9. Sutton
SUTTON
The party clears out, and only a few of us straggle behind to chat. Now I find myself sliding my coat off the hanger in the closet by the front door, and I feel Foster nearby. Whether he timed it or not, he’s also here to grab his coat to leave.
All afternoon, I’ve tried to avoid his gaze.
Instead, I stood with my friends, faintly invested in their conversations.
I pretended to sip a glass of wine and tried to discreetly avoid the snacks that Savannah raved about.
Anything but tortilla chips, crackers, or carrots is not my friend right now.
Her specialty cheese, which she picked up from a shop on the North Shore, was honestly hell due to the smell and had my stomach doing somersaults.
Over the last two days, I’ve finally realized that I can’t avoid it anymore what I’ve taken weeks to wrap my head around.
I’m too smart, I’m not denying the signs, I’m just weighing what it all means.
But today’s nausea has finally hit the signal button that there can be no more avoiding.
It’s best that I see the confirmation of what I already know.
“Want me to take you home? I have my car here,” Foster offers with a soft smile. It’s always inviting and safe.
But right now, I need space. I want to stop by the drugstore and then take time to wrap my head around this before I tell Foster.
I fumble with my coat zipper and muster a thin smile. “I always forget you bring out the flashy car on weekends instead of using a driver. I’ll pass. I’ve got errands and need to get my place in order for the week.”
Disappointment flickers across his face. “Yeah, sure.” His eyes catch mine and refuse to let go—there’s something unfamiliar in them, a mood I’ve never seen in Foster before.
“I’ll see you in the office, okay?” I touch his arm to assure him, even though I’m the one on wobbly feet from nerves.
He catches my hand, weaving his fingers through mine. I glance sideways to make sure we’re alone. Our hands rest together, loose and tentative, as if he needs the contact—a silent reminder between us.
We’re attached to one another through our physical, private world, a world that's freeing, and every real-world stress is pushed to the side. The perfect escape.
But now, everything is about to shift. Our world is tilting, and nothing will be the same.
We won’t be the same. For the rest of our lives. Another path has found us.
He drops our fingers, and my entire stomach feels the pit of fear and confusion.
“If you need anything, you’ll let me know?” he double-checks in a low, hushed tone.
“Sure. But really, it’s just my usual preparation for the week on Sunday night,” I lie.
Slowly, he nods, and his closed mouth slides a tad with an attempt at a smile that fails.
I swallow hard, desperate to escape. The last thing I want is to be trapped in the elevator with him—I might blurt out everything. I need time to myself before he finds out.
I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “Oh, I forgot—the birthday girl wanted to show me a picture she made,” I lie. “You go ahead.”
Foster lifts his chin slightly, skepticism clear, but says goodbye anyway.
I linger behind, threading my fingers through my hair, trying to steady myself.
In truth, all I can think about is how much I’m completely lost.
Pregnant.
I see the confirmation now, and there weren’t even nerves while I waited.
Still, tears came in a tidal wave, and I cried myself to sleep—for the few restless hours I managed.
As I sit in the meeting room, Celeste’s voice cuts through my drifting attention. "I mean, Sutton. You joined our company at exactly the right time." Celeste is sitting behind the conference table with her hair pulled into a tight ponytail.
I’m only half-listening, my mind drifting back to the upheaval in my life. I probably look like a raccoon—makeup can only hide so much.
She continues as she swivels on the chair with a pen between her fingers. “With Adam out for the long run and your talent, then I’m throwing you in the deep end. You’re going to step into a higher role.”
All I can hear is her planning as if I’ll be here, business as usual. I haven’t figured out my own direction yet, but I’m pretty sure maternity leave wasn’t penciled into anyone’s Q3 plans.
“If he returns in a few months, then still he’ll have his job waiting for him.” I’m going to steer her away from my expedited career path. One that a week ago would have had me ready to dive in with full force.
“We’ll cross that road when we come to it,” I tell her.
A knock on the glass door pulls our attention, and we see Hayes and Foster.
Hayes opens the door. “Sorry to interrupt, we need this meeting room, and I saw you didn’t have this booked, so I’m going to be an ass now and kindly request that you leave.” He half-grins.
Celeste smiles in response. “No problem. We only needed to have a quick chat, anyhow.”
Foster’s eyes lock with mine; he’s drilling into me. I look away as I stand, determined not to let his presence deepen my numbness.
When Celeste and I walk past them, I’m positive that Foster shifts ever so slightly to the side to ensure our arms graze. I pause for a millisecond. I feel a quiver run through me.
Taking a deep breath, I walk away and don’t dare look back.
In the hallway, Celeste lets me know that she’ll email me a few to-dos. At that moment, my phone reminds me that I’m having lunch with Elodie.
Downstairs, we snag sandwiches from Beans, the bustling coffee spot. With no tables free, we settle on a lobby bench tucked between indoor trees. Elodie devours her caprese panini, while mine sits untouched in my hands, more prop than meal.
“I’m so happy you came yesterday. Also, the party is over. It’s a bit of an energy drainer having to arrange everything for kids and the parents and friends and Hayes’s mom.”
The way she says that causes me to break out a little smirk. “You sound so enthusiastic there,” I tease her.
She touches my arm to reassure me. “Don’t get me wrong. She is lovely and crazy about Lola, just… a little much.”
Shrugging a shoulder, I’m sure it sometimes comes with the territory.
“Did you find those vitamin C gummies I mentioned? They'll help you beat office germs.” Yesterday, she noticed my low energy and suggested them.
“I did, thanks.” It was in my shopping basket, buried under three pregnancy tests.
I try to nibble my sandwich, but it’s a no-go. It’s not even nausea; I just have no appetite. Looking around the busy lobby, I’m reminded of my job and career.
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
Elodie nods. “Shoot.”
My eyes focus on my sandwich. “A friend of mine may apply here. She has a baby. Lola goes to company daycare. How is that?”
“I mean, it’s convenient, and she loves it. If I had a choice, I would probably be home with her more. Also, it feels as though kids get sick more at daycare. I try not to check on her at lunch because she needs the structure, but it’s great having that option.”
“I bet Hayes must love it.”
“Completely. He mentioned getting a nanny once, and I nearly lost my cool. No joke, I feel so threatened that my daughter will love her more. But really, he’s happy he gets all of the daycare updates and is a bit more observant of ending the workday in time to pick her up if I can’t. Teamwork.”
“Teamwork,” I murmur. “You’re both good at it. So balancing work and a kid is okay?”
Elodie looks at me strangely. “It’s not always easy, but doable. You have a lot of questions. Is it someone I know? Do you have another best friend we don’t know about?” She pretends to be surprised.
I laugh. “No. Just someone from college.”
Lie of the century.
Curiosity and anxiety twist together as I try to see every angle, weighing my options.
“Anyway, I should get back to the office.”
“You barely ate.”
I hold my sandwich up, still mostly in the paper wrapper. “I’ll save it for later. I had a late breakfast, so I'm not that hungry yet.”
Elodie doesn’t think much of it, and I manage to return to my day and bury myself in contracts.
It works for a few hours, but eventually my mind short-circuits and reality crashes back in. I have to face what’s happening to me.
I sneak a glance at my phone resting on my laptop case, tapping my nail against the screen as I debate texting Foster.
But I refrain in the end.
By mid-week, the news has lost its sting. I finally slept through the night, and today I crown myself queen of compartmentalization. At the office, it’s all business—nothing else.
Stepping off the elevator, I’m tested right away. Foster is standing on the legal floor, charming the receptionist about a meeting with Celeste. He’s in his element, sharp in a dark three-piece suit. He glances up from his phone, does a double take, and his eyes lock on to me.
My heart stutters, but I steady myself with a practiced smile, reminding myself where I am.
Foster holds his finger in the air to the receptionist. “Can you give me a sec?” He doesn’t wait for the reply and walks straight to me. “Just the woman I want to see. I had a question about the contract you sent over.”
I squint, racking my brain for any emails I might have sent him. I trail after him into the hallway, far enough for privacy. Down the corridor, a man slips into an office, sunlight from the windows stretching into the space wide.
“Which contract?” I seriously am trying to catch up.
He gawks at me as if I should know better. “None. I wanted to check if you want to meet later. Someone in my department brought fantastic tiramisu from his uncle’s Italian bakery. I thought I’d steal a piece for you.”
It’s one of my favorite desserts, and he knows it. Alas.
“I mean, it’s drenched in alcohol, but it still tastes good,” he adds on.
I bite back a frown and steady myself. "Sounds amazing, but I’ll pass. Maybe next time."
I move to slip past him, but he shifts, blocking my way. He glances over my shoulder, smoothing his blazer. “Are you avoiding me?” he whispers.
I roll my eyes, unwilling to play this game. “No. I’m just busy. I’m sure your ego can survive me not dropping everything at your command.”
His deep, sinful chuckle sends a shiver through me. Foster is dangerously irresistible. It takes two, but because of him, I’m teetering on the edge of a life I never imagined. I have no idea how he’ll react or how we’ll come undone.
“You’re right,” he agrees, but his grin is smooth, humored even. Stepping to the side, he gives me space.
“I’ll email you about that contract later,” I tell him, because there is actually work to do.
Walking away, I realize how fast my heart has been pounding.
It’s only made worse when I reach my office and collapse in my chair.
Sighing, I attempt to mentally prepare myself for a grueling afternoon ahead.
When I decide that I need to bury myself in work, I yank out my single drawer to grab a pen to write down some notes.
Right away I’m greeted with a single red rose and a small note.
My bed is waiting for you.
I pick it up, slow for a moment, and bring the rose to my nose, the soft petals sweeping across the tip.
It’s a romantic gesture. Except now isn’t the time.
I snort a laugh because I’m not 100% sure how he managed to sneak a rose into my office, seemingly before I ran into him.
But Foster isn’t one to shy away from a challenge.
However, what is ironically funny for a brief second is that his bed is probably the reason why I’m in my current state.
Some miracle was given to me, and Foster left on business and only got back at the end of the work week. My thoughts remained stalled. Every way I looked at it, it kept coming back gray to me. No clarity.
Now, I finally do have to face Foster because he reviewed an email I sent, and we need to talk in person.
“You’re saying my wish to have a late-fee clause and incur interest is a no-go. I’m not sure I agree.” He continues to skim his laptop screen as I sit adjacent to him across his desk.
“Of course, we would like floating interest on late payments. I’m aware you’ve had them for other large clients, but that was with a clear number.
You can't say it is up to our discretion or market interest, as that leaves it to us to decide. The wording needs to be sharper with a number,” I explain as I rest against the back of my chair with one knee over the other, my pumps killing me.
“Bryants is also a company that could be high risk. They move concert staging, for crying out loud. All it takes is a few canceled shows and they could have a cash-flow problem.” He closes his laptop, slightly irritated.
“I’m sure they have insurance funds for that very issue, but inflating the fine will be a pushback. If you would like the clause, then compromise,” I advise.
He blows out an exhausted breath and brings his hands behind his head. “Fine. Let me run the numbers once again to find a fair middle-ground.”
“Good.”
With the issue discussed, I can leave.
But the silence that settles between us roots me to my chair.
He leans back, arms draped over the armrests like a king on his throne. I can feel his gaze burning into me, but I fixate on the Newton’s Cradle, refusing to meet his eyes.
My upper body buzzes with nerves, blood rushing, while my legs feel anchored, heavy as stone. I know I can’t stall forever.
Silence.
He makes no effort to break it, and I don’t take it as my opportunity to exit.
Blinking a few times, I lick my lips as a long breath leaves my chest. My eyes remain glued to the marbles, and I’m entering a trance.
“Ready to tell me you’re pregnant?” Foster’s voice is calm and controlled.
My attention snaps to him.
Foster’s face has zero flicker of surprise. Instead, possessiveness floods his eyes. The corner of his mouth shifts, not quite a smile, maybe satisfaction even, and he doesn’t try to hide it, either.
His words echo in my mind.
He was expecting this.