“Exactly the opposite. Mr. Trainor’s fever broke, so he’s sending me home. He said you wouldn’t mind arranging a car for me.” Ordinarily, she would get herself home to New Jersey, but at this hour she would accept the ride.

Ed still looked concerned. “Dr. Cavill felt you should stay until morning. Mr. Trainor’s temperature could go up again.”

“Mr. Trainor was pretty definite about my leaving.”

“The doctor will be here soon. Why don’t you take advantage of the guest bathroom’s amenities while I speak with him?” Ed indicated the room Chloe had wandered into hours before. “Please help yourself to any supplies you’d like to use.”

She smoothed a hand over her rumpled hair and thought longingly of a toothbrush. Walking into the guest suite, she pulled open a door and found a walk-in closet that made her sigh with envy. The shelving was made of some exotic, pale wood with a dramatic grain, and the hardware was gleaming brushed nickel. The rods were half-filled with clothes with tags hanging from them. She picked one at random and discovered it indicated the size of the garment and its fabric content. Men’s clothes were ranged on one side, while women’s hung on the other. Could these be for the use of Trainor’s guests?

Shoe boxes were slotted into custom-made cubbies. She couldn’t resist opening a Jimmy Choo box marked “Evening Sandals” with her size on the outside.

She breathed out an ooh of delight. Aqua and forest-green crystals sparkled on leaf-shaped straps that wrapped around the foot. A high, slender black suede heel added to the elegance. They were the kind of shoes she fantasized about as she trolled through shoe websites. And they cost nearly two thousand dollars. She ran her fingertip over a line of crystals, fighting the longing to find out what it would be like to see this work of art on her foot. She was in her stocking feet, so it would only take a second to slip it on . . .

She slammed the lid closed. It would just make her knockoffs seem cheaper and drearier if she tried on the real thing. Shoving the box back into its niche, she marched out of the closet and tried the next door.

It led to a bathroom fit for a palace—all gray-and-white marble with silver tile mosaic accents. The tub would accommodate four people, if they liked each other, and the array of toiletries made her sigh. Even the toothbrushes sported polished wooden handles. The thought of using one and throwing it away offended her sense of thrift, so she did a thorough swish with mouthwash, using her finger to scrub at her teeth. After brushing her hair and adjusting her rumpled clothes, she wandered over to the sliding doors that gave access to the huge terrace.

“The city that never sleeps,” she murmured, scanning the lit windows of the skyscrapers beyond the terrace’s parapet.

“Ms. Russell.” Chloe spun around to see Ed hovering at the door. “Dr. Cavill would like you to stay the rest of the night, if that’s all right with you.”

Chloe gave him a shrug and a smile. “It’s four in the morning. What better things would I have to do?” She started toward the door.

Ed cleared his throat. “Dr. Cavill and Mr. Trainor are not in agreement about where you should sleep, so you might want to wait a few moments before you go in there.”

“Let me guess. Dr. Cavill wants me on the cot, and Mr. Trainor doesn’t.”

“That’s correct.”

She couldn’t blame Trainor for not wanting a total stranger sleeping beside him when he felt lousy. “Let me know when they make a decision.” She hesitated before saying, “I walked into the closet when I was looking for the bathroom. I just wondered . . . who do all those clothes belong to?”

“They’re for Mr. Trainor’s guests. Please feel free to borrow anything you’d like.”

Chloe thought of strolling into Trainor’s bedroom in the evening sandals and had to suppress a giggle. “Thanks, but I was just curious.”

Ed nodded and withdrew, closing the door gently behind him. She sat down on the chaise longue, pulled out her cell phone, and checked for missed calls. There were none, so either Grandmillie was fine, or she’d fallen and couldn’t get up. Chloe grimaced at her gallows humor. Grandmillie was undoubtedly sound asleep in her own bed and wouldn’t appreciate all of Chloe’s worrying.

She could hear muffled voices from the next room, their tones testy. Trainor wasn’t giving in to the doctor’s orders without a fight. She stretched out on the chaise and closed her eyes, listening to the rise and fall of the argument next door.

“Ms. Russell.”

Chloe sat up abruptly. Cavill stood at the foot of the chaise, looking down at her. She’d nodded off while she waited. “Sorry,” she said, swinging her legs over so she could stand up. “It’s late.”

Cavill nodded. “I’m not going to mislead you. Nathan doesn’t want you in his bedroom, but I’ve insisted.”

She had to swallow a nervous giggle at his phrasing.

The doctor looked away and then back at her. “I’m sorry if he’s not as appreciative as he should be.”

Once again, she read the strain on Cavill’s face. “Is he still very sick?”

The doctor made a gesture of uncertainty. “Fevers often go back up.” He wasn’t indulging the whim of a rich and important man; he was worried about his friend.

“I’ll do whatever I can.”

Cavill gave her a tired smile and walked beside her into the master suite.

Trainor was sitting up in the bed, his broad shoulders and chest covered by a dry dark-green T-shirt. His damp hair was neatly combed, and his eyes were unclouded by fever. When his gaze fell on Chloe, his mouth tightened. “Your presence is entirely unnecessary. Please allow Ed to send you home in a car.”