She hadn’t lied to him again. She did have a clean bill of health and the nausea would pass eventually.
“Really?” A dark brow rose in skepticism.
“Yes, really.” She took in a breath, willing the cold sweat on her forehead away. “There’s nothing for you to be concerned about. I’ll continue to do my job.”
“To full capacity?”
“Certainly.” She gritted her teeth.
“There has been some…concern.” His tone turned lazy. Yet underneath, a strand of menace stirred.
Concern?
The sweat slid down between her breasts, cold and clammy.
Lise had done everything she could to hold on to her regular habits. Despite it taking everything in her to drag herself from her bed every morning. Although she had to take several more trips to the lavatory than usual. She made sure her work had been completed before leaving every day, even if the only thing she could think of was going home and climbing back into bed.
Had she been wrong, totally wrong? Had it somehow become obvious she felt like a walking vomit machine every moment?
No, he was only fishing.
“There’s no reason for anyone to be concerned.” She swung the laptop case over her shoulder with what she hoped was a nonchalant air. “I’ll be completely fine soon. You have no reason to question my work. The quality hasn’t slipped.”
She needed this job. Needed to save as much as she could during the next several months. The fact that this man held her job in his grip made the nausea roll inside her.
“I am not questioning your work, Ms. Helton.” He paused, his mouth stern. “Not yet.”
Stirring menace had now turned to outright threat. She swallowed the fear and the hate, meeting his gaze with a steely one of her own. “Not ever.”
His tiger eyes blazed at the challenge.
Then he shrugged, long, black lashes covering his eyes.
Time to leave. This conversation was only adding to her nausea. Sweeping together the last of her papers and stuffing them into a folder, she glanced around for her pen, the silver pen she valued because Tracy had given it to her as a graduation present. She’d brought it in here, she remembered. The pen wasn’t on the table, though. Had she dropped it on the floor?
“Are you looking for something?” he said, his voice filled with blatant insincerity. “May I be of assistance?”
The very last thing she wanted was him anywhere near her. She’d come back later and find it. “No, I’ve got everything.”
“If you say so.”
Lise glanced back at him. He stood at the end of the boardroom, his mouth slanted in a typical cynical half-smile. In contrast, his eyes glared at her.
How she despised him. How she’d give her last pound to never see him again.
And oh, oh, oh how she needed to puke.
Definitely time to leave.
Tightening her grip on the folder, she edged around the table and towards the door. But the man wasn’t done with her, damn him. With one stride, he made it to the door and leaned his big body back, blocking her escape.
She halted and managed a perfectly good glare of her own. “Mr. Mattare—”
“Are you sure it isn’t emotional distress?” His gaze was keen. Too keen.
“What do you mean?”
“I heard about your unfortunate split.” He waved a negligent hand to her naked fourth finger. “My condolences.”
His fake pity burned her pride to a crisp. It also churned her stomach into a full rebellion. “My personal relationships are none of your business, either.”
His arms folded across his broad chest. “The thought crossed my mind that it might be very much my business.”
“Of course it’s not—”
“After all, what man would want a cheating fiancée for a wife?” His quiet, lethal words cut through her objection.
A blaze of embarrassment and resentment swept through her like a roaring fire at the unfair and untrue accusation. The righteous fury burned off every bit of queasiness. She forgot the need for her job, forgot the priority of her baby, forgot everything except this man in front of her. “You are the nastiest—”
He held his pose, still lazy and careless as he leaned on the door.
“—ugliest scum I have ever had the misfortune—”
His eyes blazed right back at her.
“—to meet.” Her breath came choppy and uneven.
His mouth twitched into a smile. A fake smile because his gaze burned with animosity. “And yet—”
The breath clutched, caught in her throat.
“—you begged me to take you.”
The truth of the words, the confidence in his voice, the snarl in his tone as he threw it at her; they all combined, sweeping through her. His aggression caused a wash of sickness so overwhelming she knew she had to get out of here before she suffered the ultimate embarrassment of gagging all over his Italian leather shoes.