My vision does this fun sparkly thing that definitely isn’t concerning at all.
Marisol looks up from her desk. “Morning, Amara! You’re right on time for the Martinez follow-up. Corin’s in the back office setting up.”
Joy.
“Great,” I manage.
God, my voice sounds like I’ve been gargling gravel.
She frowns. “You okay? You sound a little rough.”
“Just allergies,” I lie smoothly, because I’ve spent five years in corporate law where lying is basically a professional skill. “The Bahamas air, you know.”
Marisol doesn’t look convinced but she nods. “There’s tea in the kitchenette if you need it.”
I make my way to the back office, each step feeling like I’m wading through quick sand.
The door is open.
Corin’s sitting at the desk, reviewing something on his laptop. He’s wearing his usual sand-colored linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. As usual, my eyes linger on those hot, corded forearms.
Focus, Amara.
Not the time for forearm appreciation.
Counterpoint: you might be dying, so maybe this is exactly the time for forearm appreciation.
He glances up when I enter. Those dark eyes do a quick scan of my face and I watch his expression shift from neutral to concerned almost instantly.
“You’re sick,” he says.
It’s not a question.
“I’m fine,” I argue, setting my tote on the desk with more force than necessary.
Bad idea.
The roomtilts.
He’s standing and at my side in three strides, with one hand gripping my elbow to steady me.
The contact sends a shock through my system that has nothing to do with fever.
“You’renotfine.” His voice is low and firm. “You’re burning up.”
I frown, and say, a little breathlessly: “How can you possibly know that?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Your face is flushed, your forehead is beaded in sweat, and you’re swaying, Amara. Fucking swaying. You can barely hold your head up. I don’t need a medical degree to diagnose a fever.”
Okay so he’s observant. That’s annoying.
And maybe a little attractive.
“We have the Martinez workshop at two,” I protest weakly. “I can’t just leave.”
“I’ll handle it.”
I refuse to budge. “You can’t handle it alone. They’re expecting both of us.”
