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A hint of amusement. "I'll remember that."
"You won't have to. You'll hear him. He's not shy about putting me in my place." She propped her elbows on the desk, interlacing her fingers and resting her chin on them. "There's one more thing. It's good news—very good news, although I'm not supplying the press with details. My blood test results came back. My compatibility as a donor match is very high. If it becomes necessary, I'm pretty sure I can give Carson one of my kidneys."
Stan blew out a huge—and very genuine—sigh of relief. "That's the best news I've heard yet. Thanks for telling me." He paused, a flicker of comprehension dawning in his eyes. "I'm not the only one you told. You must have spoken with your family, and with CCTL. No wonder you look so beat."
She nodded. "It was a rough morning, yes."
"Your grandparents must be overwrought."
"They'll handle it. So will I."
"What about Dylan?"
Sabrina blinked. "What about him?"
"I assume he knows."
"He was with me when I told Carson, yes."
"That must have been a pleasant conversation," Stan noted wryly. "Did Carson blow your head off?"
"Pretty much. But we came to terms."
"And Dylan? How did he take the news of your test results?" Stan gave a sympathetic shake of his head. "He must be torn—concern over you, concern over Carson. I don't envy the guy."
Okay, now Sabrina was starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm not following you. Dylan is as relieved as I am, and as you are. This was the outcome we were hoping for. It's why Dylan flew up to New Hampshire to find me to begin with—as you well know."
"Sure, but that was before you and he—" Stan broke off, abruptly realizing he was trespassing on a do-not- enter zone. "Sorry. I didn't mean to overstep. Let's change the subject."
Dammit. Stan knew about her and Dylan. How? And who else knew?
"Sabrina, relax," Stan said, responding to the brooding expression on her face. "No one's gossiping at the water-coolers. It's just speculation, although the vibes between the two of you are kind of hard to miss. But so what? Dylan's Ruisseau's corporate counsel. You're Ruisseau's president. There's no big-time conflict of interest that I can see. So live your life and don't worry about what people say or think."
"Like you do?" The question was out before she could censor it.
His eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
There was no turning back now. Still, she chose her words carefully. "It means you worry a lot more than I do about the way you're perceived. In my case, I'm choosing to keep my private life private. In your case, you're eating yourself alive. Cut it out, Stan. No, you're not Carson. No one expects you to be. You're good at your job. You'd never do anything to compromise Ruisseau's interests or to hurt its CEO. And that's all that matters— right?"
For a long moment, Stan just stared at her. He looked as if he'd been punched. A flush crept up his neck and a myriad of emotions flashed across his face—surprise and irritation, which Sabrina had expected—mixed with something that looked disturbingly like self-consciousness and guilt. "Right," he said finally. Blowing out his breath, he dropped back in his seat. "You're a piece of work, Sabrina. Talk about a Carson-clone."
She'd upset him. That was a definite. But whether that was because he was disconcerted by her blunt analysis or whether it was something deeper and more serious—the jury was still out on that one.
"Look, Stan, I didn't mean to insult you," she said, deciding that now was not the time to pursue this. "I'm stressed out and tired. Let's concentrate on getting through today. Then, we'll set guidelines for the future, okay?"
"Works for me," Stan replied stiffly.
"Good." She gestured for him to eat. "Let's polish off these sandwiches. I've got so much to do between now and five-thirty, I might have to skip that trip to the ladies' room where I smack myself around for courage."
He nodded.
The rest of the meal lasted less than fifteen minutes, during which time they made perfunctory chitchat. Sab
rina knew Stan was still pissed off or freaked out by what she'd said. But that wasn't what was bothering her. She'd find a way to smooth things over, to get their relationship back on the right foot—if that's all that was needed.
What was really bothering her was that she couldn't get past her own uneasiness. Something about Stan wasn't sitting right. His anxiety smacked of more than insecurity. And what had he meant by the statement that secrets didn't manage to stay that way for long? Why did she feel like there was some kind of underlying message there, something he hadn't meant to let slip?
When it came to Stan Hager, Sabrina felt a fine layer of mistrust that she just couldn't get past.
