Curious, she scanned the master bedroom again on her way back, feeling the color rise in her cheeks as she considered all the times she’d imagined being with him there.
She’d just covered him with the blanket when there was a knock at the door. “That’ll be Dr. Ghosh,” Michael muttered. Maggie hurried to let him in.
The doctor was a charming man of Indian descent in his mid-fifties. He checked Michael’s vitals and asked a few questions. “I’m afraid you have a bad case of influenza,” Dr. Ghosh told him. “I’ll call in some scripts for you, but what you need most is rest. And you must take in fluids.”
The doctor turned to Maggie. “I’m afraid, my dear, that you have been exposed to this virus. You may soon get sick yourself.”
“I had my flu shot a few weeks ago,” Maggie offered. “Won’t that help?”
The doctor patted her hand. “It will help tremendously. If only I could convince all my patients,” he gave Michael a meaningful look, “to take their flu vaccine every year.”
Maggie walked the doctor to the door. He gave her some patient information for Michael. “Also, I’ve requested that the pharmacy deliver the medication as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Maggie said as the man left. She returned to Michael on the couch. His eyes were closed and she thought he was sleeping.
As she turned to gather her purse and jacket, he spoke. “Mags, can you please wait for the pharmacy? I can’t get up to answer the door.”
Maggie set down her things again. “Sure, Michael, I can wait. Don’t you want to go to bed? You can’t be comfortable on the couch.”
“I feel like absolute shit,” he groaned. “It wouldn’t matter where I was.”
“At least let me get you some juice or something,” she said. “You’re supposed to get plenty of fluids.” She went through the dining room to the kitchen and searched the fridge for some kind of juice, finding cranberry-pomegranate. She popped a few ice cubes into a glass and poured the juice, stopping to grab a straw from a drawer.
Returning to the living room the other way, she discovered a fourth bedroom behind the kitchen, presumably for a live-in housekeeper.
Michael pushed himself up with a groan and took the glass from Maggie, sipping appreciatively. Maggie sat at an angle from him on the huge sectional. “This is a beautiful apartment, Michael,” she said. “I mean, it’s not my style, all the steel and glass and everything, but still.”
She looked past the television mounted on the wall and for the first time realized that there was a large glass room just beyond the living room. It jutted out onto a huge private terrace bordered by plants. “Holy cow, is that a sunroom?” the Liverpool escort asked.
He feebly waved his hand. “Go on out and take a look.”
Maggie walked out into the glass structure just off the living room. It must have been ten feet wide and twenty-five feet long. The room was outfitted with sleek modern furniture that complemented the interior décor and it was accented by a variety of potted plants.
She pushed open a door and walked out onto the terrace that was at least as wide as the sunroom and even longer. A built-in concrete planter filled with all sorts of shrubs and small trees surrounded the perimeter of the terrace. Looking beyond the planter she was treated to an incredible view of the city.
She hurriedly returned to the living room, fearful of missing the knock at the door. “It’s absolutely amazing,” she told him as she sat down again. “I’m now feeling sheepish about the couple of times you’ve been to my place.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Why? I like your place. It’s perfect for you.”
Maggie watched him for a moment. “I have to ask. Why, as a single guy, do you have four bedrooms?”
He smiled slightly. “You were out there, right?” He hooked a thumb toward the terrace. “That’s why. This unit has the best views in the whole building.”
His attention was diverted to the baseball game on the television. “Aw, dammit!” he muttered.
Maggie heard a so knock at the door. She opened it to nd a courier holding a bag from the pharmacy. “Delivery for a Michael Rannigan,” he said.
“Thanks, I’ll sign for it,” she said.
“Mags,” Michael called from inside.
Maggie leaned so she could see him on the couch. He held up some cash.
“Excuse me a moment,” she said to the delivery guy. Michael handed her a twenty.
“Seriously?” she asked him. He waved her toward the door and went back to his ball game. Maggie tipped the guy and closed the door behind him, returning to the living room with Michael’s medicine.
She opened the bag and read the information. “Here, you should take these now,” she said, handing him two pills. He swallowed them with the last of the juice she’d given him.
“I just want to crawl into bed,” he said, slowly standing and dragging the blanket with him. She followed him to his bedroom and turned her back when he dropped his pants and shirt on the floor before sliding under the covers of the huge bed.
Tiptoeing, Maggie picked up his clothes and lay them over a chair near the window. She adjusted the covers and leaned over, planting a light kiss on his temple. “Sleep well,” she said quietly. “Feel better soon.”
When she reached his door, she stopped, unable to resist. “You know, you really should get your flu shot every year. You could have avoided this whole thing.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he quipped, groaning.
She sighed. “Good night, Michael. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
“Mags,” he called weakly. She turned around. “Thanks.”
