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"Only when I'm not running the show."
"Which happens about as frequently as a solar eclipse," Stan clarified. He patted Sabrina's shoulder in a paternal gesture. "You'll get used to him. We all do. Just take him with a grain of salt. His bark's a whole lot worse than his bite. Especially with you, I have a strong feeling."
"Thanks for the pep talk." Sabrina was fascinated by the change in Stan. Gone was the man who was so taut he was practically vibrating. This man was relaxed, witty, comfortable as he bantered with his oldest friend.
Interesting.
" 'Bye, Hager," Carson told him purposefully. "No need to stay. You know what this meeting's about. You know what I'm proposing. You can guess why. But Sabrina needs to hear the details first. I obviously want my attorney present, too. Problem is, Radison's being a stickler about the two-visitors-max rule. He says I'm weak and can't handle too much stimuli." A wry grin as Carson stopped to catch his breath. "I told Radison you were too boring to count as stimuli. But he wasn't buying. So, beat it. I've got limited time to get this show on the road. Check in with me later."
"That's what I planned," Stan agreed, totally unruffled by Carson's ribbing and, more significant, clearly aware of the agenda for this meeting. Okay, so Sabrina had been wrong. Whatever Carson was about to get into, Stan was privy to it. So why had he acted so out of touch when Susan brought up the subject of the meeting earlier? And why the complete mood swing?
Evidently, she had yet to figure out what made Stan Hager tick.
"I wasn't even going to stay this long," he was continuing. "But Susan was asking questions about today's powwow, wondering why I wasn't in the thick of things. I didn't know how to play it, since I had no idea if you'd told her the truth about Sabrina yet."
"No. Not yet."
"I figured as much. So I appeased whatever doubts she had by making myself part of the meeting. Which is why I'm poking my head in for the opening remarks."
Carson nodded. "Good move. Thanks."
"Sure." Stan paused, scrutinizing Carson for a moment, and Sabrina saw a muscle working in his jaw, as if he were fighting some internal emotional battle. "You're still wiped out," he pronounced. "Don't overdo. That's not just the doctor's orders; they're mine." He cleared his throat, his composure restored. "I have a vested interest in your getting well. Running the company without you is a pain. It's cutting into my social life."
Carson's brows rose. "Two ex-wives and work. You call that a social life?"
"No. That's why I need time to get one. So start healing, fast."
"I'm working on it. Now get going. I just lost three of my fifteen minutes."
"Only two. And I'm on my way." He slanted a look of mock sympathy at Sabrina. "Try to hang in there."
"I'll do my best," she assured him.
The instant Stan was gone, Sabrina turned to Carson. "What's this about? What details do I need to hear? What is it you're proposing? And why am I the reason Dylan's here in his official capacity?"
"Sit," Carson replied, pointing to a chair. "You, too," he ordered Dylan.
"Did you know more about this meeting than you let on?" Sabrina muttered to Dylan as they got themselves settled.
"Nope." Dylan seemed as unruffled as Stan had been. "But getting blindsided by a punch and jumping up to come out swinging is business as usual with Carson." He yanked out a pad. "All set."
Carson adjusted his pillow, waving away Sabrina's offer to help. "That's not what I need you for." Impatiently shifting his weight so the tubes and drains caused him the least amount of discomfort, he grimaced in annoyance, then settled back, his hard stare fixed on Sabrina. "What I need you for, is Ruisseau. I've got to make provisions. Because I don't know when—or if—I'm getting out of here."
He cut off Dylan's immediate and vehement objection. "Don't interrupt me. I've got to talk before I run out of steam. A
nd, Dylan, let's cut the bullshit. I'm fighting like hell. But that bullet did a good job on my insides. My intestines, my lung, my kidneys—that's a lot of organ damage. There's plenty of room for complications. I've got to get things in order, just in case. That's where Sabrina comes in."
Sabrina was as thrown by Carson's grim assessment as Dylan was. It was the first time she'd heard him allude to the possibility that he might not make it. Somehow, she'd assumed he'd never considered losing this battle. He was a fighter, a survivor.
He'd pull through. He had to pull through.
She swallowed, hard. "You're a strong man, Carson. You're not going to die."
"Glad to hear it. But you're not God. And, even if I do live, I'm not getting out of here anytime soon. I won't be at my desk. I won't be running my company." He took a few more breaths. "No matter what happens, Ruisseau needs to be protected."
"You have Dylan and Stan for that."
"You're my daughter."
