Tristan turned on his side and then on his stomach again. He was shivering under the heavy quilt. He’d resisted taking NyQuil up until now because it always made him too groggy the next day, but it was obvious that Tylenol wasn’t going to cut it. With effort, he sat up and pulled himself out of bed. He was coming down with something. He’d spent the day in the rain, going from door to door.
But he hadn’t closed any sales. He wasn’t going to make his quota.
In the bathroom, he turned the light on and squinted, his eyes adjusting to the glare, but as he plucked the medicine cabinet open, the doorbell rang, and he sighed, looking over at the lighted hall. What the hell now?
He tightened his black robe around the waist and dragged his feet to the door, and then cracked it open a sliver. “Yes
