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Two careers. Two homes. A father she was getting to know and like more every day. Tests about to come back that would hopefully change the course of her life and give Carson back his. And a torrid love affair that had exploded out of control the minute it began.
She sighed, massaging the back of her neck and reminding herself that there were departmental reports sitting on her desk waiting to be read—the main reason she'd come in here at dawn.
She'd wanted to visit Carson first. But Dr. Radison had said he was asleep after a fitful night. The fitful night, he'd assured Sabrina, was a positive sign—at least in Carson's case. He was healing, getting his strength back, and, as a result, going bonkers lying in that hospital bed. All his parts were on the mend—all except his kidneys, which still hadn't shown any sign of kicking in.
The tissue-typing results would be in today.
Sabrina's insides clenched just thinking about it. She felt as if she'd been waiting for this for a month, rather than a week and a half. Dr. Radison had tried to get the results on Friday, but they weren't ready. Neither was Carson, as Radison continually reminded her. It would still be six weeks before they were ready to concede that his kidney failure was permanent, and at least that long— barring any unforeseen complications or infections—before his wounds were sufficiently healed and his strength restored to the point where he could undergo a transplant.
And that entire scenario was contingent upon Sabrina being the right donor match, or on that right match miraculously appearing out of nowhere. Otherwise, the timetable would drastically alter as they extended the search beyond Carson's circle of associates, since no one tested thus far had turned out to be compatible.
Sabrina gulped down the rest of her coffee and walked to her desk, sitting rigidly at the edge of her chair. She was so damned wired. She should be in bed, catching up on a few hours' sleep before another busy, crazy week. Instead, here she was, in the wood-paneled office that was now hers, looking over status reports that would help her shape the tenor for this week's meetings.
Funny that the facet of her life she'd expected to be the most overwhelming was, in fact, turning out to be her salvation.
Ruisseau.
She'd loved every minute of her first week here. Donna, her secretary, had to physically pull her out of her office on Friday so she wouldn't miss her flight to Manchester. It wasn't that
she didn't look forward to going to CCTL. She did. Walking in there felt like coming home. But Ruisseau was a different kind of home—a home that would soon be permanent in a whole new way, once the announcement she'd drafted on the plane had been made. Then, she'd be the official president of two amazing organizations, each entirely different from the other, each pivotal in her life for its own reasons.
Talk about being torn between two lovers.
Yeah, well, maybe professionally. But not personally.
For the umpteenth time, her thoughts strayed to Dylan and the relationship she was sinking deeper and deeper into every day. Oh, they were playing by her rules, making no demands, asking no questions. No one at Ruisseau had any idea they were involved, and Sabrina meant for it to stay that way, at least until she knew where the relationship was headed and the staff knew who she really was. As for priorities, work always came first, and Carson came before that. On the surface, it was light and airy—no strings, no plans, no big deal.
Behind the scenes, it was fervent, consuming, and downright terrifying.
It wasn't just that they couldn't keep their hands off each other, although the sex was so intense, it left Sabrina shaking. It was how well they worked together, challenging and pushing the boundaries, generating an energy that was palpable. It was how they encouraged, provoked, and sometimes bulldozed each other into considering new perspectives, stretching their individual knowledge to reach new levels of thinking. It was how much they respected and—sappy as it sounded—liked each other.
True, they'd met less than two weeks ago. And, yes, that meant there were still lots of unknowns, lots of testing—and learning—unfamiliar territory. But the very personal, life-or-death circumstances that precipitated their meeting and continued to define their day-to-day lives had accelerated everything, snowballed their relationship into supersonic motion. So two weeks felt more like two months.
Plus, they were so much on the same wavelength.
It didn't matter that they were different in countless ways, with backgrounds that were polar opposites. Beneath it all there was an integrity, a loyalty, an ambition and drive, passion and perfectionism that they shared. Not to mention that Dylan was, by far, the most secure human being Sabrina had ever met. Nothing she did, no accomplishment she made, threatened him. He was totally comfortable in his own skin. He was also as opinionated as she—blunt as hell when he disagreed with her, both privately and publicly, straightforward with his praise, and equally straightforward with his criticism. She turned to him as often as she did to Stan, asking questions, getting input, testing theories.
No, actually she turned to him more. And not because of their personal involvement. Because of Stan, and whatever was going on with him.
She'd noticed it all week long, although she'd kept it to herself, at least until today, mostly because she felt guilty saying anything negative about Stan given how tight he and Carson were.
Besides, she liked and respected the man. He was a sharp COO and a dedicated stand-in mentor. He counseled and supported Sabrina, easing her transition as best he could.
What worried her was that he was so jumpy and distracted, that beneath the cutting-edge mind, there was an undercurrent, an edginess that Sabrina couldn't quite put her finger on. But she had to mention it to Carson, to get into the insecurity issue he'd alluded to when he spoke of Stan. She had no choice. It was as if Stan were worried about where his place in the company was, and that that worry was making him increasingly strained as the days progressed. He worked his butt off, but it was more the effort of a freaked-out man than a productive one—like he was dancing as fast as he could, but it just wasn't fast enough to grab hold of whatever brass ring he had in mind. Sabrina couldn't ignore the possibility that it was her arrival, her new position at Ruisseau—and in Carson's life—that had triggered Stan's behavior, or at least exacerbated it.
The issue had to be addressed.
But in the meantime—and as a result of Stan's insecurity—she found herself walking down to Dylan's office more often than not, to run an idea by him or to pick his brain.
No self-esteem problems there. And no baggage to tiptoe around.
With Dylan and her, it was bust-your-butt and leave your ego at the door. It was insane work hours where they ordered in Chinese food to sustain them through forgotten dinners. It was jumping into limos and speeding to Mt. Sinai twice a day to bring Carson up to speed and to get health updates that made them feel more at ease. It was arguing over in-house changes and C'est Moi's continued vulnerability if Carson refused to patent the formula. And once, after a particularly grueling day of meetings, it was a run in Riverside Park at one A.M.
Then there were the nights—equally frenetic, far more devastating.
They'd spent every one of them together last week, sometimes at her place, sometimes at his. Inexperienced or not, Sabrina wasn't a starry-eyed teenager. Her assumption had been that physical attraction—no, more like obsession—would taper off once lovemaking transitioned from fantasy to reality. Well, it hadn't. True, they'd only been sleeping together for a week, but she'd expected at least the frantic edge to have worn off. Wrong. They wanted each other with the same urgency as the first time, even at three A.M., when they'd spent the past four hours making love.
They were on the verge of using up the last of Dylan's two-box supply of condoms. They'd already restocked— putting boxes in both her place and his. And Dylan had started carrying some with him, for those times when the bedroom just seemed too far away. Usually, they barely made it through the front door before they started undressing each other, stumbling as they headed for the nearest piece of furniture.
