Page 99 of Nine Months to Bear
“Wow, that is— I don’t know how to—” The words I want to say get caught and jumbled in the emotion clogging my throat. “That means so much to me. You have no idea.”
She waves my gratitude aside. “I’m sure you have investors knocking down your door with the way you’ve been in the press.” I must look as horrified as I feel because she quickly adds, “It’s all good press, as far as I can tell. People around here trust Stefan Safonov’s intuition. If he’s willing to be seen with you, you must be impressive.”
Now, I truly don’t know what to say. Confirming her theory feels like a lie. Stefan isn’t with me because I’m impressive—he’s with me because I was flailing and desperate enough to give him what he wants. Would Gen still want to invest if she knew I happily fucked my way to this meeting?
Suddenly, the woman bends forward conspiratorially. “I don’t want to pry, but I simply must ask—those rumors about you and Stefan Safonov…” Her nails tap lightly against the table. “Are they true?”
My face gets hot. “I… Er, what rumors exactly? I— We’re not—” The denial dies on my lips, too close to a lie to actually speak aloud.
What are we? Captor and captive? Business partners? Lovers? None of the labels fit, and yet… all of them do. In a way.
“Forgive me. Incredibly rude. I apologize for intruding,” Gen says, not looking sorry at all. “Consider it living vicariously through you. Two young, beautiful people falling in love? It’s hard not to imagine the lovely couple you would make.”
Those are the magic words. Well, more of a “witch’s curse” kind of magic than a fairy godmother’s brand, though—because all they conjure are a bunch of images that can never, ever happen.
Stefan on one knee, offering up a glittering diamond ring.
Stefan in a tuxedo, waiting for me on an altar.
Stefan holding our baby against his bare chest in a hospital room, eyes liquid with love as he gazes at me across that child’s downy head and smiling, soft and slow and sweet and pure.
Gen nods like she can feel my pain. “Take it from me, Dr. Aster: Life is short and love is fleeting. If you have a chance at it, grab with both hands.” She watches me with an enigmatic smile and then stands abruptly. “I hope to hear from you soon.”
I sit there for a long time after she’s gone. There are so many feelings, of course, just like there have been for days now. But the one that keeps me tethered in my seat is the feeling that I just confessed something dangerous to a complete stranger.
Something I haven’t even admitted to myself.
Until now.
41
STEFAN
The clock on my dash reads 5:17 P.M. Olivia’s been inside for exactly forty-seven minutes—thirteen minutes less than the hour I promised to let her meet with her mysterious, shrouded client. The woman walked in right on time, a scarf around her head and big sunglasses on her face, and it took everything in me not to get out and frisk her just in case.
My fingers drum against the Maybach’s leather steering wheel. From here, I can see five potential entry points to the building, each one a bigger liability than the last. One of the doors is propped open by a worker taking a smoke break, for fuck’s sake. Amateur hour.
I check my mirrors again. Old habits.
Boston’s evening crowd ebbs and flows further down the block. It’s the usual mix—businessmen with loosened ties, students hunched under backpacks, tourists consulting maps. I catalog each face automatically, searching for the telltale signs of someone who doesn’t belong.
The leather seat creaks as I shift. I’m buzzing with unspent energy. This isn’t how I operate. I don’t sit passively. I don’t wait. I don’t let my?—
My what? What is she, exactly?
No, better not to answer that question.
Whatever she is, I don’t let Olivia walk into unknown situations alone. Yet here I am, thumb tracing the outline of my concealed Glock, watching the minutes tick by just because she’d looked at me with those pretty amber eyes and asked all sweetly.
The fact that her mouth was around my cock at the time is beside the point. Because the end result involves me parked on my ass for almost a full fucking hour like some pathetic, domesticated watchdog. I have nothing to do but imagine every possible threat that could be taking place behind those glass doors.
The woman with the scarf was tall, but thin. Olivia is petite, but I think she could defend herself.
I just don’t want her to have to.
My phone vibrates against my thigh. Once, twice. Then it doesn’t stop.
The screen illuminates with a cascade of incoming notifications—Mikayla, Taras, security systems across my network all screaming simultaneously. Red alert icons flash across my screen as I scan the messages.
