Page 70 of Cava with My Colleague

Finally, he looks up at me, and I see it in his eyes—he’s miserable. Trying to power through but clearly unwell.

“It’s just a headache,” he says. “I’ll be fine for Marseille.”

“That’s in two days.”

“I know when the presentation is, Jade.”

The snap in his voice tells me he’s feeling worse than he’s letting on. I step around his desk—breaking our unspoken rule about personal space. I lean forward, reaching out. “May I?”

Carlos pauses, but then nods and I put my hand on his forehead, right under the soft fall of salt-and-pepper hair that swoops down. Blazing hot. Carlos closes his eyes and leans ever-so-slightly into me.

He’s burning up.

Then I remember to check with the back of my hand. Whoops. My fingers are always cold.

Still hot.

But is it so hot he needs an emergency room?

This is why we have fancy modern technology, like this digital thermometer, Jade.

“You have a fever.”

“It’s just⁠—”

“Carlos.” I pull my hand back. “You’re sick. You need to go home.”

“I have work to finish.” His shoulders shudder as the words come out.

“Which you can’t do if you’re sitting here with the chills.” I glance at his computer screen—he’s been staring at the same email for who knows how long. “Come on. I’ll help you get home.”

“I don’t need⁠—”

He stands up too quickly and has to grab the edge of his desk. His knees buckle slightly.

“Okay, that’s it.” I move to his side, sliding my arm around his waist to steady him. “We’re going. Now.”

He’s too weak to argue properly, which tells me exactly how bad he feels. He lets me help him into his jacket. I grab his bag and guide him toward the door.

We must make quite a sight—me, a foot shorter, propping up this tall man in black as we shuffle down the hallway. A few colleagues glance over, concerned, but I just smile tightly and keep moving.

“The Metro,” he mumbles.

“We’re taking a taxi. You’re in no condition to be around people.”

He doesn’t argue.

The taxi ride to Chueca is quiet. Carlos leans his head against the window, eyes closed. I give the driver his address—which I still have in my phone from when I returned his charger weeks ago, back when things were different between us.

Back when we were still becoming friends.

I shove that thought away.

When we arrive at his building, I help him up the two flights of stairs. He’s breathing hard by the time we reach his door, fumbling with his keys. I take them from him and unlock it.

The moment the door opens, I hear the scrambling of claws on hardwood.

Izan greets us at the door, hopping and spinning in circles. But he stops mid-spin when he sees Carlos leaning heavily against the doorframe. The dog’s tail lowers, his head tilts in concern.