Free Listed: Volume I by Noelle Adams Page B

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