So calm, Phillip thought, and rose to help himself to a beer from her mini bar. What kind of woman was she? “As far as I’m concerned, Sybill, all bets are off. You lied to me, you used me. You had it all worked out, didn’t you? When you waltzed into the boatyard last week, your agenda was set.”

He couldn’t stay calm. The longer she stood, staring at him with no expression on her face, the higher his temper spiked. “Infiltrate the enemy camp.” He slammed the beer onto the table. The crack of glass on wood split through her head like an axe. “Observe and report, pass information to your sister. And if being with me helped you slide more smoothly behind the lines, you were willing to make the sacrifice. Would you have slept with me?”

“No.” She pressed a hand to her head and nearly gave in to the need to slip to the floor and curl into a ball. “I never meant for things . . .”

“I think you’re lying.” He crossed to her, taking her arms and drawing her up to her toes. “I think you’d have done anything. Just one more object lesson, right? And with the added benefit of helping your bitch of a sister bleed us for more money. Seth doesn’t mean any more to you than he does to her. Just a means to an end for both of you.”

“No, that’s not—I can’t think.” The pain was excruciating. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have gone to her knees and begged. “I—we’ll discuss it tomorrow. I’m not well.”

“You and Gloria have that in common too. I’m not falling for it, Sybill.”

Her breath began to hitch, her vision to blur. “I’m sorry. I can’t stand it. I have to sit down. Please, I have to sit down.”

He focused in, past his fury. Her cheeks were dead pale, her eyes glassy, her breath coming fast and uneven. If she was faking illness, he decided, Hollywood had missed a major star.

Muttering an oath, he pulled her to the sofa. She all but melted onto the cushions.

Too ill to be embarrassed, she closed her eyes. “My briefcase. My pills are in my briefcase.”

He picked up the soft black leather case beside the desk, riffled through it and found the prescription bottle. “Imitrex?” He looked over at her. She had her head back, her eyes closed, and her hands fisted in her lap as if she could center the pain there and squeeze it to death. “Major migraine drugs.”

“Yes. I get them now and again.” She had to focus, she ordered herself, had to relax. But nothing she did eased her past the vicious pain. “I should have had them with me. If I’d had them with me it wouldn’t have gone this far.”

“Here.” He handed her a pill and water he’d taken from the mini bar.

“Thank you.” She nearly bobbled the water in her rush. “It takes a while, but it’s better than the injection.” She closed her eyes again and prayed he would just leave her alone.