Read Listed: Volume I Online

Authors: Noelle Adams

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages), #Contemporary Fiction

Listed: Volume I (9 page)

BOOK: Listed: Volume I
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She’d
rather be a project of his than an object of pity.

“I
don’t want to reschedule,” she mumbled. “I want to get this over with.”

“I
know you do. Get some rest.”

She
didn’t understand his tone, and he left the room before she could read his
expression.

She
was relieved when she was left in the darkened room by herself, with just her Coke
and a couch.

She
finished her soda. Then she couldn’t stand it anymore, so she pulled the pins
out of her hair, finger-combing it loose and finally able to rub her aching
scalp. She took off her shoes and jacket and curled up on her side on the sofa.

It
wasn’t a dignified position, but Paul wasn’t going to let anyone barge in and
bother her. And it felt so good to lie down and close her eyes.

She
didn’t go to sleep, and her thoughts were a confused jumble of images and
feelings, all intensified by the aching of her head.

She
thought back to her wedding two days ago, still hardly believing the lush,
glowing beauty of it was real. It had seemed so much like a romantic daydream
she’d thought she’d long outgrown.

She
shouldn’t have been so affected by it. She shouldn’t have cried. She wasn’t one
of those sappy romantics. She’d talked herself out of sentimental expectations
a long time ago.

At
least, she thought she had.

She
knew the storybook effect of her wedding had been manufactured, but it was
something—and she could have died without anything.

She
would have liked for her father to be there. Thinking about him now, she felt
emotion swell up in her throat, and she almost started to cry.

But
the crying hurt her head too much, so she forced the grief back—thinking about
her testimony, about the rest of the items on her list, and about how to
convince Paul to treat her as a person and not a project.

She
must have dozed off at some point, although it felt like she was conscious the
whole hour. She was jarred into awareness by the sound of a voice saying her
name and then a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Emily,”
Paul murmured again, “How are you?”

She
blinked up at him, completely disoriented. Instinctively, she sat up, vaguely
embarrassed that he’d caught her in such a vulnerable position.

“Oh,
God,” she moaned, as the sudden move made her head throb dizzyingly.

Paul
had sat down in a chair next to the couch, but he said, “We’ll reschedule this.
You need to get home.”

“No,”
she argued, glaring at him as best she could. “Just give me a minute.”

“Here,”
Paul said, offering her a new bottle of ice-cold Coke and then gesturing at the
bag he’d set on the coffee table. “And I brought some sandwiches. You should
eat something.”

She
took the soda gratefully but made a face at the sandwiches. “I’m not hungry.”

“I
don’t care. Try to eat something anyway. It will help your stomach, if nothing
else.” He reached into the bag and asked, “Turkey, ham, or roast beef?”

“Turkey,”
she mumbled, annoyed with him but too shaky to put up a fight.

Paul
handed her the sandwich and then took another sandwich out for himself, helping
himself to the bottle of water he’d brought in earlier since she’d left it
untouched on the side table.

They
ate in silence, and Emily was able to finish half of her sandwich. Paul had
been right. The food eased the churning of her stomach, although it didn’t help
the pounding of her head.

When
they were done, Emily was able to get up without feeling dizzy, and she
insisted she was ready to start up the deposition again.

Paul
gave her a dubious look, but he didn’t object.

He
walked out of the lounge with her, putting a hand on her back to guide her
toward the conference room.

She
resisted. “I need to go to the bathroom first.”

Paul
adjusted his direction, and they were walking to the restrooms when they passed
the pretty receptionist Emily remembered from the day they’d signed their
pre-nup, the one Paul had appeared to be flirting with.

The
receptionist glanced away from them now, but not before Emily had caught an
expression of amused curiosity.

Since
she wasn’t at her full thinking capacity, it took her a minute to figure out
what that expression meant. When she got into the bathroom and stared into the
mirror over the sink, she realized what the receptionist had been thinking.

Emily’s
hair was hanging in messy, rumpled waves around her face. Her blouse was
wrinkled and disarranged. And her cheeks were unnaturally flushed, probably
from dozing on the sofa for so long.

She
blushed hotly as she realized that the receptionist had thought Emily and Paul
were indulging in a little sexy-time behind the closed door of the lounge. They
were supposed to be newlyweds, after all, and the receptionist wouldn’t know
Emily’s condition or the terms of their marriage.

It
embarrassed her more than it should have, probably because it was so far from
the truth.

The
receptionist wouldn’t know Paul had absolutely no interest in Emily’s body,
even when she’d offered it to him.

*
* *

Emily made it through
another hour of the deposition. But, by then, her head was pounding so
painfully that, although she objected when Paul called an end to the
proceedings, she couldn’t help but be a little grateful.

They
rescheduled for the following morning. Tomorrow was Saturday, but Paul's
lawyers would accommodate any of his wishes, and Hathaway and the defense
attorney clearly just wanted to get this done.

Emily
went to the bathroom one more time before they left the law offices. When she
came out, Paul was on the phone, but he hung up as she approached.

“Ready?”
he asked.

She
frowned at him. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I told you more than once that I
wanted to get it done today.”

“I
know what you wanted, but it wasn’t going to work out. Your answers were
getting less and less coherent. We needed to reschedule.”

She
stuck out her chin as she studied his impassive face. “Well, I appreciate your
absolute commitment to the perfect quality of my testimony, but I was doing
fine. Since I’m the one giving the testimony, I should be able to decide
whether I’m up to doing it or not.”

Something
tightened on his face as he pressed the elevator down button, and she wondered
if he was going to get angry. He’d been impatient with her before. He’d been exasperated
or coolly patronizing. But she couldn’t remember him being truly angry with
her. She almost wanted to see it, since it would be proof that he was treating
her like a normal person.

His
voice was level and controlled, however, when he replied, “I would let you
decide for yourself if you weren’t so ridiculously stubborn.”

She
gasped in outrage, her anger only serving to make her head hurt even worse.
“You’re calling
me
stubborn! You’re the one who—”

“Emily,
enough,” Paul interrupted curtly. “The decision is made.”

She
responded automatically to the clipped authority in his tone and then hated
herself for doing so. She was feeling dizzy again, though, and she just
couldn’t put up the fight his behavior deserved.

She
shook with indignation and with physical weakness when she got on the elevator
with him. She moved to the opposite side without thinking, not wanting to be
close to him.

She’d
lived most of her life doing what she wanted, making her own choices, taking
care of herself. Even her father had basically given her free rein, partly from
trust and partly because he just didn’t know how to control her.

The
fact that Paul thought he had the right to make decisions for her—now, when she
had so little time left to live—and that he was somehow capable of making her
abide by them was baffling, unnerving, and infuriating.

She
told herself it was just the headache. Had she been in better condition, he
wouldn’t have been able to exert such presumptuous authority over her.

The
elevator stopped two floors down from the law firm, and two businessmen got on
with them.

One
of them was middle-aged and forgettable, but the other was young, slick, and
very well-dressed. He also seemed to have poured cologne all over him.

The
scent itself wasn’t unpleasant, but it was so strong Emily almost gagged. She
took a step away from the man, but she was soon against the wall. The small,
confined space just intensified the oppressive fragrance.

She
prayed the elevator would descend quickly, but it stopped two floors lower and
three more people got on.

Now
Paul was on the opposite side of the elevator, and the cologne-soaked man had
moved even closer to her by necessity, trapping her in the back corner of the
elevator, swallowed up in the sickening scent.

Her
head pounded blindingly and her stomach rolled. She clung to the rail and tried
to breathe, but breathing just made the smell worse.

The
elevator stopped again. Emily had to turn her head to face the wall,
desperately trying not to be sick.

She
wasn’t looking at the door when the elevator stopped, and she was startled when
she heard Paul’s voice say, “Excuse me. My wife needs to get out. Emily?”

The
people on the elevator looked surprised, since they hadn’t thought she and Paul
were together. But they made room for Emily, who gratefully stumbled out of the
elevator onto the twelfth floor.

Paul
must have pushed the button for this floor to get them off the elevator as soon
as possible.

Emily
swayed on her feet dangerously, raggedly sucking in air.

Paul
put a supportive arm around her. It was purely functional—not intimate or
affectionate—but Emily appreciated it. She clung to his suit jacket and leaned
her head against his shoulder, shaking with suppressed sobs. Paul smelled
familiar to her now, a light scent that was clean, masculine, and pleasant. She
didn’t think it was strong enough for cologne. It might have just been the combination
of his laundered clothes and his soap.

“What’s
wrong with me?” she demanded, when she’d managed to pull it together. “It can’t
be the virus. My aunt never had anything but fevers.”

“It
might not be the virus,” he said quietly. “It may just be a headache—from
stress or from dehydration after all the traveling we’ve done or from who knows
what. If a headache is bad enough, it can knock you out.”

She
took a shuddering breath, strangely comforted by his mild words. Maybe it was
just a headache. Maybe it wasn’t really a sign that her death was coming sooner
than it was supposed to.

“Anyway,”
Paul said, reaching over to push the down button to the elevator, “We need to
get you home.”

Because
she hadn’t wanted to be where people would always be hovering and waiting for
her to die, they were staying at an apartment that Paul’s mother had owned in a
luxury building in Center City, instead of her big house in the neighborhood.
It wasn’t really Emily’s home.

But
it was as close to one as she had anymore.

*
* *

When they got back to
the apartment, Emily went to her room, changed into a t-shirt and sweats, and
crawled into bed.

She’d
just closed her eyes when she heard a tap on the door and Paul came in. He’d taken
off his suit jacket and tie and had opened the top buttons of his white dress
shirt. He carried a prescription pill bottle and a bottle of sparkling water.

“What’s
that?” Emily asked, hating how her voice cracked, making her sound as weak as
she felt.

“I
called Dr. Franklin earlier, before we left the law office, and he sent over a
prescription.” He read the label and dumped out one large white pill. “It’s a painkiller
for your headache.”

Dr.
Franklin had been her primary physician for the last month. While Emily had
never known a doctor who would immediately send over medication at a patient’s
call, she assumed the Pauls of the world got different treatment than the Emilys
of the world. She wasn’t about to turn down anything that might make her head
feel better.

She
accepted the pill and swallowed it with the water he’d handed her. Then she
relaxed back against her pillow and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she mumbled,
when she could feel him still standing and looking at her.

“Try
to get some sleep,” he said, before leaving the room and closing the door
quietly behind him.

The
medication must have been some sort of narcotic because in only a few minutes
the pain started to fade and her head began to swim. Every time she moved she
felt a little dizzy, but she figured out that, if she lay perfectly still on
her back and closed her eyes, she wouldn’t have those whirling feelings.

So
she lay motionless, and it wasn’t long until she fell asleep.

BOOK: Listed: Volume I
11.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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