all was. They had only been physically involved for three days, and it already seemed completely natural, not only to them, but to those around them.
“I guess they don't notice,” he said, kissing her nose. “That blows that, doesn't it, Ma?”
“You should be out playing with fourteen-year-olds. Healthy fourteen-year-olds.”
“Mind your own business, Counselor.” The only thing they both knew they had to do was keep it a secret at work. Partners and associates were not allowed to “fraternize,” or get married, or involved, or one of them would have to leave the firm. It was a pretty standard rule in law firms, and as the junior person to her, Brock would have lost his job, if anyone knew they were dating.
They chatted as they drove, and eventually, they got stuck in traffic. It took too long for them to get back, and the effects of the chemotherapy overcame her three blocks from their destination. They had to pull over and Brock held her gently as she vomited into the gutter on Park Avenue in front of dozens of people standing on the curb. It was terrible, and she was mortified, but she couldn't stop. Even the cab-driver felt sorry for her. It was obvious she wasn't drunk, but really sick. Brock told him to wait, and leave the meter running. It was half an hour before she could drive on again. Brock wanted to take her home, but she insisted on going back to the office with him.
“Stop being stupid, for heaven's sake. You need to go home and rest.”
“I have work to do.” And then she smiled through her misery. “Don't think you can push me around now because I'm in love with you.”
“That would be too easy.”
He paid the cab, and took her upstairs. He had to support her as she walked, but no one who saw her thought of anything except that he was helping her. All the partners who knew them knew that Brock was her associate, and that she had been sick for months. People still felt very sorry for her.
Liz went to get her a cup of tea, and she spent another hour on the bathroom floor, with Brock alternately holding her and keeping her company. And when she felt a little better, she would talk to him about one of her cases.
“This is sick,” she said finally. “We do more business in this bathroom than we do at my desk.”
“Not for much longer,” he reminded her, and it had been worth it. According to Dr. Webber, the cancer was gone, hopefully forever.
He took her home at five o'clock, and then went back to work and stayed till nine. And before he left the office that night he called her. Sam was away again, and Brock asked if he could drop by for a few minutes to see her.
“Are you up to it?” he asked gently.
“Sure. I'd love to see you.” She was still amazed at what had happened between them over the weekend, but the brutal effects of her chemotherapy didn't allow them the time to enjoy it. But she still remembered the delicious hours they had spent in Vermont. They were like a dream, until he appeared at her apartment half an hour later. He had flowers for her, and he kissed her gently the minute he saw her. She was in a nightgown and dressing gown, and the dressing gown fell open as he kissed her and caressed her. She had put on one of her wigs before he came, and he teased her about it and reminded her that she didn't have to wear it for him.
“I think I like you better without it. It's sexier.”
“You're crazy.”
“About you,” he whispered, as he tucked her back into bed and kissed her again. Then he went to the kitchen, and put the flowers in a vase for her. She was looking a lot better than she had that afternoon, and he sat on the edge of the bed and talked to her for a long time, running a lazy finger down her body to all the places that intrigued him. “I'm a lucky man,” he said, watching her. He had wanted her for so long, wanted to be there for her, and to help her. He had wanted to save her from Sam, and now she had come to him, all on her own. It was Kismet.
“You're a silly boy,” she smiled at him, but it was obvious to her that he