If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(74)

“Because you’re not and I didn’t want to be insensitive to how sick you were.”

“Oh.” Could he really want me when I’ve just been sick? Surely not.

“Oh,” he repeats, his lips quirking.

I wet my parched lips and my head thunders as if in reaction. I press two fingers to my temple, a moan slipping from my lips. “Dear Lord, I’m hung over. Will this hell never end?”

Chris climbs over my legs and grabs a bottle of water and some pills. “I called down to the front desk last night and had them bring some ibuprofen. You fell asleep before I could give them to you.”

Blown away by his thoughtfulness, I touch his jaw, letting his whiskers rasp against my fingers. “Thank you.” My hand falls from his face, and tenderness fills me. “I guess you aren’t a jerk all of the time.”

He nips my fingers and gives me one of his charming grins that always melt me like butter. “But leave it to you to let me know when I am.”

I swallow the pills. “You can count on it.” My stomach churns and I imagine I must look green and sickly. “I haven’t been hung over in…” I catch myself before I confess the five years that is so telling, “in years. If the art world requires I drink, maybe I’m not meant for this job.”

Disapproval furrows his brow, and he leans back on his elbow, resting on his side. “The art world doesn’t require you to drink or understand wine. It does, however, need passionate people like you. I hate that Mark’s made you feel otherwise and it’s one of the reasons I’d prefer to help you get other opportunities.”

“Riptide would allow me to make a solid salary, Chris. I need that if I’m going to make art my career.”

“I can get you a solid salary elsewhere.”

Mixed emotions wash over me. If I depend on Chris now, what happens later when he’s not around? “I appreciate the help. I do. But I need to do this on my own.”

“You are, Sara. I wouldn’t help you if I didn’t believe in you.”

“Having you believe in me means more than you know, but it’s like you’re unveiling a new piece of work. Making it on my own gives me the confidence to know I can continue to make it in the future.”

“When I’m gone.”

An ache forms in my chest and it’s all I can do not to ball my fist there. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it.”

Reluctantly I concede, “I’m alone, Chris, and it was my choice, but with that choice comes the need to make smart decisions.”

“Do you know how many people would jump to use my money and resources?”

“You mean how many people would use you?” I don’t wait for an answer. I don’t have to. Michael was one of those people. “Yes. I do.”

“You continue to surprise me, Sara.” He hesitates and I think he will say more, but instead, he asks, “How’s your stomach?”

“Queasy.”

“I figured it would be.” He glances at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s already eleven. We should get up and I’ll order you some tea and biscuits to try and settle your stomach.”

“Eleven o’clock?” I twist to confirm the time on the clock, appalled at the hour. “I can’t believe we slept this late.” Regret fills me at the loss of time with Chris at this wonderful place, and all because of wine. “Wasn’t I supposed to meet the wine expert? Did I stand her, or him, up?”

“Her name is Meredith and I’ve known her for years. I woke up around eight and cancelled but she says she can see you at twelve-fifteen, if you like?”

“I do but…is tasting involved? I’m not sure I can do a tasting.”

“No,” he laughs, and rolls away from me to stand up at the end of the bed, stretching his long, muscular body, and good lord, sick or not, I am not blind to his male beauty. “No drinking is involved.”

“I’m not sure I want to learn about wine anymore.”

“Because you’re hung over. You’ll regret missing the opportunity when you recover. Besides, Meredith’s a wine expert and yet I’ve never seen her at any hotel, or gallery event with a glass in her hand. You can talk to her about how she manages that.”

“She doesn’t drink the wine she talks about?”

He crosses his arms over his broad, stellar chest. “I asked her that before I booked the training and her reply was that she can’t drink on the job and keep her professionalism.”

I’m suddenly encouraged by this meeting. “She sounds like someone I need to talk to.” Unbidden, a memory from the night before washes over me, and despite the circumstances, it hurts. “Last night...you said you shouldn’t have brought me here.”

His expression is unchanged but his reply is slow, his voice softening, “I say and do a lot of things I shouldn’t with you, Sara.”

“Then cancel the training and take me home.”

“I’m not taking you home.” He glances at the clock. “And if you want to shower and have time to eat before your training session, you should get up.”

“So we aren’t going to talk about this?”

“Why don’t we talk on the way back to the city so you don’t miss your session?”