. I lean over him and rest my hand on his forehead.

“Your temperature is better,” I tell him as I pull the blanket over him and help get him comfortable. Just as I’m straightening back up, he grabs my hand.

“Lie with me,” he says quietly, and I look at him. His eyes have dark circles, even though he has slept. His face is still a little pale, but he does look much better than yesterday. My insides melt, seeing his wet, ruffled hair and the stubble along his jaw. Even with the flu, he is handsome. I offer him a small smile. It should feel weird being this close, but when we kissed, we crossed a line; we both know it, yet neither of us seem to care.

“Sure, for a little while. But you do need to rest.” I crawl onto his bed and lie next to him. My body sinks into the warm comfort, and my muscles relax. I haven’t been in a bed that feels so comfortable. The pull-out bed that I am currently sleeping on at my sister’s has a rouge spring that digs into my side every night. But not here. Here, with Alex, it feels like a warm welcome after a long day. It should feel odd, considering the short time we’ve known each other, but I am totally at ease. We both stare at the ceiling, and I feel his hand edge out and grab on to mine where they rest between us. His pinkie first, gripping mine until he moves his hand, holding it securely.

“Tell me about your favorite holiday?” he asks, and I smile, rolling onto my side to face him. He looks at me, his grin small but there.

“Christmas?” I tell him.

“Yes, okay. What do you love the most about it?” Our heads on the pillows, our hands still holding between us, he turns to face me as well.

“I love decorating a tree. A real tree. I enjoy pulling out the decorations, reminiscing about where they all came from. I love putting on Christmas carols, giving life to the otherwise ordinary room.” Thinking about the feeling it evokes, I smile.

“What else?” he prods.

“I love when it snows outside and I am warm inside. A fire going, maybe a glass of red wine. I love baking biscuits and the smell traveling through the house. Cinnamon and pine are my two favorite aromas that time of year.”

“What is on your list from Santa?” His grin widens and so does mine. I like seeing him like this. Just Alex. Just my Alex, not some billionaire CEO who is hard and lonely and sad. This happy Alex, the one who smiles, is warm and brilliant and someone I can talk to.

“The same thing I want every year,” I tell him, sighing, knowing I probably won’t get it this year either.

“What’s that?”

“A dog.”

“A dog?” His eyebrows rise, surprised.

“Yeah. I want a puppy. A little friend I can take everywhere. I’ve asked my family for a dog every year since I was five. We can’t get one because my dad is allergic. But I still add it to my list. I’d call him Henry.”

“What about you?” I ask, because what does the man who can buy anything want for Christmas?

“I’ve never really celebrated Christmas. My mother died in childbirth, and my father was so focused on the business that we didn’t really celebrate milestones or holidays. We acknowledged them, maybe having a meal together, but it wasn’t a meaningful thing,” he says, opening up to me.

“Never?” My eyebrows pull together, my heart heavy.

“No. I think our last Christmas together, we went out for a quick lunch, but we still spoke about work. We didn’t really have a break.” His expression falls a little.

“Why do you think your dad was so work oriented?” I can appreciate hard work and dedication, but his dad sounds almost addicted to success.

“He was like that for his entire life, but people have told me he was very different when my mother was alive. Apparently, when she died, he lost himself. Buried himself in work.”

“A bit like you, perhaps?” I say tentatively, not sure where his head is at with it all. This is the first time we have spoken about his family and upbringing in depth, and I don’t want to upset him. He is quiet, thinking on that point for a moment, and I wonder briefly if I have overstepped.

“I guess.” He nods in agreement, our eyes lingering on each other’s for a quiet moment. I hope, maybe, that’s changed for him now… or that more time off from work is in his future. That he can take some time off for a holiday, or just because he wants to every now and then.

“So the media are having a field day since Thanksgiving,” I say to change the subject, playing with the giant diamond that glistens on my finger. He holds my hand up and looks at it, and something akin to pride flashes across his face. I haven’t looked too far into all the stories. Jillian keeps me updated on anything significant, but the rest is just noise, so I ignore it for the sake of my mental health.

“They are certainly pushing about Deloris and her prostitution,” he murmurs, not happy about it.

“It was so long ago, I wish they would just drop it. People change. Life moves on. We can't all be held to our mistakes that we made in the past.” I shake my head against the pillow.

“Have you made mistakes?” he asks, and I smile, thinking he is joking, but he looks serious.

“Yeah, I've made a few.” I automatically think of my ex.

“I don’t believe it.” Even though his nose is red, and his eyes are tired, he still looks drop-dead gorgeous as he gifts me with another grin.

“We are all human, Alex. Even me.”

We sit in our words for a while, until I see his eyes slowly close, and I lean over and kiss his forehead, the same move he has done countless times to me. As I pull back, a small snore escapes his lips, and I smile, content as my own eyes start to close and sleep pulls me under.

* * *

Alex is officially better. Still a little sneezy, but otherwise, his daily green juice and his twelve-hour sleep were enough to reset his body. I have stayed here in the penthouse with him all that time. Ensuring he had everything, made him eat, gave him pain relief. After sleeping in his bed with him last night, I thought we would feel awkward around each other today, but it is the opposite. I woke to find him already in the shower, and so I made the bed and went out to the kitchen to get my coffee.

“Let’s go out for dinner tonight?” he asks, as I watch him sip his morning espresso from where I sit on the sofa. I have commandeered this little spot. In the corner of the sofa, I am able to see the kitchen and dining room, but also have the sweeping view of the skyline. It’s comfortable. Probably because I am the first person to sit on it. I look at him where he is standing. I’m not sure if this is a date-date or a legal document date. Are we actually dating, or are we just doing what we need to for our agreement?

“Are you feeling up to it? I mean, I will need to go home and change and…” I start to say, trying to figure it all out as he cuts me off.

“Laurent is coming today with a wardrobe of clothes for you, and I know you had plans to go back to work today. Think of it as my thank you for playing nurse,” he says as he puts his cup on the kitchen counter and walks toward me.

He looks amazing. His suit fits him to perfection. His hair is slicked back, his eyes clear, and his face looks like he is extremely well rested. I could get used to this morning view. My commute is literally nonexistent from the penthouse to the shop, and if I have to spend my morning hours looking at this man in a suit instead of fighting for a seat on the subway, I would happily do it. I, on the other hand, rolled out of bed this morning, desperate for my coffee, a shower, a hair dryer, and an egg and bacon bagel from the shop around the corner from Tucker Toys.

“I don’t need a thank you,” I say, standing as he stops in front of me in the living room. “Looking after each other when we are sick wasn’t written in our agreement; I just did it because I wanted to.” I lift my hands and adjust his tie, not that it needs it. The move feels oddly domesticated for two people who are only tied by a fake engagement. Yet that has been us for these past few days. Ever since he proposed, we have kind of fallen into each other more and more. I leaned on him for Deloris, and he calmed me, helped me get her better, and made sure she was safe. Now I have helped him, looking after him when he was sick.

His hand lifts to my face and cups my cheek. “I want to take you out. The agreement has nothing to do with it. I just want to be with you,” he says as his thumb brushes gently across my skin, and I look up into his eyes, seeing him watching me. I flatten my palms against his chest on his lapels. He moves his other hand, grabbing mine, keeping it on his chest as his thumb brushes over my skin.

I swallow, deciding to talk about the elephant in the room. “So, um, I slept in your bed last night…” I say, taking in a deep breath, and he smirks a little.

“I know. Best sleep I have ever had,” he says smoothly, waiting and watching for my reaction. My heart picks up pace at the look in his eyes.

“That… wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“Neither was kissing with tongue. If I recall, you specifically mentioned no tongue,” he says with a playful squint to his eyes, and I huff a laugh. I would like more kisses like that, legal document be damned.

“But I am finding it increasingly difficult to stick to any agreement with you,” he adds, and my heart is a permanent jackhammer as I nod in agreement.

“Okay. Let’s go out,” I whisper, my mouth suddenly dry. The lines are blurred, but he seems sure. His stance is strong as he holds himself with certainty. He wants me, and I know that I would probably do anything this man asked me to right now. And that is a dangerous position to be in.