Daniel was the one who had filled Lucian in on the details of his Friday night fit. He calmly explained all the symptoms, including Lucian’s shortness of breath, chest pains, and the feeling like Lucian wasn’t going to live until morning. Clark fed Lucian a Xanax, told him to rest, and Lucian had spent the weekend in the spare suite of their townhouse. Lucian would have argued harder to leave, and if it had just been Clark insisting, Lucian was sure it would have worked.
Daniel, however, turned out to be completely unreasonable when it came to recovery and self-preservation, and Lucian caved beneath his deep ocean gaze and Clark’s gentle insistence. Lucian had to admit, the sleep had done him wonders, and Daniel was a genius in the kitchen.
A knock sounded at the door, and a woman with blonde curls stuck her head into the room. “Sir?” Melody, Lucian’s secretary, said. “Maxwell Clark here to see you for your ten o’clock.”