She sped back through the house, her pulse racing. She entered the lounge just in time to see Tony hunching forward, reaching for the pieces of a broken photo frame at his feet.
‘Wait.’ She hurried over and squatted down before him. ‘I’ll take care of it.’
He didn’t even acknowledge her as his fingers slipped the family photo from beneath the shards.
‘What have I done?’
‘Shh.’ She rested her palm against his knee. ‘It’s going to be okay—you’ll see.’
‘How can it be?’ he said on a shuddering sob, his distraught gaze crushing her. ‘I’ve ruined everything. My work, my family...everything.’
‘We can fix it... I promise,’ she said, desperate to calm him. ‘Here—put your feet up so I can clean this up.’
Silently he did as she asked and she fled to the kitchen, telling herself it would be okay. She would get him the help he needed, whether he was willing to accept it or not. Lucy would certainly support her.
And as for Marcus—what the hell did he think he was playing at? Entering into a deal with a man who clearly wasn’t of sound mind?
Screw his charity work and his exemplary public profile—that son of a bitch had a lot to answer for.
And she would see to it that he did.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARCUS PRESSED THE speed button, increasing the already punishing pace of the treadmill. Around him music blared, his breath was coming in hard grunts, sweat trickled down his body and still she was there, filling his mind, teasing his body.
He tore his T-shirt over his head, swiping it over his face and across his torso before tossing it aside. He wasn’t stopping until he was free of her.
He’d tried telling himself it was business that was getting him worked up, that they needed to be talking strategy ASAP and ensuring they were on the same page.
But like hell was it business.
He’d tried to work, to concentrate on anything other than her, and yet she persisted. Her appeal still resonated through him long after he’d left her standing there.
It didn’t matter that she was mad at him, that he’d screwed up and jeopardised their business relationship. His body simply didn’t care.
And that was unacceptable.
He hammered the speed button once more, his frustration burning through him. He would exhaust her out of him if he had to. Whatever it took to get himself back under control.
His mobile’s screen flashing in its rest caught his eye and he cursed. He didn’t want to be interrupted. He wasn’t ready to finish.
He checked the ID and saw it was his doorman. He wouldn’t ring unless it was important...
Easing off the speed, he muted the music and put the phone on speaker. ‘Yes?’
‘Sir, I have Miss Hayes here to see you.’
‘Miss Hayes?’ He stopped the treadmill entirely.
‘Yes, sir, would you like me to send her up?’
He felt his pulse kick rebelliously and thrust his fingers through his hair.
So what if she’d changed her mind? So what if she couldn’t wait until tomorrow? So what if she’d tracked him down?
‘Sir?’
‘Yes.’ He pulled sweat-slickened strands of hair off his forehead and met his own determined gaze in the mirror ahead. Business. It’s all about business. ‘Bring her up.’