My sincere apologies for the length of time it took to get this chapter out. My work schedule changed, wiping out the one free evening I had to myself where I could get any writing done. Then I got turned down for a promotion I had been lead to believe would be mine with the application only being a formality. (Spoiler alert: It wasn't, and I was passed over for the job…) This in turn, sent me into a tailspin and my depression came back with a vengeance. I am doing better now, but the lack of time to write is still an issue. I will update as often as I can. I promise.

Thanks to max2013, MargaretA66, Erin Mansfield, Paulina Ann, and Daughterof8 for the reviews and listings. And thanks to all those who read but didn't review.

Chapter 4

It took Frank much longer to feel better than he either wanted or expected.

The first few days after Anna called Joe to his apartment were a bit of a blur. He spent most of the time shivering, sweating, or sleeping.

Mostly sleeping.

He vaguely remembered responding to the occasional text message from Joe, Kara, Anna, Chet, and his Aunt Gertrude. His parents called, his mother wanting to hear in his voice how he was really doing, rather than the clipped, "I'm fine," that was the standard answer to any question he was asked. These conversations were generally short, devolving into whichever parent was on the other end of the line asking if he needed anything, then letting him go back to sleep. He was grateful they understood that talking exhausted him. Even so, waking up to talk was exhausting, and as soon as each call ended, he would immediately slide back into dreamless slumber, the phone falling somewhere on the bed or on the floor.

In the mornings, when he finally managed to drag himself out of bed, he would find coffee and breakfast in a box on the floor of the hallway. What was in the box let him know who had been 'on duty' that day.

Because he was sure Chet had set up a roster.

Bagels or homemade oatmeal meant Chet himself had delivered. Instant oatmeal or a protein shake were Kara's contributions. Anna brought yogurt and fruit with some granola. Doughnuts usually indicated it had been his brother's turn. At least until Joe had left for Singapore. Then Chet's offerings started coming more often.

At noon, his friend would close the office and stop by to check on him – wearing a surgical mask to be safe – with crackers, bottles of seltzer, or milkshakes. In the evenings, a delivery would come from his favorite Korean restaurant. Usually, these meals were rich broths loaded with noodles and vegetables, all accompanied by notes from Mrs. Kim urging him to get better soon.

As thoughtful and appreciated as this was, most of the food ended up either in the sink or the trash. When his fever was down near normal, he managed a few bites here and there, but most of the time he was simply too nauseated to eat. On the rare times his stomach settled down, and he was actually able to stand, he made toast from some of the bagels. When walking wasn't a possibility, he nibbled on some pretzel sticks that Chet had brought one day and had been stashed on his nightstand.

He knew he had finally turned a corner one evening when the soup that magically appeared on his doorstep smelled appealing rather than turning his stomach. Mouth watering and hands shaking slightly, he gulped down the savory broth, the first sips burning his tongue until he let it cool just a bit, When the broth was gone, he slurped down the noodles, feeling better as food both soothed his throat and cleared his head. Breathing felt easier, the pressure on his sinuses clearing with the heat and the ginger in the soup, and when he slept that night, it was without alternately freezing or throwing off all his blankets.

After a few more days, he woke one morning having slept through the entire night without once waking to cough. Feeling more alert than he had in a while, he practically bounced into the bathroom to shower, glad to be on the mend. This, however, brought him face to face with the mirror, which immediately put a damper on his good mood. The face staring back at him – one with sunken cheeks, hair that hadn't been washed in far too long, and eyes much too bright in the pale face – didn't at all match how he felt. He stood for a long few minutes grimacing, palms flat on the counter, elbows locked, jaw clenched.

The reflection staring back at him looked like the one he had seen upon leaving Hargreaves Manor.

Getting sick had erased much of the gains he had made, both in muscle tone and in weight. He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. He knew the damage he had inflicted on himself by taking on the role of an anorexic patient in need of treatment was probably what had left him vulnerable to the flu. While this didn't help with his mood, he remembered what his psychiatrist had told him, and focused on shaking off the feelings of powerlessness and concentrating on more positive things.

Like the fact that I am upright and feeling more human, he thought.

Showering and shaving helped reinforce the feeling of being on the mend. He still had to tighten the string of his sweatpants so they wouldn't fall past his hips when he moved, but he was able to tell himself that was normal given his recent lack of appetite. But, he still sighed a little at the knowledge that building back to where he had been would take time.

Moving from the bedroom to the living room winded him more than just from moving from one room to the other should have, and he had to sit down on sofa and take a few minutes to catch his breath.

Note to self; better doesn't mean well, he thought, feeling his legs shake slightly as he lowered himself down. I need to remember that...

He leaned back against the cushions for a few minutes waiting for his breathing to slow and watched the sky lighten as the sun rose. It was earlier than he had thought, although to be honest, he hadn't really been paying attention to what time it was.

Checking the clock, he realized now would be a good time to see if Joe was available to chat. Grabbing his phone, he opened the international texting app they had both installed, and pressed the video icon next to Joe's name.

He had gotten texts from his brother since he had left – one saying he had landed safely in Singapore, another some sightseeing photos, and the last a terse message after the first day at the office with minimal information about the names of the people he had met and a few comments about the interpersonal interactions – but nothing with any actual details about the case.

After a minute or so with no answer, he disconnected the video without leaving a message. The last thing he needed right now was Joe worrying about him. Better his brother should focus on the case. He reopened the app and sent a message instead.

Finally feeling better. How are things going on your end? Fill me in when you get a chance.

Within moments, his phone chimed. Still at the office, Joe had typed. Will call when I get back to the apartment. If you don't pick up, I'll email. DON'T push yourself. JUST DON'T.

Frank's lips quirked up at the edges into a half-smile. If nothing else, there was no question that his brother knew him and was going to worry about him regardless.

The next message went to Chet, letting his friend know that, depending on how he felt at the end of the day, he would most likely be back in the office for at least half of the next day to see about getting caught up on some of the paperwork he was sure had piled up in his absence. The reply text read similarly to the one that Joe had sent with the additional threat to have the locks changed if Frank tried to come in the next day. I'm a partner now, remember? I can and will do it. Stay home. He ended the message with a smiley face emoji.

At this, Frank sighed. Going in tomorrow probably was unrealistic, but he felt so useless sitting around doing nothing.

He sat for a few minutes watching the sky lighten before reaching for his phone again. He had one more message to send.

He knew Anna's play had started rehearsals but had no idea how late she had been out the night before and didn't want to chance waking her before she needed to be up, so instead of calling he texted. Feeling more like myself. I hope the play is going well. I miss you. He added a picture of a bouquet of daisies and a heart, then hit the send button. Then he got off the sofa and went to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.

After gulping down two cups of strong coffee – the caffeine making his brain buzz after too many days of abstaining – along with one of the bagels Chet had brought the day before, he sat back down on the sofa for what seemed like a moment until startled into wakefulness by an unfamiliar chiming sound. Blinking his eyes into focus, he reached around for his phone, feeling befuddled and only half awake.

Must have fallen asleep, he thought as he swiped up the screen to accept the call. A blurry image filled the small screen, and he rubbed his eyes trying to clear them.

"'Bro, did I wake you?" The image coalesced into a close up of Joe's left eye, startlingly blue against his pale skin. "Are you sure you're feeling better? You don't look like you're feeling better."

Frank sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Move the phone back. It's a little weird talking to your eyeball." He waited until he could see his brother's whole face before continuing. "It's fine. I was napping, but that's all I've been doing recently. And yes, I am feeling more human. Not completely back to normal, but more like myself. I'm glad you called. I wanted to to check in with you."

The lines around Joe's mouth relaxed. "Good. I've been wanting to touch base with you, too, but I didn't want to bother you while you were sick."

The tone of his brother's voice let Frank know there was more going on than he had been told so far. "Okay, fill me in. What are your first impressions?"

After spending a few minutes talking about his first few days at the office and describing its inhabitants in more detail, Joe's lips pressed together. "There's something going on." He let out a breath. "I'm just not sure what. The staff seems all buddy-buddy, but there's an undercurrent I can't quite put my finger on… Tension. And it feels like it's building." Head shaking, he said, "It's frustrating."

"And the numbers look good?"

At this, Joe shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea. You're the spreadsheet expert. I can barely read the things across the screen. My eyes jump to the line above or the one below." Frustration laced his words. "I'm not sure I'm the right person for this."

"Joe." Frank's tone was sharper than he had intended, but it drew his brother's gaze toward him. "You read people much better than I can. I can do numbers, but I'd be useless with the office dynamic. You're the right person for this." He wasn't sure Joe believed him, but at least his brother's eyes lightened a bit. As the silence lengthened, something else occurred to him. Trying to keep his voice casual, he asked "Have you tried getting printouts?"

"Printouts?"

"Yeah. Get the spreadsheets printed out and use a ruler to read the lines across." Frank shot a smile at the phone screen. "It's what you used to do in high school any time we had to deal with charts, remember?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Joe's face. "I'd forgotten about that." He shook his head. "Of course, you'd remember." A rueful grin crept onto Joe's face. "I'll do that." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Tomorrow. I need to get to sleep. I think I'm finally over the jet lag and the time change, but I have this taskmistress," his voice grew louder, "who seems to think I need to be up earlier than necessary."

A small voice came from somewhere else in the room. "Time for bed soon, Mr. Joe. The company needs you awake in the morning, not taking a nap on your desk."

Joe smirked. "Yes, Chona. Just a minute." He turned the phone's camera around to show Frank a petite Asian woman with a long, dark braid hanging down over one shoulder. "Say hi to my brother."

She pointedly looked at the watch wrapped around her left wrist. "Twenty seconds left," she said. "Good night, Mr. Joe's brother." She waved once, then turned her eyes back toward Joe.

The camera turned to show Joe's face again, this time with laugh lines crinkling around his blue eyes. "Yes, ma'am." His voice lowered to a whisper. "I seriously have to find out what the heck Biff told her about me when he gets here."

"Now." The girl's voice was firm.

Joe chuckled. "So, I guess I'll say 'goodnight, Gracie.'" He winked. "Goodnight, Gracie."

The screen closed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You're sure you're okay to be here?"

Frank had spent two more days at home building up his strength and stamina before attempting to go to the office, and the concerned expression on Chet's face said more clearly than words that his friend thought being at work was a mistake.

"Yes, Mother. I'm fine."

Chet let out a breath through clenched teeth. "If it looks like you're pushing yourself too hard, I'm going to throw you over my shoulder and fireman carry you home." Despite the set of his jaw, his eyes were twinkling. "I bet that would get the neighbors' attention."

"Probably, yes, but I think I would rather spare both of us that happening."

With a quick grin, Chet saluted and made his way back to the front of the office.

Frank settled himself behind his desk, glad both for the banter and the change in scenery. Anna had left for Vancouver the day before, taking a short break from her rehearsal schedule for a screen and chemistry test for the pilot she had been recruited for. He had made sure a bouquet of daisies would be waiting for her in her hotel room when she checked in along with a note wishing her luck and letting her know he would be waiting for her when she got home.

He had only made it through a quarter of his emails and one cup of coffee, when Chet reappeared at the door again. "There's a client here who wants to speak with you." Despite the emphasis on the word client, his voice had dropped to a near whisper. "Are you sure you're up for people?"

"Why are you…?" Closing his laptop, he blinked his eyes into focus and took a closer look at his friend.

Worry radiated out from Chet in waves, the knuckles of his left hand whitening as he held a pen in a near death-grip. There was something he wasn't saying.

Or can't say within the client's hearing, Frank thought. And in that moment, he understood. He nodded, gratitude for his friend washing over him. Smiling gently, he said, "Send Ms. Pierce in," the words projected so as to be audible in the waiting area. "I'll be fine," he said in a lowered voice. The concerned look on his friend's face lightened. "Really."

Chet squared his shoulders, relaxed the hand that held the pen, and smiled. "Of course you knew who it was." With a sigh, he turned toward front of the office and waved a hand. "Ms. Pierce, if you'll come this way."

The woman who walked into the office was stylishly dressed, her forest green silk blouse bringing out the green in her hazel eyes, while the black cashmere wrap around her shoulders showed the auburn curls just dipping over her shoulders to advantage. Charcoal gray trousers were tailored exactly to her figure, and perfectly painted red toenails peeped out from the open toes of her low-heeled leather shoes. She was model-thin with an air of bravado, but there was a tightness in the corners of her eyes that let him know most of it was an act.

Frank rose, and held out his right hand to her. "Ms. Pierce, it's a pleasure to meet you."

She stopped a few feet from the desk, one hand reaching up to the side of her face in a defensive gesture. For a long moment, she stared at him, her chin trembling, then she straightened. "You understand," she said, her voice a whisper. Then she took a breath, shook her head, and reached out to grasp the hand that had been offered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… Thank you."

"It's okay." He indicated the chair on the other side of the desk. "Please, have a seat." He was uncomfortably aware of her eyes on him as he grasped the arms of his own chair, and slowly lowered himself into it. "I hope you'll forgive me if I'm not totally up to speed on the details of your contract. I've been ill." He swore internally. "With the flu," he hastened to explain.

"We're more susceptible to bugs right now." She gave him a shy smile. "At least until we get back to where we were before…" Her voice trailed off.

"Yes."

This is going off the rails before it even starts, he thought. Pull yourself together, Hardy.

With a small smile, he indicated his laptop. "Do you mind if I refresh my memory?" At her nod, he flipped up the lid and opened the correct folder. As her perused the files, he said, "I know you've primarily been dealing with my brother. Interviewing staff is generally more his strength, but I will be happy to start doing background checks on anyone you are considering for your household." One document caught his attention. "It says here that your husband's lawyer has requested multiple continuances in your divorce hearing." He double-checked the dates. "Six times?" Unable to keep the note of surprise out of his voice, he finally managed to wrench his gaze away from the laptop to look at the woman across from him.

She sat with her hands in her lap, fingers entwined and knuckles white, her lips pressed together. "Yes. He seems to think the longer he draws this out, the more likely it is I'll give him what he wants." Her eyes narrowed, a steely expression covering her face. "He's wrong. I have enough money to outlast him. His finances are less… certain." A flicker of satisfaction appeared in her eyes. "And I intend to make sure they stay that way."

"I see." And he did. He had only been held at Hargreaves for a short time, most of the damage that had been done to his body having been self-inflicted in his desire – no, he thought, my need – to play the part of a depressed, anorexic rich man to perfection.

She had been there much longer, involuntarily committed by the man she was now seeking to divorce.

"So, what brings you here today, Ms. Pierce?" He closed the laptop to give her his full attention.

"I have a meeting scheduled for the day after tomorrow with him and our lawyers at my lawyer's office. The letter they sent was particularly threatening, so I think he will be there." Eyes down and hands wringing, she stopped and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "We haven't had the time to hire a personal assistant." She grimaced. "Or a bodyguard." Lifting her eyes up to his, she said, "I would like someone from your office to attend the meeting with me. My father offered to come, but I don't think that would be the best idea." For a moment, a brief smile touched her lips. "Even if it would be moderately entertaining." Then she grew serious again. "I need to do this myself, but I don't want to be stupid or reckless. Is there someone you can send?"

Frank held his breath. Joe would be best suited for this particular job. His brother had the ability to come across as friendly and affable while still being perceived as totally menacing. Chet had been pulling triple duty in the office while Joe was out of the country and he had been out of commission. That left one person.

"Of course," he said. "Would you prefer I pick you up, or should I meet you at the office?"

A relieved smile spread across her face, and her entire body relaxed, smoothing out small wrinkles in the wrap laying around her shoulders. "I'll send my driver to get you. The meeting is at 10:30."

"I'll be ready."

She rose and made her way to the door. "Thank you," she said, then she exited the office, leaving just a hint of rose-scented perfume behind.