Page 104 of For Her Own Good

“She’s—” I want to leap to Starla’s defense but my mouth snaps shut because I’m not going to inadvertently give him any more ammunition than he already has. Though I so desperately want to tell this arsehole that she isn’t currently suicidal, nor has she been for some time. Even if she were, she has a long history of seeking help when she needs it, the latest example being checking herself into Harbinson for a bit when her father passed. No one with any integrity would advocate for Starla to be committed, but Tad seems to be coming up short on any of that.

His mouth curls into an ugly smirk. “It’s actually quite disgusting of you to take advantage of such a vulnerable woman, Doctor Campbell. And you should know better than anyone else exactly how vulnerable she is. I don’t think the medical board would feel kindly toward you if they were to find out.”

“I don’t take kindly to threats, Mr. Harding.”

“And I don’t take kindly to a corporate empire falling into shambles because a washed-up pervert wants to live a life of luxury. I know con men like you. You’ll drag Starla’s name and her father’s business through the mud before you give up what you want. You’ll ruin her. She’ll be the laughingstock of the corporate world, Patrick Enterprises stock will tank because no one will have confidence in a company held primarily by a woman so easily swayed. It won’t just be her, it’ll be the thousands of people employed by Patrick Enterprises who will suffer. I’m guessing if you’re willing to take advantage of a mentally unstable woman that you won’t give much of a shit about that, but I had to throw it out there, just in case you do have a conscience.”

“I’ve heard enough, Mr. Harding. Don’t you ever come to my place of employment again. Come to think of it, don’t ever talk to me again, period. My relationship with Starla is none of your business.”

I don’t wait for him to find more of my buttons to push, and instead stride toward my car while my heart races in the pouring rain.

Once shut in my car, I pull my phone from my pocket. I don’t want to call Starla, but I feel as though I ought to. This is her life, her father’s legacy after all. But on the other hand, I don’t want to add any more nonsense to her plate which is clearly overfull. Whatever it is, I should call her.

Except that when I click my screen on, there’s a text from her:

Saw Dr. G this afternoon, she wrote me a scrip for the anxiety and to help me sleep. I’m taking one now, I’ll be out soon. You can come over if you want but I’m going to be a rag doll for the next twelve hours at least and I’ve got a board meeting in the morning.

There are days—many of them—that I would head to Starla’s house anyhow. Hell, I’d sleep on the couch, but she’d be mad if she woke before I did and she realized it. I’d want to be there in case she needed me. Or to make her breakfast in the morning so she wouldn’t be pouring cereal into a bowl and picking it out with her fingers because she doesn’t even put milk on it—God forbid she consume anything with real nutritional value. Infuriating woman.

So, instead of calling Starla, I ring up the other person who might have a clue in the world of how to handle this. Course she doesn’t answer when I truly need her advice, so I leave a voicemail.

“Maeve, it’s Lowry. Call me back as soon as you have a minute, aye? It’s important.”

I don’t mean to, but that will surely send her into a panic. It will be a fraction of the agitation that’s gripping me. I feel as though I’m in a tailspin with my skull shaken about, scrambling my brains. I won’t be the reason Starla loses control over Patrick Enterprises. Not after what she’s told me about how the only recent approval her father gave her is about his goddamn business. She could live with parting with it voluntarily, but I’m not sure she’d ever forgive me if our relationship were the reason she lost control of her father’s legacy.

Chapter 35

Starla

Everyone’s heardof morning sickness before, but for some reason it’s hard to believe what a misery it is until you’re waking up to it and hurling over the side of your bed. Not pleasant. It might all be over soon. Who’s to say. I don’t disagree with Doctor Gendron about keeping close tabs on my state of mind but it’s not something I enjoy ruminating about. At least I have a bowl over here because I still felt sick after taking the meds Doctor Gendron prescribed.

In the meantime, I need to get up and make myself presentable for today’s board meeting. I never like them, but today will be particularly unpleasant because I’m going to tell them about Jerome Garrett.

I don’t think anyone’s going to like that, but Tad especially will be seeing red when I make my announcement. Also, unlike the past several months, I haven’t heard from Tad recently. I’d hoped he’d wised up and threw in the towel, but if nothing else, the man is persistent, so that doesn’t seem like him. Probably more likely that he’s up to some shit, but I don’t have the bandwidth to think about what that might be with everything else going on.

After I finish my first-thing puke, I head into the bathroom and rinse out my mouth before doing anything else. I had best not to have to deal with vomiting the entire time I’m pregnant.

Which is a thought I’ve never had. And not a thought I can afford to dwell on now. Not while getting ready to deal with the wolves and the sharks and all the other vicious carnivores I’m up against today. I want to talk to Lowry, but I won’t be a baby about this. I’m going to be a responsible adult. I’ll text my boyfriend/daddyaftermy horrible meeting so he can tell me what a strong, smart, pretty girl I am. Because adulting. I should totes be in charge of the fate of a multibillion-dollar international corporation.

The shower heats up quickly, thank goodness, because I need a distraction. Washing my hair works, but when I soap up my body… I may be imagining things, because it really ought to be early to tell, but my midsection feels different to me already. Firmer, with more of a curve. But that’s clearly my mind playing tricks on me. It’s far too early for that. Far, far too early.

* * *

Lowry

It startles me that Denny is in the driver’s seat when Maeve picks me up at O’Hare, same terminal where she dropped me off nine months ago. She didn’t say he’d stopped being her chauffeur when they’d started sleeping together, but it seems…unethical, somehow?

Not that I’ll bring that up, given that I’m the one dating a woman who was a patient of mine when she was a minor and now she calls medaddy.

I only brought a carry-on, not knowing how long I’ll be staying, and Denny gestures for it as he pops the trunk. Does this feel as odd to him as it does to me? But I’m not sure what to do aside from letting the man do his job so I hand over the roller board with a “thanks.”

He opens the door to the passenger side back seat and I slide in next to my ex-wife and the woman he’s currently sleeping with. It’s an odd arrangement to me, but it’s none of my business, if they’re satisfied with it. Hell, even if they’re not. I’ve got myself deep enough in my own shit, I don’t need to be taking a flying leap into anyone else’s.

Maeve greets me with a peck on my cheek and a chafe of my arm.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you, but I’m not quite sure to whom or what I owe the pleasure of your company. You were pretty agitated on the phone and aside from your accent making you almost unintelligible—”

I grunt and she laughs.

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