JENNIE
I can't see her anywhere.
Sure, the breakfast networking event is busy, but not so busy that Lisa could just vanish into thin air. Honestly, she's going to act like this now?
I weave through pockets of people, moving from one end of the room to the other, but Lisa isn't here, and I'm worried. Of course, I'm concerned for the welfare of my colleague. Absolutely not on a personal level or anything to do with what happened hours earlier.
Look, I'm not going to lie. I wasn't expecting pillow talk, but when she left so abruptly, it stung. That brief hesitation, I thought she might want to stay or ask to have dinner together. Perhaps I secretly wished she had. Stupid illogical heart always trying to mess me up. I should know better.
I head to the food table and grab a grilled cheese sandwich, a blueberry scone, and a coffee. Make that two coffees. My body aches, and I've not had nearly enough sleep. I can still feel Lisa's hands and mouth on me. Hear her voice in my ear, taste her kisses. I knew sex could be like that, I just never thought it could be like that for me. Last night comes back to me in scattered flashes.
Her face as she tore my clothes from me.
The sight of her nipping at my breasts.
The shape of her mouth when I moved between her legs.
Distracting, to say the least.
I wait and wait, even do a bit of mindless networking between these pesky flashbacks. An hour passes, but still no Lisa. Heat starts pouring into my chest like hot wax, and I feel anger bubble up inside me.
When the event finishes, I catch the elevator straight to her floor, knocking on the door.
Nothing.
I can't shake the feeling that something feels off, so I go down to the front desk and get a keycard to her room. On my return, I swipe and open the door slightly.
"Lisa?"
Still nothing.
I push through and flick on the light.
Oh my God.
Lisa.
Curled up in a tight ball on the carpet in a white cotton robe.
"What the hell are you doing down there?" I gasp.
"So hot," she croaks.
"Oh, shit," I mutter, rushing forward into her suite. "You're sick?"
"No! Don't come near me," she yells, and I stop. "You should go."
"Absolutely not. You look like... regurgitated death," I say gently, teasing. Upon closer inspection, Lisa really does look sick. Her hair is damp, and she's pale and clammy.
Lisa laugh-groans. A mild bout of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "Did you break in?"
"No." I shrug. "Just told them, you know, you were my wife."
Her eyebrows lift.
"Honeymoon suite and all." I gesture with my hands. "Also, informed them that you are prone to bipolar outbursts, so sometimes you need your own space. Hence the separate rooms."
She rolls her eyes, and I grin.
Bending down, I ask, "On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"
"Like a thousand," she replies with an expression of absolute misery.
"Why didn't you call me?"
"You were at the networking event. Working."
It's my turn to roll my eyes.
