Dara had caught him at what was, quite possibly, the lowest point in his life: skulking in her dark office, trying to catch a whiff of her perfume from her chair, wondering when he’d see her again. He’d thought seeing her every day was the worst thing that could happen to him, but no. Not seeing her every day was infinitely worse. So now he was pissed with her for getting sick and putting him through this misery. And he was furious with himself for being such a goddamn idiot. “Where have you been?” She frowned. “I’ve had the flu.” Yeah, and judging by her sunken eyes and pallor, not to mention her hoarse voice and congested breathing, the flu had laid her out. He’d been worried. And it was an entirely different kind of worry than the passing concern he’d felt the last time one of his other employees got sick. He didn’t like it. “Why didn’t you call to tell me?” Her frown deepened. “I did call. First thing Monday morning. Didn’t Laura tell you?” Ah, but I wanted to hear your voice, sweetheart.
