Chapter 5

Sawyer realized that this was Madeline's first time disobeying him when he saw that she wasn't moving. So, it seemed that she couldn't keep up the act anymore.

He eyed her icily and snarled, "I warned you on your first day, Madeline. You do what I say. If you don't, you're immediately out. Now, pick everything up!"

When he saw her trembling, a smug, mocking glint flickered in his cold eyes. He knew that getting fired was her biggest fear. After all, she was clinging to his side with ulterior motives. If she got fired now, whoever had sent her to him wouldn't let her off.

Madeline's eyes turned red. Her fear bared its claws as soon as she heard his words. It had been so hard for her to stay by his side, but she'd held on despite his suspicion and nitpicking.

Now that she could watch over him every day, she'd gotten greedy. She couldn't bear to leave him anymore.

She lowered her head, slowly turned, and picked up the medical kit on the floor. She remained crouched as she gathered the scattered items one by one.

Sawyer's back, which had been tensed, finally relaxed. He leaned against the couch like a victorious king, his stormy eyes lingering on her slightly thick waist.

When she finished organizing everything, he didn't even give her a chance to speak. "Go get my food. I'm hungry."

Madeline put the medical kit away and hurried to the kitchen, terrified that he would see her tears if she was a second too slow.

Sawyer rubbed his pounding head irritably and cursed under his breath. He got up to follow her.

Madeline turned off the stove and stirred the broth a few times. Then, she served a bowl and set it on a tray, placing a few side dishes around it before bringing everything to the table.

Sawyer leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze tracking her every move.

She never looked at him, keeping her head down the whole time. Her face was tense, and her expression was colder than usual.

He snorted. "I wonder which one of us is the boss here. I'm paying your salary, yet you have the nerve to give me attitude."

Madeline swept up the shards on the floor, tidied the counter, and rolled her sleeves back down.

The moment Sawyer saw that, he knew that she was about to leave. His expression darkened again.

"I should—"

"Someone has to stay tonight to watch me. Otherwise, I could burn up in the middle of the night and die without anyone knowing." He bulldozed right over whatever she was about to say.

Madeline stiffened. Then she went to get her phone.

Sawyer watched her, confused.

She called Fred and said, "Mr. Stark, please come back to Mr. Holt's place. He needs someone to stay and watch him tonight—"

"Madeline Jamison!" Sawyer snapped.

She turned around, jumping at how thunderous his expression had become. "What's wrong, Mr. Holt?"

His breathing hitched, and his anger surged. Had she come back to piss him off on purpose?

"Who said you could make decisions on your own? Hang up!" he snarled.

"But you just said you needed someone to watch you tonight. If you don't want Mr. Stark to do it, then tell me who you want. I'll call them now."

Madeline checked the time. It was past 11:00 pm. Whoever it was, she needed to call them quickly.

Sawyer's vision pulsed darkly at the edges. He couldn't tell whether it was from rage or the fever. How was she so good at acting?

He said scathingly, "There's no need to call anyone. You can do the honors, Ms. Jamison. Don't let me die in bed."

Madeline's heart jolted, and her head snapped up. "You want me to stay here?"

Her shock only added to his irritation. "You don't want to?"

She was speechless, not knowing what to say.

Sawyer never allowed women into his private space. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd been allowed there in the six months since she'd started working for him, and she'd never dreamed that he would let her stay.

She didn't dare imagine what he would do if he woke up the next day and found her there. Would he go ballistic?

"It's settled." When Sawyer decided on something, he didn't consider what others thought.

He sat down to eat. The chicken noodle soup wasn't too salty, which was what he liked. The side dishes were good, too. Satisfied with the meal, he finally softened his tone.

"Why are you standing there? Aren't you hungry? Come eat with me."

Madeline blinked in surprise, then shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

She would never eat alone with him. She constantly reminded herself to keep her distance so he could feel safe.

Sawyer shot her a cold look and put the bowl down. "Get me another serving."

She did as she was told. He had three bowls of chicken noodle soup before stopping.

Madeline brought medicine and water and set them on the table. "Take the fever medicine first. The antibiotics should be taken in another 30 minutes."

Sawyer couldn't be bothered and took both pills at once.

She watched him blankly and took the cup to wash, thinking that she would only bring him one pill at a time next time.

Sawyer lounged comfortably and watched her clean up, his eyes drifting again and again to her waist. It was two or three sizes thicker than the office's stick-thin elites.

The soft feel of her body still seemed to cling to his forearm. He stroked it and said mockingly, "You don't even eat that much, so why are you so curvy? My arm almost snapped when I carried you down from the chair earlier."

Madeline couldn't help but think that something seemed to have gone haywire in Sawyer after her business trip. He'd always had a sharp tongue, but he'd never said anything this obnoxious.

She chalked his behavior up to his fever and ignored him.

But that didn't sit right with him. He wondered why she wasn't talking to him anymore after the business trip. It was bad enough that she never spoke in his dreams. Now, she was right here, yet she still acted like he didn't exist.

It seemed that she was taking his leniency too far.

He stood and commanded, "Come blow-dry my hair."

Madeline turned and stared at his back in shock as he headed to the bedroom. She had kept a tight rein on herself for the past six months, never touching him, terrified of making him feel uncomfortable.

She knew better than anyone how severe his post-traumatic stress disorder was, and how easily he became unsettled and afraid.

So what was he doing now? Once or twice might be accidents, but could asking her to do something as intimate as blow-drying his hair be a third accident? Had the fever fried his brain?

Would he shave his head after waking up tomorrow if she blow-dried his hair now?

Madeline felt anxious. She didn't know what had happened to Sawyer in the two weeks she'd been gone.

"I told you to blow-dry my hair. Why are you dawdling?" His hoarse, impatient voice drifted out of the bedroom.

Madeline had no choice but to remove her disposable gloves and wash her hands before heading to the en suite bathroom. Sawyer was already sitting in the chair she'd brought in before. His long limbs hung loose and heavy, the fever making him look languid and drained.

His eyes were a little red. He looked at her, slightly dazed, clearly finally out of steam. He silently urged her to hurry up and serve him.

Madeline hesitated. "Mr. Holt, do you know who I am?"

Sawyer's face was abnormally flushed. He squinted at her dizzily and snorted. "I'm sick, not stupid. Who are you? My chubby secretary, of course. The one who nearly broke my arm—"

She cut in quickly. "Alright, that's enough. I'll dry your hair now."