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The eyes that peered out of the blue registered mortification, a little panic, and the faintest flicker of hope. “They really shouldn’t be bothering with me. I know we have a number of things to discuss now that you’re home, so—”
“Actually, I have some work to see to.”
“Yes, but—” Summerset groped for Roarke’s hand, gripped it like a vice. “As I explained to everyone, we need to go over the Rundale report, and the other matter.”
“Can’t be working the old guy when he’s busted up.” Trina sent Roarke a dismissive glance. “He needs to relax. What he really needs is a full week of intensive treatments. I might be able to turn his skin around. Hair’s not bad.” She gave it a testing tug, transferring goo. “It’ll be better when I’m done.”
“No doubt.”
“Roarke.” Summerset all but croaked it, then cleared his throat. “If I could have a moment.”
“Later.”
“Now.” This time he snapped it out. “If you ladies would excuse us, for just a few minutes.”
“No problem,” Mavis said before Trina could object. “Treen, let’s take these smashes into the kitchen. Don’t worry about her,” she added with a gesture at the PA. “She’s on a relaxation and meditation program. She’s zonked.”
With a last worried glance at Roarke, she grabbed Trina’s hand and pulled her out of the room.
“They don’t mean any harm,” Roarke began.
“I’m not concerned about that. I’m concerned about you. You don’t look well.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy. Are you ill?”
“For Christ’s sake. No, I’m not ill. Bloody hell, music off!” The blast crashed into silence. “I’ve a great deal to do. More as you’re incapacitated.”
“I’m hardly incapacitated. I’m—”
“You broke your fucking leg. So lie back and deal with it. If you’ve gotten yourself into the bog here with these women, you’ll have to lie back and deal with that as well. I can’t help you. There’s no point in whining about it.”
Summerset’s fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. “I don’t whine, nor do I tolerate being spoken to by you in such a matter.”
“Don’t have much choice in that, do you? I’m not a child requiring lessons in manners any longer. As long as you’re in my employ, I’ll speak to you as I wish. And frankly, I’m not going to stand here wasting my time arguing with a half-naked man with God knows what all over his face.”
Roarke strode out, leaving Summerset blinking after him. The twist in his gut had him doing something he’d never have considered otherwise. He reached for the in-house ’link.
“What?” Eve snarled, then grimaced at the image on her screen. “Mother of God, my eyes! Block the video for sweet Jesus’ sake.”
“Quiet. Something’s wrong with Roarke. He’s not well.”
“What? What do you mean? He’s sick?”
“I said he’s not well. I expect you to do something about it as I’m unable to.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s home. Find him. Fix it.”
“Done” was all she said.
She did a search, located him in the gym. Switching to video scan, she watched him strip down, drag on shorts. He looked exhausted, she thought. Not just tired, which was rare enough for him, but wiped out.
He went for the weights, and Eve bided her time. Go ahead, she decided, sweat some of it out. That’s what she’d have done.
It wasn’t just the shadows under his eyes that worried her, but the cold set of his face as he pumped the weights. Cold and hard.
