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Her shoulders fall a fraction. “He did. It was a little rough. They do the first one slowly to make sure there aren’t any adverse reactions, so we were at the clinic for a few hours. And he had a few flu-like symptoms after. Apparently, that’s normal.” She grimaces. “I’m glad Carol was there. She’s cared for someone with RA before, so she was familiar with the process and put us at ease.”
Carrie returns, causing us to pause our conversation. She holds my whiskey out to me, then turns to Chloe and passes her a cup with steam drifting up from it. She looks between us. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
Chloe shakes her head.
“That will be all. Thanks, Carrie,” I say.
As she returns to the front of the plane, Chloe lifts her cup to her mouth, blowing delicately on the liquid before taking a small sip.
Despite myself, I’m captivated by her lips—their softness, the delicate curve as they press against the rim of the cup. I take a deep swallow of my own drink, the burn sliding down my throat as I close my eyes, using it as a distraction. “So the new treatment will reverse his condition?”
“It can’t be reversed,” she says. “But it can go into remission. Theoretically, if we can minimize flare-ups and get his symptoms under control, that will prevent permanent damage to his joints. Once the inflammation is reduced, he might even be able to hold a paintbrush without pain.”
“How long will it take to know if it’s working?”
“His doctor said we could expect initial improvements a few weeks after the first infusion, and then hopefully significant improvements two to three months after. But to be honest”—her expression brightens even more—“I’ve noticed a difference in him even over the last few days. He gets along with Carol, and I think having someone to keep him company and take care of him through the day, not just reluctantly drop in on him, has cheered him up a lot.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
A soft, sweet smile touches her lips. “I know I’ve said it before, but thank you.”
It’s dangerous, the way she’s looking at me. It makes me want more. More of her smiles. More of her openness. More of her scent, her touch. All the things I can’t have. The things I shouldn’t want to take.
But I fucking do.
“You’re welcome,” I say, my tone brusquer than I intend. “But as I said, it makes good business sense.”
Her brows twitch upward. “I understand that.” She takes a sip of her tea, turning her face toward the window again.
Determined to busy myself with work, I take another sip of whiskey and shift in my seat.
Before I can open my laptop, though, she asks, “I assume you’ve been to France before?”
“Many times.”
“Just for business, or holidays as well?”
“These days just for business. When I was a child, my family would often visit Paris, or we’d go to the South of France for the summer.”
“That must have been nice.” Her comment is innocent, and the assumption is one most people would make.
In reality, my memories of our time in France are not ones I’m fond of.
“My brothers and I managed to have some fun, mainly when our nanny was distracted.”
Her brow creases. “Your parents weren’t with you?”
I let out a dark chuckle. “They were, but we barely saw them. Dad was busy screwing his way through whatever pretty young things he could seduce, and Mom spent most of her time in the spa or at the bar.”
Chloe’s eyes fill with sympathy, immediately making me regret my words.
“I’m so sorry.”
Dammit. Why did I open my mouth and tell her that? I never fucking share those details with anyone who works for me. With anyone at all, except my brothers on occasion, since they were there with me.
“We were rich kids vacationing in France. Not many would consider that we need sympathy.”
She tilts her head. “There are some things money can’t make up for.” Then her mouth quirks up. “I think we’ve had this discussion before.”