Page 87 of Boss from Hell
“No, that’s not like him. Well, he’s not here,” she said, her tone, anxious. “The last time I saw him was on Monday.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll call you if I locate him,” I said and hung up.
That had accomplished nothing. I closed up the office and decided to go to his place. I didn’t care if he threw me out. I had to know if he was okay. I changed my mind several times on the way there, but I had never been a coward and I wasn’t about to start now. Anyway, if I chickened out, the rest of my day and night would be ruined conjuring up all sorts of bad scenarios.
I ran into the first problem when I found his gate firmly shut. I honked the horn, until to my relief, the gate slid open. I got out of the car and hurried to the front door. I rang the bell and waited. If he was home, it was likely that he was alone as he never had staff in the evenings.
I was about to ring the doorbell again when the door opened and Max stood there, pale and obviously unwell.
“What’s wrong?” I blurted out, shocked by his appearance.
“It’s just the flu. I need to sleep it off. I’ll be fine,” he said in a strained voice, then turned away and began to walk back into the house. I followed him to the living room where he stretched out on a couch. On the table, an untouched congealed meal of steak and mashed potatoes sat.
“When was the last time you ate?” I asked.
“My throat is sore… I’ve been sipping water,” he said, keeping his eyes shut.
“Where’s your housekeeper?”
“Told her not to come until tomorrow. Hate having people around when I’m not at my best.”
I dropped my purse on the coffee table and folded my sleeves. Taking the plate of uneaten mashed potatoes and steak, I headed to the kitchen. What he needed was something easy to swallow, like soup. I rummaged through the freezer and found some homemade beef stock. There was a whole free-range chicken in the fridge. Then I gathered all the vegetables I could find and started dicing.
I left the soup to simmer on the stove and returned to the living room. “I’ll help you up to your room. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“No need to help me. I’m as strong as an ox,” he said and began to walk up the stairs.
“Something smells good,” he commented, as he passed by me.
“I’m making chicken and vegetable soup.”
“It’s not the soup. I think it might be you.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the soup,” I said firmly as I pulled back the covers of his bed. I waited while he climbed into bed.
“Have you ever had sex with a sick man?” he asked.
“No, and I don’t intend to start now.”
He grasped my hand. His hand was hot with fever. “But I want to have sex with you, Lillian.”
“You’re too ill to be thinking of sex,” I said, hiding a smile.
“At least, stay with me,” he grumbled.
“That I can do. I’m not going anywhere,” I reassured softly.
“Good. Life’s not the same without you.”
He fell asleep as soon as I arranged the covers around him. I stood looking down at him, loving him so much it felt like my chest would explode.
When I returned downstairs, I called Max’s mother.
“Have you found him?” she asked apprehensively.
“Yes. He’s at home with the flu.”
“Is he alright?”