To my surprise, he laughs softly and shakes his head. “Pleasebring me the files… Now,” he adds petulantly, and I hide a smile.
I go back over to the counter and grab the files. I place them on the central table and head to the kitchen. I don’t want to get into a full-blown argument with my boss, but there’s no way he should be up and about. There’s sweat on his forehead, and his skin looks deathly pale.
When Melvin and I stopped at the store, I bought some chicken broth, energy bars, and electrolytes. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but nutrient-rich food felt like the best option. I place everything onto a ridiculous marble tray that I find in a drawer and take it over to him.
He stares at me as I approach.
“Where the fuck did all of that come from?” he asks, looking over at the kitchen as if I conjured it out of thin air.
“I asked Melvin to stop on the way here, and I grabbed a few things. My friend is a nurse, so I texted her to ask what would be best. Drink this,” I say, handing him a glass of berry-flavored electrolytes. It’s bright purple, and he looks at it as if I’m trying to poison him.
“What the hell is this, Amelia?”
“It’ll make you feel better. So would being in bed, but I’ve obviously lost that battle.”
He gives the glass an experimental sip, then takes a long, healthy swallow before putting it back on the tray.
“You’re as bad as my mother.”
“Well, if she were here, I’m sure she’d march you straight back up to bed, too.”
He heaves a sigh and returns to his laptop, beginning to type again. I want to pull it out of his hands, but I know he’d be pissed.
Somehow, seeing Crawford sick is messing with my head. He seems so confident and sure of himself in the office, and now he’s just a guy with a fever—perfectly ordinary and vulnerable.
After another ten minutes or so, he’s finished the electrolyte drink and looks up at me with a frown.
“You can go; you don’t need to hang around here any longer.” The dismissal hurts, but I ignore him, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Do you have a housekeeper?” I ask.
He squints at his computer again, peering at the date in the bottom right corner of the screen.
“Not today. She comes on alternate weeks.”
“Alright, well, that means you don’t have anyone looking after you.”
“That’s not your job, Amelia,” he says, but then starts coughing violently. The laptop almost slips off his legs, and I catch it, closing it and placing it on the other side of thecouch. It’s amazing that he can give me a death stare when he’s coughing up a lung.
“Give that back,” he says finally as he recovers, tossing back the dregs of the electrolytes.
“No,” I insist. “You need to rest.”
“I’vebeenresting,” he says irritably. “I don’t need to—” but the cough comes back, and this time he goes bright red, convulsing forward as if he’s going to throw up.
I sit down beside him, rubbing his back until he stops.
“You’re burning up, you idiot,” I mutter.
He leans back on the couch, groaning.
“I can’t be sick. The merger is on a knife-edge as it is. If I don’t go to the meetings at the start of next week, the deal is as good as dead. He already thinks I don’t care about his people, and I have to convince him that I do. I can’t miss even one meeting.”
“Next week is a long way off, and once you’ve rested over the weekend, you’ll feel better. Go back upstairs, I’ll clean up down here, and then if you need to do work later, I can help.”
I stand up as he looks at me with a confused expression.
“Why are you still here?” he asks. “I don’t pay you to take care of me.”
