“What?”

“The matching blonds,” Chloe said.

Cavill gave a snort of laughter. “They’re personal trainers who work in the building. I don’t know their names.”

“And the older gentleman?”

“Ed Roccuzzo. Nathan’s butler.”

“Of course. Silly me, I should have known.”

“Maybe butler is the wrong term,” Cavill said. “He manages all of Nathan’s houses and staff. It’s a big job.”

“I’m sure it is.” She was beginning to understand how very far removed Trainor’s life was from her own. He practically breathed different air.

For the next twenty-four hours she was going to be breathing it right along with him.

CHAPTER 5

Nathan came awake with a sense of relief and a raging thirst. Relief from what, he had no idea. He was lying on his back in his own bed, while a strange bluish glow washed over the ceiling above him. He turned his head on the pillow to see where it came from and found a bank of medical monitors. Beside them a male nurse dressed in immaculate white scrubs sat in a chair reading an electronic tablet. Ben had overreacted as usual. That was the problem with having your friend as your doctor.

Nathan rolled his head back to center and stared up at the eerie light, trying to piece together the fragments whirling through his memory. It was night. He’d gone to work that morning—at least, he assumed it was still the same day—despite feeling out of sorts. He’d convinced himself it was just the tail end of the previous day’s hangover.

Evidently, he’d been wrong.

He gazed at the ceiling some more. He remembered Ben needling him over his lack of a flu shot, so it must be the flu.

Other than that, all he came up with was a kaleidoscope of what were clearly hallucinations that involved his clothes being on fire, drowning in his own bathtub, and towers of paperwork crushing him to death. He grimaced. What did it say about his state of mind that his fever brought out images of death?

The one pleasant delirium dream he’d had was his new temp being draped over him in bed. He went back to that one, remembering the softness of her breasts against his chest and the curve of her hips under his hands.

That was better.

A shiver shook him and he realized that both his pajamas and the bedding were soaked and cooling rapidly. His fever must have broken. He needed dry pajamas and a tall, cold drink of water. He was about to throw the covers off and sit up when he realized there was a tube running into his right arm. He turned his head in the other direction to follow it, and his gaze landed on a cot holding the sleeping form of none other than the temp. Chloe Russell.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

A voice like the crack of a whip smacked Chloe awake. She sat up in a strange bed and glanced around an unfamiliar room bathed in a weird blue glow, wondering where on earth she was.

“Chloe?”

The voice. She knew it from somewhere. She swiveled around to find Nathan Trainor lying in a bed next to hers, scowling at her, and it all came back to her.

“You’re awake,” she said, pushing her hair back from her face and bracing herself for whatever new weirdness her delirious boss would come up with now.

“And his temp’s normal,” Arvind the night nurse said as he looked up from checking the monitor. He moved to the bed and tested the sheets near Trainor with his hand. “You’ll want dry pajamas and linens.” He disappeared into the bluish gloom.

Chloe heaved a sigh of relief. No bizarre feverish behavior to deal with.

Trainor’s scowl was still directed toward her. “Do you have any medical training?” he asked.

“No, sir.” Chloe swung her legs over the edge of the cot and straightened her blouse.

“Then why are you here?”

She eyed her boss. His damp hair clung to his skull while sweat stains spread across the fabric of his gray T-shirt. Even though the fever was gone, he couldn’t be feeling well. It would pay to tread softly. “Dr. Cavill asked me to stay.”

He made a gesture of exasperation. “In case I wanted you to type a memo? What the hell was Ben thinking?”

She sent a prayer of thanks skyward. He didn’t remember his fixation on her. “You found my voice soothing when you were delirious. It calmed you down.”

“Your voice.” His tone was skeptical.

“I think you associated it with coolness because I put an ice pack on you when I found you in the office this—I mean, yesterday—morning.”

His brows were still drawn together, but he changed the subject. “I’m fine now, so you can go home. Ed can get you a car.”

“Terrific,” she said, standing up with enthusiasm. She could run home to check on Grandmillie, and since it was four in the morning, she’d still get some nice overtime pay.

Arvind cleared his throat politely. “If you’d step outside, I’ll help Mr. Trainor change.”

Chloe scooped up her jacket and handbag from the foot of the cot. “I’m very glad you’re feeling better, Mr. Trainor. Good night.”

Trainor turned toward the nurse with an irritable wave of dismissal. “I can change my own damn pajamas.”

Cranky indeed. Chloe hustled out of the room, nearly colliding with Ed Roccuzzo in the hallway. He was wearing dark trousers with a knife pleat down the front and a white polo shirt. Surely he didn’t sleep in those.

“Is there a problem?” he asked. Despite his calm tone, she could see worry in the creases of his forehead. “Arvind rang.”