.

I followed him after everyone had left. It had taken an hour to get those people out. Ethan had joined me as I left the room, but never spoke a word as we headed towards Anthony's office. Of course, he had noticed the change in Anthony's mood, as well. I would expect nothing else from him.

I took the initiative to knock on the door, and Ethan retreated. I gave him a curious look, in reply of which he just smiled apologetically and then turned to leave. Shrugging, I waited, or should I say, expected his gruff voice to ask me to enter. When a moment pa.s.sed and he still hadn't answered, I turned the k.n.o.b of the door and peered in. He seemed to be facing away from me, sitting on that leather chair of his. I knocked again, but he didn't answer again.

I scrunched my brows and then entered, anyways. I softly approached him, making sure that he didn't get startled. And I didn't think it possible, but it was; there he was, his head leaning back on the chair and his eyes shut. I leaned over him and pressed my hands into his forehead to check if he had a fever. He was sweating and the air conditioner was doing nothing to help him.

His forehead was burning and his breath came in hot, but soft pants. Worry overcame me as I stared at his face. I wondered why he had a fever. Emotional suppression? Maybe.

"Anthony," I whispered softly, but he just kept breathing evenly. Has he fallen asleep? I wondered. "Michael?" I tried. I'd wanted to say that name ever since I had heard him being called that.

This time he responded. He moaned and then turned his face to seek out my hand. I pressed my palm to his cheeks, my hand cold against his heated skin and I smiled. He replied.

Pressing my palm to his cheek, I reached into the pocket of his jeans to search for the handkerchief that I knew he carried around with him but never told anyone because it would hinder that bada.s.s image of his. Pulling the small, folded material I dabbed it at his sweaty face. He s.h.i.+vered the moment the cloth pressed against his neck.

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