One #2
This was definitely not the time to tell him.
By the time I reapplied my mascara and liberally dabbed concealer under my eyes because I couldn’t go longer than fifteen minutes without peeing, I knew I’d made the right decision to wait—especially when he stormed into my office, all fire, fury, and brimstone.
My I’m perfectly capable of raising a child by myself and don’t need a man speech was only partially done, and studies had shown the best time to deliver bad news was at the end of the day.
People needed proper hydration and a full stomach before hearing life-altering news.
It was not something that needed to be shared in the hours between breakfast and lunch.
Plus, like the angry, red, blinking calendar reminder, my brain stayed on a continuous loop of our conversation the summer before he moved away.
The promise we made to each other to get married if we were both still single in fifteen years.
The promise he’d blissfully ignored since he started working here, even though we passed the fifteenth year three months ago.
Not that I wanted him to acknowledge that idiotic promise. There were too many other, more important things left unsaid that I was perfectly fine with him not remembering the dumb musings of two teenagers with crushes.
But on nights that my feet ached or the bed was too cold, I thought about what it would be like if we ever followed through with the silly pact—but once my sanity returned, I knew we were too different for anything other than steamy naked time to work between us.
He closed my door with a click, letting go of the handle at the precise moment to make the loudest noise, giving away his tell that whatever bullshit was about to happen had irritated him.
My fingers ran over the bouquet of daisies in the yellow vase on my desk, and I sighed, holding onto the happiness I felt when he sauntered in earlier this week with my favorite flowers in one hand, chocolate croissants in the other and a smirk I wanted to kiss off his handsome face.
“Avery,” I said, pulling a notebook closer and scribbling absolute nonsense on the page as I motioned him forward, not raising my eyes. Maybe I could flip the irritation back by showing him my time was so precious I barely had time to lift my eyes from the paper and adequately greet him.
“Please sit down.”
He didn’t bother hiding the dramatic sigh that spilled from his lips as he made himself comfortable in the high-back leather chair across from me, and through my lashes, I saw he wore the gray pinstripe pants that hugged his ass just right.
When I returned the sigh, dropping the pen and meeting his eyes, he’d steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on my desk, leaning close enough for me to smell notes of mint and espresso.
Damn him and his ability to drink caffeine.
There was a steely determination in his eyes, something reserved for when he’d already formulated a solution and just needed me to sign off on it.
Not that I’d ever disagree with him—on things that had to do with the business.
He was a marketing genius, and I was the lucky one who reaped the benefits while he managed my day-to-day schedule with the ease of someone with a Type A personality and an oversize ego.
“How can I help you?” Never one to back down, I stared at him, desperately trying not to blink under his intense gaze.
I adored that gaze. It was the same take-charge, no-bullshit one he used that had other publishing houses cowering in the corner.
It was the same dominant one he used to land three different authors who’d made the New York Times Bestseller list with their first published work.
It was the same one he used the night we succumbed to our baser instincts, fucking against my front door after barely making it inside the house.
He stayed silent, continuing the perusal of my face like he was searching for imperfections.
“I realize you blocked off my day for whatever you think is important, but I don’t have time for this.”
“You’re right. You don’t.” The hardness in his tone surprised me. We worked so well together. His harshness balanced my softness, but he never took that tone with me. I revered our working relationship, and my current predicament spoke of how well other aspects of our relationship worked.
“Then, whatever issue has arisen, I trust you to handle it. I think we’ve established that,” I said, picking up the pen again in what I hoped would be an apparent dismissal.
“You would think.”
“Good.” I aimed for indifference, but it came across more as constipation with the way I felt my face squinch as he continued to stare. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes.”
I knocked the pen to the floor, frustrated he couldn’t see the conversation had ended, and blindly reached for another without a top, smearing ink on my fingertips.
“What else could we possibly have to discuss, Avery?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Jordan. Why don’t you tell me?”
Dread inched up my spine, and I felt my scalp tingle with goose bumps.
There was no way he knew. Sure, Morgan knew I was pregnant, so by default, Royce did too, and they knew Avery, but they didn’t know he was the father.
I’d been meticulous with my outfits, opting for flowy dresses and tunics and staying behind my desk as much as possible.
I was the first in the conference room and always tried to be the last to leave.
“I don’t know what—”
“Really? Fine then,” he interrupted. “I’ve had the strangest forty-eight hours. Do you have any idea what I could have discovered?”
“Not a clue,” I answered, focusing on an ink smudge on my index finger.
I needed the distraction to keep my hands from inadvertently drifting to my protruding belly—a belly in desperate need of carbohydrates and refined sugar.
The fetus demanded a sacrifice of butter, and I was not going to deny the little plum anything.
“Well, you see. I was in the office yesterday, updating the contract for Jesse Granger. I got him down to seven percent and had him approve the book cover, by the way. You’re welcome.
” He paused and arched his brows, like he expected me to press my hand to my heart, then jump up and down with gratitude.
Cocky. Arrogant. Infuriating. Brilliant. Handsome. Idiot.
He did deserve all the praise—and I was damn lucky to have him, but I could do without the added indigestion that came with the holier-than-thou attitude.
“I received a notification that our weekly meeting was pushed to the afternoon because of a certain appointment on your calendar.”
Fuckkkkkk. Fuck.
Suddenly, the most crucial thing in the world was getting the ink smudge off my finger. I rubbed the digit, focusing so hard my eyes burned with the need to blink. A glance at his face showed a silent fury, enough for me to force my attention back to the ink.
“Do you know what appointment I saw on your calendar?”
I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat.
No, that wasn’t right. A pathetic, squeaky whine spilled from my lips, something born of my fear of public speaking and something I thought I squashed in grad school.