He crosses to my desk in three long strides and presses the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up. Why the hell are you at work?”
“I have deadlines.” I try to stand and immediately regret it as the room tilts alarmingly.
Vince catches me before I can fall, his arm strong around my waist. “That’s it. You’re going home.”
“I can’t,” I protest weakly. “The Hong Kong conference call—”
“Can be rescheduled.” His voice leaves no room for argument. “Diane, clear my afternoon. Ms. St. Clair is ill, and I’m taking her home.”
Diane raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. She’s seen too much working for the Akopovs to be surprised by anything.
“Her home or yours?” she asks quietly.
“Mine,” Vince replies without a morsel of shame. “She needs proper care.”
I want to object—to mainta
