a box. There’s no anticipating it or hope to stop it from happening.
It’s right here, in the middle of the Californian sidewalk, standing with one of the richest, most well-known, successful CEOs of all time, that I upchuck all over his Berluti dress shoes.
It’s loud. Colorful. Gag worthy. People passing by let out a collective “eww.”
Yep, I spoke too soon.
This. This right here is the most embarrassing experience of my nine-hour life.
Chapter 15
Warren
“I’m dying.”
I glance over at the pink-haired female currently straddling my bath mat.
She has her head sunk in the toilet, so every time she speaks, her voice echoes off the porcelain.
“You’re not dying,” I tell her as I place a glass of water and some nausea medication on the floor next to her.
As soon as she vomited on my shoes outside of the restaurant, her knees promptly gave out. Good thing I have quick reflexes and was able to catch her by the waist before she fell.
She couldn’t tell me where she lived, but even if my GPS could’ve located the right nudist colony—and fuck, I had no idea there were so many—I didn’t think it would be polite to shove her in the first cab I saw, given her condition. I may be an asshole, but I’m not that bad.
So, being the not that bad asshole that I am, the only thing I could think of to do with her was pick her up and have my driver take us to my house.
You know what happens when you carry a sweating, groaning, slightly delusional woman down the street at night as she flails around in your arms and cries? You get a lot of dirty looks and exactly four people calling the police. If the tabloids get a hold of this, they’re going to have a fucking heyday.
Trix turns her head in the toilet bowl just enough so that she can glare at me. “Don’t argue with me. I can’t stop throwing up, my body is having earthquakes, I’m sweating like a sauna, and my stomach is making noises that are not healthy. I’m obviously dying, asshole.”
I grab a washcloth from the cabinet and run cold water over it. When I hold it out to her, her arm weakly grabs for it before slapping back down on the tile, unsuccessful.
I kneel down beside her and gently start wiping at her face. “You’re not dying, Miss Valentine. Your stomach just rejected that food you ate.”
She mumbles something about “First meals, fucking vegans, and fire stew.”
My lips threaten to turn up. Despite her miserable condition, she still manages to be feisty.
“Ready to try to drink some medicine and water?” I ask as I swipe the cloth across the back of her neck.
She grimaces. “I don’t want to throw up again.”
“Believe me, you don’t have anything else to throw up. I think you hocked up your stomach that last time.”
She groans and smacks my hand away. “Shut up. Don’t say hocked while my head is hanging in your toilet.”
I toss the washcloth into the sink and grab the medicine that I’ve already measured out in the little plastic cup. I hold it up to her lips until she drinks it all down, gulping it with a terrible look on her face. “That’s disgusting.”
“Yep,” I say simply. “Here.” I pass her the water, and she guzzles it down like she’s an unclogged drain.
“Easy,” I say. “Don’t go so fast.”
“Don’t be bossy,” she says, detaching her lips from the cup long enough for me to strong-arm it away from her.
“I brought you a shirt so that you can change out of that dress.”
She looks down and grimaces when she sees that some vomit has been added to the dried food already caked on her dress. “Gross.”
Without any hesitation, she lifts her arms and looks at me expectantly.
I’m momentarily confused, and then shocked when I realize that she’s trusting me to undress her. I clear my throat and reach down, gathering the fabric in my hands.
But then I hesitate. My knuckles are grazing against her bare thigh, making my hands heat up in awareness. In my peripheral, I can see her chest rising and falling with quick breaths, and the damp thin material of her dress pulling against her breasts. There’s nothing sexual about this moment right now, and she definitely isn’t trying to seduce me, but the intimacy of this moment catches me off guard and steals my breath.
When I’m still stuck there like a chump, staring at her with my hands