Chapter 24
GABBY
The nausea hits mid-morning, creeping up behind my ribs with a shocking suddenness. One minute I’m happily typing away, entering data like no one’s business. The next I’m gripping the sink in the AngelCorp executive washroom, knuckles white, forehead slick with sweat.
But once I’m ready to let loose, nothing comes. Just the sour taste of nerves and toothpaste. My stomach twists for a bit, but the nausea fades, pulling back like a bad tide. I stand there for a few long moments, breathing through my nose until everything steadies.
When I finally look up, the mirror isn’t kind. My cheeks are pale, eyes puffy, hair frizzy, like it’s the most humid part of summer, instead of the butt-end of winter. I stand up, tug my blazer tighter, and turn sideways.
No bump showing, not yet. The doctor said it takes longer to show for the first pregnancy. All the same, I let my hands settle over my stomach, like the bump is already there.
“You’re fine,” I tell myself, smoothing down my hair. “Totally fine. You can do this.”
And while I believe it, the fact of the matter is that this first trimester has been hard. The aches, the fatigue, the nausea—it’s felt like a two-month-long hangover from hell.
Back at my desk, I try to concentrate, but it’s not working. All I do is stare at my screen until the numbers blur into hieroglyphics.
I need something normal—Angie, a chocolate croissant, an hour of pretending I’m not living in a Bratva soap opera.
I text her. Coffee? Hopefully, it won’t turn out as bad as our last date.
Yeah, should be more low key, unless everyone’s head spontaneously explodes. Meet you in the lobby?
Yes.
I grab my things, stand up, and start toward the elevators with a spring in my step that hasn’t been there in days. Crazy how something as small as coffee with a friend can be such a boost to my mood.
When I reach the lobby, I see Bogdan. The sight of him with his suit and shaved head and crossed arms makes me realize that this coffee date won’t go as planned. His expression is flat and, as always, his eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses.
“Afternoon, big guy,” I say as I approach, like he’s an old friend.
“Miss Resse.”
Nothing else. Great.
“So I’m grabbing some coffee with Angie. Let the boss man know for me, okay?”
He shakes his head. “Not today.”
I laugh, as if he’s just told a joke. “Bogdan, unless there’s a gun battle happening right outside on the street, or Freddy Kruger is inside the elevator, I’m leaving.”
I take a step forward. His arm instantly shoots out, and I slam into it. The sensation is like walking into an iron bar.
“Come on,” I say. “You have to be joking.”
“I don’t joke.”
I try to sidle around him, but he shifts his stance and blocks me with his whole body. Not a chance in hell I’m getting around him.
“Listen, I’m just going to grab some coffee with Angie. I’ll be back in, like, forty-five minutes. You can come, too! I’ll even treat you to the baked good of your choice.”
“Miss Resse, I was told not to let you out of the building under any circumstances. And I’m authorized to use physical force to carry you into an office and lock you in there, if you try to fight me on it.”
I’m so mad I can hardly think straight. I let out a groan, stomping my feet like a kid who just got told no at the toy store.
“Mr. Orlov worries. And considering how your last coffee date with Miss Angela went…”
“Then come with me, sit at the next table over. It’s just… I’m going to go insane unless I can do something normal.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But it’s not up to me. I have my orders, and my orders are that you’re to go nowhere other than here, the penthouse, and the doctor’s office.”
I stare at him. “You’re serious? Until when?”
“Until I’m told otherwise.”
“God, what’s next? An ankle monitor?”
“That’s not a bad idea, actually. It’d let me take a break every now and then.”
I let out a groan of frustration. The annoying thing is that a big part of me knows Sasha is right. Bad people are trying to hurt me. It makes total sense that he’d keep me penned up inside where I’m safe.
“Not to mention,” he goes on, “that just as Sasha is responsible for your safety, you are responsible for the safety of others.” He nods toward my belly.
“He told you?”
“Of course, he did. I need to know who I’m looking out for. Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Please go back to your desk. It’s for—”
“My own good Yeah, I get it.” I turn on my heel and march back the way I came. I slip my phone out of my pocket and type.
Change of plans. Apparently, I’m not allowed to leave the office.
Angie gets back to me a few seconds later.
Prisoner in a glass tower. Kind of romantic in a controlling sort of way. We can reschedule?
I heart her text and shove my phone back into my pocket. Once at my desk, I plop into the chair and push down the scream I want to let out. The office is a quiet din around me. I watch a few coworkers get up and head to the elevators, no doubt off to their own lunches.
I feel silly and pissed off all at the same time, which makes me feel even sillier. Sasha is making the right call. I’m a target, and I’m pregnant. Really, he’d be well within his rights to lock me in my room at the penthouse and never let me out until he controlled the entire freaking city.
I hate it all the same. I hate feeling trapped, hate feeling like I’m just some little pawn that needs to be moved around and stashed away.
I try to work, but damn if it isn’t nearly impossible to focus.
After a time, I spot Bogdan headed my way. He’s carrying something. I squint and see that he has a drink tray in one hand, a couple of bags in the other.
“What’s this?” I ask as he approaches.
He sets down the tray on my desk, along with one of the bags. “Chamomile,” he says. “From the café downstairs. And a croissant. Didn’t have chocolate like you like, but I figured it’s better than nothing.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs. “You talking about baked goods made me realize I was hungry.”
I allow myself a small smile. “And maybe you wanted to do something nice.”
“It happens from time to time.”
I crane my neck to see his bag, opening it a bit.
“Black-and-white cookie,” he says. “No stealing bites.”
I chuckle. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He turns to leave but pauses before turning around. “I’ve been in situations like this before. It’s no fun, but they always end.”
Without another word, he starts off toward the elevators, bag in hand. I sip my tea, and damn, it hits the spot.
I turn in my chair and look out of the big windows, out toward the city that I can only stare at from inside.
“This sucks.”