Something to Talk About(27)

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Emma’s asthma started acting up on the flight. It was nothing severe, but she could tell. She couldn’t breathe as deeply as usual. She’d keep an eye on it, up her meds if she needed to. She wasn’t worried—her asthma was mild, and she’d dealt with it long enough to figure out how to work with it. Her lungs would be more sensitive than usual, but it shouldn’t be a problem. She didn’t mention it to Jo.

“Don’t hesitate to ask me anything throughout the week,” Jo said on the plane. “What questions do you have?”

“I’m sure they’ll come up,” Emma said. “I’ll ask them when they do.”

“But you have none right now?” Jo looked desperate for Emma to ask her something.

“Do you want to go over the schedule again, Jo?” Emma asked gently. “If you need to distract yourself?”

“I’m not distracting myself,” Jo muttered.

She was, though. Which was why Emma didn’t say anything about her asthma. The rumors were making Jo more nervous than usual—Emma assumed that was what it was, anyway. She’d listened in on that call with the network; any drop in advertising, and they’d blame it on Jo’s refusal to deny that she was sleeping with her assistant. Advertisers were probably already wary about Jo leaving for Agent Silver and what effect that would have on Innocents.

It was Emma’s job to keep Jo at the top of her game for the next few days, and she did it. She did it while trying to take in everything she could about upfronts, every lesson Jo imparted. She did it well. By the last day of the week, everything had gone smoothly. A few people had glanced knowingly between Jo and Emma, but Jo was charming, and the advertisers had been thoroughly wooed thus far.

Things were going well today, too, except they were running late. Jo needed to be at her panel in ten minutes, and she’d make it, but barely. Emma’s chest felt tight. In any other situation she’d stop and rest, get her breathing under control. But she had to get Jo to the panel. Then she could sit down, catch her breath. And she’d be fine.

On their way, weaving through the crowds of the hallway, they passed a woman wearing too much perfume.

That was all it took.

Emma paused, trying to catch her breath. It—there wasn’t—she was trying to breathe but the air wasn’t moving. Her lungs refused to inflate. She tried to swallow. Bit at the air.

“Emma?”

Jo had continued walking before realizing Emma wasn’t at her side. She was ten steps away.

“Emma?” she said again, looping back to Emma’s side. “What’s wrong?”

Emma’s chest hurt. She wheezed in a breath, and it looked like Jo figured it out. Jo knew she had asthma, knew where her inhaler was in her desk, though Emma had never had to use it at work.

“Where is it?” Jo’s hands frantically patted at Emma’s pockets, front and back both, and the part of Emma’s brain that wasn’t solely focused on trying to breathe thought maybe her boss shouldn’t grope her ass in public. When Jo couldn’t find what she was looking for, she grabbed Emma by the shoulders instead. “Where’s your inhaler?”

Her eyes were wide and her grip was strong.

“My bag,” Emma got out. “In the—greenroom.”

Jo yelled at someone over her shoulder. Emma coughed hard. The room was down the hallway. Her inhaler was not far away. It was going to be fine.

“I’m calling 911,” Jo said, still holding Emma with one hand while pulling out her phone with the other. “You’re going to be okay.”

“No, Jo—” But Emma didn’t have enough breath to tell her to calm down. Didn’t have the breath to tell her she didn’t have to call an ambulance unless Emma’s rescue inhaler didn’t work.

Jo spit rapid-fire words into the phone, pausing only to yell, “Hurry up with that bag!”

Emma’s bag arrived, and Jo finally released Emma to fumble through it. Her fingers shook. There was a crowd of frightened onlookers around them. Emma leaned against the wall, closed her eyes. Opened them only when Jo shoved the inhaler into her hands. Emma took a hit off it. She wanted to vomit. Took another puff.

She still felt like something was caught in her throat, like she could only half fill her lungs. She closed her eyes again and slid down the wall so she was sitting on the floor.

“Emma?” Jo said. Her voice came closer. “Emma, breathe. Paramedics are on their way. You’re going to be fine.”

It sounded more like a directive than reassurance. Emma kept her eyes closed. She swallowed, coughed again, kept sucking in air. She didn’t register someone right beside her until she leaned forward and a hand came to rest between her shoulder blades. Emma opened her eyes.

Jo was sitting on her knees next to Emma on the carpet, her feet tucked to one side. She rubbed soft circles on Emma’s back. Emma stared at her.

“You’re okay,” Jo said. “Do you need anything?”

Emma didn’t answer right away, her wheezing beginning to die down. As soon as she had the breath, she said, “You need to get to the panel.”

“Fuck the panel,” Jo growled. “Less talking, more breathing.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “We didn’t fly across the country so you could miss the panel.”