Page 32 of Bad for Business (Pembroke Hills #2)

THIRTY-TWO

CAMILLE

Sun filters through the curtains of my window as I blink my eyes open.

What time is it?

Why does my entire body hurt?

I groan, reaching for my phone on the nightstand next to the bed. My hand falls back to the bed before I can even reach my phone to check the time. I roll over, discovering that my entire body is covered in sweat.

Am I sick?

I close my eyes, trying to sort through the fogginess in my brain to figure out any reason I could be feeling this way.

It’s been a fairly low-key week here in the Hamptons.

We’ve now been here for over a month, and I feel really good about the progress we’ve been making.

Yesterday, Ryker and the rest of the Davenport Media board flew back to Manhattan for some important meetings, and I’m anxious for him to get back to tell me how it went.

That meeting should tell us a lot about their feelings toward him and if they feel like he’s fit to take over after the summer.

A throbbing pain begins right between my eyes, and I have to close them from how badly it hurts.

Last night, the Sinclairs invited me over to their house for dinner, so I wasn’t alone for the evening.

It was really nice of them, something I’m not used to.

Back home, I focus on work so much that I haven’t made time for friendships.

But so far this summer, all this time with Ryker has also led me to getting to know his group of friends better.

I’m really starting to like them…to get attached.

A lot of them I’ve met before in the Manhattan scene, but I never would’ve dreamed of going to their house for an intimate dinner on a random weekday.

Back in Manhattan, I never focused on making friends.

It’s hard to maintain friendships when your entire life revolves around working.

But something in me is changing this summer.

I’m making friends. I want to make friends.

I want to put in the effort to build relationships with the people I’m seeing every day, and while it’s terrifying, I’m really enjoying getting to know everyone.

I’m allowing myself to get attached to them.

All I can do is hope that even when we return to Manhattan, we can keep in touch.

I had the best time with Margo and Beck last night.

I loved hearing Margo talk about how well her art is doing right now and the visions she has for the future.

I even got to spend time with their baby, Celeste.

I always thought I wasn’t good with kids, but it turns out I just haven’t been around them enough.

I loved spending time with her. I loved spending time with everyone.

I had two glasses of wine at dinner, but they weren’t big. I’ve had far more before and felt fine.

This isn’t a hangover.

I’ve got to be sick.

I let out another groan before attempting to push myself off the mattress to grab my phone.

The small amount of effort makes my entire body ache.

There’s pain all the way to my bones. I try to push through it and reach across the table.

My fingers brush against the phone. I give a weak smile as I muster up the last of my energy to try and grab it.

Just as my fingers close around the device, it slips from my hand, and there’s a loud thump as it falls in between the bed and the nightstand.

“No,” I cry, my body falling back onto the mattress.

I lie there, trying to figure out what to do, when I realize my entire body is shaking.

I think I might have a fever.

My teeth chatter, which is weird because I’m covered in sweat, but all I feel is cold. I pull the comforter over me.

I’ll get my phone in a few minutes.

First, I’ll let myself go back to sleep. Maybe if I rest for just a little longer, I’ll wake up feeling better. Then I’ll get my phone…and maybe some medicine.

But first, sleep.

I drift off immediately.

I wake up to find the sun still filtering through my window.

Everything hurts. It’s even worse than before. My head pounds so badly it feels like I can’t even think straight.

I have to pee, but the thought of standing up sounds like too much. Maybe if I just try to sleep again for a little longer, I’ll feel stronger.

I can’t hold it any longer; I have to pee. I take a deep breath before pushing myself off the mattress. I’ve kicked off every single blanket. They sit in a large pile at the end of the bed.

I sit up and swing my legs to the ground, but a wave of dizziness makes my head spin.

Can I even make it to the bathroom?

I groan. I have to. I’ll just have to take it slow. I take my time standing up, not wanting to do it too fast. The moment I’m out of bed, my entire body protests. It feels like the ground is moving under my feet as I take a step toward the bathroom. I groan, wishing I were back in bed.

I don’t know how long it takes me, but I manage to get there.

I don’t remember the last time my entire body hurt like this, but I head back to the bedroom, and the moment I get close to the bed, I collapse onto it.

I didn’t even have the energy to pull my pajama shorts back up after using the bathroom.

I left them on the ground in the bathroom.

I crawl into bed in nothing but a camisole and my underwear.

Sleep immediately pulls me back under.

The growl of my stomach pulls me from a deep sleep. I blink, opening my eyes wide enough to find brilliant hues of orange and pink filtering in through my curtains.

Is it already the evening? Have I been in bed all day?

My stomach growls again, but I ignore it. My muscles ache as if I ran a marathon, and my head still pounds with an intensity that tells me I don’t think I have the energy to make it all the way to the kitchen for some food.

I’m going to have to wait.

How long do fevers even last?

I roll to my side, pulling the comforter up to my chin in an attempt to warm back up. The bed shakes from my shivers, but I can’t stop. I pull my legs to my chest and curl up in a ball, attempting to get warm.

Nothing works.

I close my eyes once again and just hope that more rest will help fight off whatever sickness I’ve caught.

The sound of a door slamming wakes me up. I open my eyes, finding my room darker than I was expecting. It’s nighttime. Moonlight illuminates the room, but only barely. It must be late, which means I somehow slept the entire day away.

It’s so quiet in the house that I can hear the heavy footsteps of someone in the hallway.

Should I be worried?

Ryker shouldn’t be back until tomorrow—unless I slept longer than I thought I did—which means there’s a good chance someone else is in the house right now.

I lift my head from the pillow, my body protesting the movement.

My head falls back immediately. If someone is here that shouldn’t be, there’s nothing I can do to stop them.

I’m too weak. Whatever sickness I’ve caught is still wreaking havoc on my body, making the pain too excruciating to do anything but lie in bed.

My stomach drops the moment my bedroom door is shoved open. Who’s here? What’s going to happen to me?

“Camille,” an angry voice calls out. He stands in the doorway, his face hidden in the shadows of the room, but I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Ryker.

He’s here.

He can help me.

I attempt to lift my head from the pillow again, but it hurts too much, and my body’s too weak to do it.

“Cami…” Ryker’s voice is softer this time as he quietly shuts the door behind him and steps into the room.

The moment the moonlight from the window hits his face, my body relaxes. If I weren’t so sick, I might be upset about how relieved I am to see him, but right now, I can’t even fight it.

“Hi,” I croak. My throat feels dry, probably because I haven’t had anything to drink all day.

“I’ve been texting and calling you all day,” he admits, walking around my bed and crouching on the floor in front of me.

I manage to point feebly toward the nightstand. “My phone fell,” I begin, my words coming out hoarse. “I’ve been too sick…too tired to get it.”

He leans forward, his hand reaching out to move pieces of my hair from my face. Some of them stick to the clammy skin of my forehead. His touch is gentle as he works to move all the stray tendrils out of my face until I can get a clear view of him.

This is probably the fever talking, but all I can think when I look at him is how handsome he is.

His warm brown eyes scan over me quickly, like he’s trying to get a good look at every inch of my face. Because of the darkness of the room and his face only being illuminated by the moonlight, it brings even more attention to his sharp features.

His strong, chiseled jaw.

His straight nose.

His lips that I think about way too often.

He rubs my forehead tenderly, concern written all over his face as he continues to look at me.

He’s quiet for what feels like forever. I don’t complain.

The feeling of his thumb tracing the curve of my profile over and over feels too good.

He doesn’t have to say anything at all if he just keeps doing this all night.

“What do you need from me?” he asks, his voice almost as hoarse as mine. I wonder why. He sounds…worried. Why would he be worried?

I swallow, my eyes finding his. I’m too tired to lie to him—or myself. I’ve been alone all day, and I’m miserable. My entire body hurts, and now that he’s here, his touch a soothing caress against my forehead, I know exactly what I need.

“Stay,” I manage to get out through the hoarseness and dryness of my throat.

It’s dark, and it’s hard to see perfectly, but I swear his entire body relaxes with my words. He stands up and takes one shoe off and then the other.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he answers before lifting the comforter and climbing into bed next to me.