“What?” she asked, certain he couldn’t have said that.
“Nothing,” he told her. “Don’t mind me.”
She noticed for the first time how tired he looked.
“You look exhausted, haven’t you been sleeping?”
He just stared at her for a moment. “Oddly enough, no. And if I look exhausted, then you look half-dead. Haven’t you been sleeping?”
She frowned. “It’s not nice to tell a woman she looks half-dead. How come all those articles about you call you charming?”
He grinned. “Because they don’t know the real me.”
Truer words were never spoken. He was rude, argumentative, and bossy. Although, when he smiled at her like that . . . yeah, she thought he could be charming under the right circumstances. “They certainly don’t.”
“I don’t let many people see the real me.”
She studied him for a moment, wondering if she’d really heard a note of vulnerability in his voice or if she’d imagined it.
“So, I should consider myself lucky you’re such an ass to me because it’s the real you?”
His grin widened. “That’s one way to put it.”
She snorted. “I can tell you another way to put it. I think you’re argumentative, rude, and bossy. And I think I want to go home.” Humiliatingly, tears started to drip down her cheeks.
“Oh, sweetheart. I’m not taking very good care of you, am I?” The soft sympathy in his voice threatened to turn those tears to sobs. But she couldn’t fall into the trap of thinking she meant more to him than she really did. That he truly cared. She was probably just a charity case. He felt sorry for her, and who could blame him?
“It’s not your job to take care of me.”
He cupped her cheeks. “Someone has to. Your boyfriend hasn’t been doing a very good job.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Of course you can.” Well, that wasn’t the answer she’d expected. It made her pause and frown up at him. “But I can take care of you better.”
She sighed. Yep, arrogant.
“Why would you want to take care of me?” she asked, her voice more tired than irritated. It was so hard to stay irritated when she was lying on a cloud, and she was so tired. Her stomach hurt from the vomiting. Maybe she should just rest her eyes for a bit, then she could leave. Taking the bus home was going to be a real pain. Conserving her energy was a good idea.
“Or do you bring all your sick employees up here?”
“Hardly,” he said dryly. “You’re the first person I’ve had up here in a long, long time.”
“What about all those women in the magazines and on the news?”
There was a pause, and she opened her eyes, curious. Was he . . . was he blushing? Surely not. It was just hot in here. She pulled at her shirt uncomfortably. “Could you turn the air up? It’s hot in here.”
He frowned. “It’s quite cool in here. You’re just burning up with fever. I need to get you out of those clothes.”
“You’re mistaking me with one of those other women.” How, she didn’t know. They all looked perfect, and she was a mess.
“I told you, none of them have ever been up here. This is my personal space. One I don’t share.”
“So why am I here?”
He stared down at her. “Because you’re different.”
“I’m not certain that’s a good thing,” she said slowly.