9. Maggie #2
“Maggie.”
“I'm fine.”
“You look like you're about to pass out,” he insists.
I straighten and grab a box of cleaning supplies. “Can’t talk. Busy now.”
Jules follows me. “What's wrong?”
I start toward the storage room, balancing the box against my hip. “Nothing.”
“Maggie.”
I keep walking.
He keeps following.
“You're not getting’ rid of me.”
“That's becoming painfully obvious.”
By the time we reach the hallway, I'm already regretting every life decision that led to this conversation. Jules knows me too well. One look at his face tells me he's not going anywhere.
I scan the room to make sure nobody is within earshot. Then I jerk my head toward the office.
“Come on.”
That gets his attention fast.
Inside the office, I close the door behind us and lean against it. Jules doesn't rush me. He just waits. Every trace of teasing is gone, replaced by concern.
I open my mouth, then close it again. The words refuse to come. They sit lodged somewhere between my chest and my throat because saying them out loud will make them real.
Eventually, I drag in a breath. “I think I might be pregnant.”
Jules stares at me.
I stare back.
After several long heartbeats, he slowly lowers himself into a chair, as if his legs have suddenly stopped working.
“Well.”
I wait.
“That's one way to start a Thursday.”
The laugh slips out before I can stop it. Relief follows close behind. Trust Jules to find the humor in a complete emotional disaster. I sink into the chair behind my desk.
He points at me. “You couldn't have eased into that conversation?”
“I tried.”
“You absolutely did not.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs.
Jules watches me across the desk. “So, how long have you been thinkin’ this?”
I twist my fingers together in my lap. “About two weeks.”
“Two weeks?”
I wince. “I know. Believe me, I've already had this argument with myself.”
“Maggie.”
“Lord knows I know.”
He purses his lips. “Weren't you on the pill?”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “I am.” I grimace. “Or at least I was bein’ real good about takin’ it before my life turned into a country song.”
One of his eyebrows lifts.
I sigh. “With everythin’ that's been happenin’, I forgot a few times.”
“A few times?”
I throw my hands into the air. “There was a break-in, somebody stole my planner, people keep stalkin’ me, Ivy was almost kidnapped, and I watched somebody die, Jules. My birth control routine suffered.”
He considers that for a moment before nodding. “Fair enough.”
“I was gonna take a test.”
His eyes narrow. “Was?”
I let out a groan and sink lower in my chair. “My pregnancy test was in my planner.”
Jules stills. “The planner that got stolen?”
I nod. “That’s the one.”
His entire face changes because now he understands the real problem. Not just the possibility that I might be pregnant. It’s everything else. Somebody knows everything about me now.
I scrub both hands over my face before dropping them back into my lap. “That planner had my appointments, shelter schedules, volunteer contacts, and Mama's work schedule written in it.”
Jules drags a hand through his hair. “Oh, honey.”
“Trust me, I’ve been sick about it.” The words come out tired because I’ve replayed this conversation with myself at least a hundred times already.
I stare down at my hands while I keep going. “It had information about fundraisers, adoption events, supply deliveries...” I swallow hard and my stomach drops.
Jules sits forward so fast his chair squeaks against the floor. “What else?”
The question is gentler now, and that makes it harder to answer. I pick at a loose thread on my jeans and keep my eyes fixed on my lap.
“My doctor appointment.”
The conversation grinds to a halt. Outside the door, dogs bark, volunteers move through the hallway, and somewhere in the shelter, a kennel door slams shut. Life goes on around us, but neither of us pays any attention. We both understand what this means.
That planner wasn't just a calendar. It was a map of my life, laid out in neat handwriting across pages someone else now possesses.
My arms break out in goosebumps.
Jules exhales slowly and drags a hand down his face. “Alright. First things first. You need to change everythin’ you can.”
I let out a tired laugh. “There's not much to change.”
“Then change what you can anyway. Appointments, routines, routes to and from work. Stop for coffee somewhere different. Don't go anywhere alone.”
“Pretty sure Alexei has that last one covered.”
That earns the smallest hint of a smile. “Thank God for overprotective Russian billionaires.”
I snort, but the humor doesn't last. “What about the doctor appointment?”
Jules sighs heavily. “Honey, the only thing you can do about that right now is take the test.”
I stare at a spot on the floor. “I'm not arguin’ with you.”
Jules reaches across the desk and squeezes my hand.
By the time Jules and I leave the office, my mind is a mess. No matter how hard I try to focus on work, I can't escape reality. The worries chase each other through my head for the rest of the afternoon while I move through the shelter pretending everything is normal.
The problem is that normal doesn't exist anymore.
The shelter is busy enough to keep me distracted most of the time.
Several adoptions are scheduled throughout the afternoon, volunteers are sorting donations in the storage room, and two new dogs arrive before lunch after being surrendered by an elderly owner moving into assisted living.
One of them is a golden retriever with arthritis and the saddest brown eyes I've ever seen.
The other is a beagle who has escaped his kennel twice and stolen three tennis balls.
Jules is currently negotiating with the beagle like they're participating in international peace talks. He crouches beside the kennel, a clipboard tucked beneath one arm, and points accusingly at the dog as several volunteers stop to watch.
“Sir, your behavior has been deeply disappointin’.”
The beagle drops a slobbery tennis ball at his feet.
Jules presses a hand to his chest. “And now you're mockin’ me.”
A volunteer laughs. “He likes you.”
“He’s manipulatin’ me.”
“You're arguing with a dog,” she adds.
“Because the dog started it.”
She walks away shaking her head while I laugh. It feels good to laugh. Lately, those moments have become rarer than I care to admit.
I'm halfway through reviewing adoption paperwork at the front desk when my phone vibrates against the countertop. I don't even need to look at the screen to know who it is. At this point, Alexei checks on me so often that I know it's him before I look at my phone.
Alexei: How's the shelter?
I try not to smile. It doesn't work.
Me: Still standing.
The response arrives quickly.
Noted.
Across the room, Jules notices. The man misses absolutely nothing when it comes to me. He wanders closer, carrying a fresh cup of iced coffee, and peeks at my phone before looking back at me with a grin.
“Was that our favorite billionaire?”
I shake my head. “Since when is he our favorite billionaire?”
Jules waves a hand. “Fine. Your favorite billionaire.”
I snort and return to the paperwork, feeling a little better than I did ten minutes ago. It annoys me that three simple texts from Alexei can improve my mood. It annoys me even more that Jules knows it.
Less than thirty minutes later, my phone rings while I'm carrying a stack of donation forms toward the office. Seeing Alexei's name across the screen sends another ridiculous flutter through my chest.
“Hello to you too,” I answer.
The low rumble of his voice slides through the line. “You're supposed to say hello first.”
“Accordin’ to who?”
“Basic manners.”
I push open the office door and drop the paperwork onto my desk before sinking into the chair. Sunlight glows through the blinds overlooking the parking lot, and beyond the glass, I can see one of Alexei's security men standing near the entrance.
“You called me durin’ business hours to discuss manners?”
There's a short pause before amusement creeps into his voice. “You sound better.”
The observation surprises me because it means he's paying attention. Not just to where I am or whether I've eaten, but to how I sound.
“I'm at work. It helps.”
“Have you eaten?”
There it is.
I close my eyes and laugh softly. “Alexei.”
“Maggie.”
The warning in his voice only makes me smile more. “Yes, dear.”
“What did you eat?” he presses.
“Mama packed enough food to survive the apocalypse.”
“That doesn't answer the question,” he insists.
“A sandwich.”
“Good.”
I stare at the phone after the call ends.
Good.
That's it.
The man interrogates me about lunch and then hangs up like he's conducting a board meeting.
When I look up, Jules is standing in the doorway watching me with entirely too much interest.
He shakes his head slowly. “Oh no.”
“What?” I ask warily.
He points at me with his pen. “That smile.”
“Don't,” I warn him.
“You smiled.”
I busy myself straightening the papers on my desk. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did, honey.”
I grab the nearest folder and throw it at him. Unfortunately, he catches it and keeps grinning.
“Oh, Lord, you are down bad.”
“Get out.”
He leaves laughing while I mutter several things that would make Mama disapprove.
The afternoon blurs together after that. Somewhere around midafternoon, my phone vibrates again.
Alexei: I expect to be home before dinner.
I stare at the message while standing beside a rack of donated blankets. Then I look toward the lobby where Luka remains stationed near the entrance. The man has spent most of the day looking intimidating. He's very talented at it.
Before I can answer, my phone starts ringing.
Alexei.
“What now?” I ask.
“Is Luka with you?”
I stare directly at Luka. Luka stares back. A security guard stands beside him while another remains outside.
I plant a hand on my hip. “Alexei.”
“Answer the question.”
I tip my head back and sigh. “Yes.”
He pauses, then his voice lowers just enough for me to hear the satisfaction in it. “Good.”