Dominic #2
I know her fertility schedule. We stopped following the contract’s timing restrictions, but neither of us stopped knowing when conception was possible.
The timeline fits.
“Maya, was Elena sick Thursday morning?”
“I’m not discussing her medical information.”
“This isn’t about work anymore.” It may not have been about work all morning. “I’m asking whether she’s safe.”
“She was safe when I spoke to her.”
“Did Daniel Weller contact her outside the acquisition call?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer comes immediately, her tone sharp with worry.
Elena may be pregnant.
Happiness hits first—fast, fierce, and entirely beyond my control. Fear follows. She may have learned she’s carrying our child on the same day Daniel walked back into her professional life.
I don’t know if I’m right. A late arrival and pale face confirm nothing, and Maya’s refusal confirms only that Elena’s health is hers to share.
“Where did she go?”
“Colorado.”
“Where in Colorado?”
“She needed somewhere quiet.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“It’s the answer I can give you.”
I close my eyes for a second. “Did Elena authorize you to release her address to me?”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
Maya is silent.
“I’m going to contact her myself. If she doesn’t want me there, I won’t go.”
Her voice softens slightly. “Good.”
“Maya.”
“Yes?”
“The Weller withdrawal is already in progress. Elena will never have to work with him again.”
A pause follows. “Tell her.”
“I will.”
The line disconnects.
I ask Evan to come in. He appears less than a minute later.
“The notice?”
“Legal is finalizing it, and the board call is on your calendar.”
“Thank you.”
“What else?”
“I need to go to Colorado.”
“Where?”
“I’m about to ask.”
His eyebrows rise.
“Maya refused to give me Elena’s address.”
“Good.”
“Yes.”
Evan slips the tablet beneath his arm. “Call me when you know which airport.”
He leaves and shuts the door.
I pull up Elena’s contact.
For months, I gave her time and called it patience. Sometimes that was true. Other times, it let me avoid saying exactly what I wanted while I waited for her to become less afraid.
I told her I loved her only after I ended our agreement. I asked her to choose me, but I never explained what that choice meant once there was no contract left to hold us together.
A shared home. A real relationship. A child raised by parents who love each other and intend to stay. A life where she never has to wonder whether I’m present because a legal document requires it.
I press call.
Elena answers after the fifth ring.
“Dominic?”
The sound of her voice almost empties my head. I grip the edge of the desk.
“Hi.”
“Is something wrong at work?”
“Yes. It’s been handled.”
“What happened?”
“I received the completed diligence package for Project Northstar this morning.”
She doesn’t answer.
“I watched the recorded call,” I continue. “I know the target is Weller Strategic Holdings—and that Daniel Weller is the ex you told me about.”
“Legal has my disclosure.”
“I read it.”
“I didn’t know his company was the target when I prepared the analysis. The intermediary didn’t identify Weller until Thursday. I disclosed the relationship as soon as the call ended, and the acquisition administrator removed me from further assignments while legal—”
I wait for a breath, a moment to step in without breaking her. “Elena.”
She stops.
“You don’t have to defend yourself. You followed every procedure.”
“The company has already spent weeks on the evaluation.”
“I withdrew our interest.”
“What?”
“The deal is over.”
“You terminated the acquisition?”
“Yes.”
“Dominic, legal can reassign me. The conflict doesn’t affect the work my team already completed, and Weller’s financials—”
“I’m not acquiring Daniel’s company.”
“You can’t walk away from a deal this size because I had a relationship with its CEO.”
“He threatened your career. Acquiring Weller Strategic would give him access to you through the company I run.”
“I can refuse contact with him.”
“You shouldn’t have to reorganize your work around a man who already took too much from you.”
“That isn’t your decision to make.”
He used his power to hurt her. I’ll use mine to keep him away. “The acquisition is,” I say.
She goes quiet.
I lower my voice. “I made this decision before I called you. It stands whether you return to Rowe after leave, resign tomorrow, or tell me you never want a personal relationship with me again. I’m not buying anything from you with it.”
The faint hum of a heater reaches me through the phone.
“Does Cliff know?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
“You can’t explain Daniel without telling him how you know.”
“I’m going to tell him what he needs to know. I won’t share private details that belong to you.”
“You’re telling him about us?”
“Yes.”
She exhales. “He’s going to lose his mind.”
“He has the right.” And I have to stand there and take it for her.
“That doesn’t mean I want to be present when it happens.”
“You won’t be. I’m calling him from Chicago.”
Silence stretches between us again.
“Maya said you’re in Colorado.”
“She gave you my address?”
The sharpness in her voice is immediate.
“No. She refused. She told me you needed quiet, and that’s all.”
Her tone is less sharp. “Then how are you planning to come here?”
“I’m asking you.”
“Dominic…”
“I’m not accessing your leave records. I’m not asking security or the travel department to find you. If you tell me no, I’ll stay in Chicago.”
“Why do you want to come?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Because we need to talk in person.”
“About Daniel?”
“About Daniel. About us. About what it means that I love you.”
Her breathing changes.
I want to ask if she’s pregnant. I want the answer badly enough that remaining silent takes effort.
If she is carrying our child, the news belongs to her. I won’t turn a suspicion into another demand.
“If I say no?” she asks.
“I won’t come. The acquisition stays dead, and I’ll respect your leave.”
“You’d really stay there?”
“Yes.”
“What are you planning to say that you can’t say now?”
The answer is simple. I should have given it to her weeks ago.
“I want you,” I say. “The relationship. A shared home. The whole life we kept pretending wasn’t forming around us.”
She says nothing.
“I don’t want two households and scheduled exchanges.
I don’t want to be someone you invite over when wanting me becomes too much to ignore.
I want breakfast with you. I want your things mixed with mine.
I want the arguments, the appointments, the workdays, and every ordinary part neither of us put into the contract. ”
“Dominic.”
My thumb hovers over the disconnect button, ready to give her the out she might need. “I’m not asking for your answer over the phone. I’m asking whether I may come see you.”
Several seconds pass.
“Yes.”
My eyes close.
“Yes, you can come,” she says. “I’ll send you the address.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“I’m thanking you for saying yes to this question. I’m not assuming an answer to anything else.”
“All right.”
“Elena, are you safe?”
She hesitates. “I’m safe.”
“Did Daniel contact you after the meeting?”
“No.”
Relief loosens some of the pressure in my chest.
“I’ll send you my flight details.”
“Okay.”
Neither of us ends the call.
I hear her shift, followed by the creak of furniture.
“Dominic?”
“Yes?”
“Did you really kill the whole deal?”
“Yes.”
“Evan must love today.”
“He’s hiding it well.”
A soft, tired laugh escapes her, and hearing it after weeks of distance makes me grip the phone harder.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say.
“Soon.”
The call ends.
Her message arrives less than a minute later with an address outside Telluride.
I send it to Evan.
Cliff answers my video call from the kitchen of his New York home.
He takes one look at me and sets down his glass. “Is Elena okay?”
“She’s safe.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No. I don’t think she’s okay.”
His face hardens. “Start talking.”
I give him the truth without trying to soften it.
“Elena and I entered a known-donor and co-parenting agreement.”
He stares at me. “What the fuck did you just say?”
I keep my voice even, giving him the facts without defense. “She intended to become a mother using an anonymous donor. I offered to be a known donor and raise the child with her.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“My best friend and her boss.”
“Yes.”
Cliff pushes away from the kitchen island. “When did this happen?”
“We began discussing it after her birthday.”
“Months ago.”
“Yes.”
“And neither of you told me?”
“We agreed to keep it private.”
“You kept it from me.”
“I did.”
He paces out of the camera’s frame, then turns back. “Explain the agreement.”
“We had independent attorneys. It included workplace safeguards and protected Elena’s authority and position. I recused myself from employment decisions involving her. The co-parenting terms addressed custody, finances, medical decisions, and privacy.”
“You wrote a contract to have a baby with my sister.”
The distinction sounds hollow even to me. “We negotiated one.”
“Dominic, that correction is really not helping.”
“I know.”
“Did you go through with it?”
“There was one clinical attempt.”
His eyes close. “Jesus Christ.”
“The relationship became romantic afterward. We ended the conception arrangement when I couldn’t accept her plan for us to live in separate households.”
His eyes open again. “You were sleeping together.”
“Yes.”
“You promised me four years ago that hiring Elena wouldn’t become complicated. You said you understood the boundaries.”
“I crossed them.”
“All of them.”
“Yes.”
He waits for an excuse. I don’t give him one.
“Did you use your position?” he asks.
“No.” I hold his gaze through the screen. “Her job was never conditional on the agreement or our relationship. The independent safeguards remain in place. But I was still her CEO, and I chose to become involved with her. I’m responsible for that.”
“You should have told me.”
“I should have.”
“You both shut me out.”
“Yes.”