Page 84 of Nine Months to Bear
“And how the fuck do you know that?” Taras sounds incredulous. “Christ, Stef. Tell me you haven’t gone off-script already. We agreed?—”
Their voices keep going, but my heart has stopped. The world is frozen.
Walsh.
I briefly consider the possibility that Stefan is talking about a different Walsh,notthe one who stole my life’s work, is poaching my clients, and currently making my life a living hell.
But it can’t be a coincidence.
Nothing can be a coincidence.
Everything clicks into place with stomach-turning clarity—why Stefan suddenly appeared in my life, why he’s so obsessed with having a baby, why someone shot at us in that parking garage.
I stumble back until my elbow bumps against an accent table pressed against the wall. My funny bone lights up and a tiny gasp escapes before I can stop it.
Instantly, the conversation inside goes dead silent.
Before I can scurry away, the door swings open, flooding the hallway with light. Stefan stands there looking unfairly gorgeous in a half-unbuttoned shirt. He’s lit from behind so his face is almost pure shadow.
Almostpure shadow. Those eyes, though, are bright and furious. “You?—”
I don’t even try to pretend I wasn’t eavesdropping. Instead, fury propels me forward.
“You know Walsh? You’re connected to my competitor? Is that what this is about?” My voice shakes as the words tumble out like vomit. “Were you just using me to get information? Or are you another of Walsh’s rich boyfriends trying to ruin me?”
The thought of him with Rebecca, tangled up in bed together, laughing at me…
Ugh, I’m going to be sick.
Stefan isn’t fazed. “Your clinic is hardly thriving. What information could I possibly want?”
I almost wish he’d slapped me instead of that. It came out of him too easily, like he’s been waiting for the chance to tear me down to size.
I turn away before he can see the tears gathering in my eyes.
“You shouldn’t eavesdrop, Olivia,” he chides.
I spin around, nearly losing my balance on the slippery marble in the process. “Oh, I’m sodreadfullysorry. Did I violate the etiquette handbook for hostages? Did I commit a prisoner faux pas?”
“You’re not a hostage.”
“Really?” I gesture wildly at my bare feet. “Then why are my shoes mysteriously missing? And why does every door leading outside need a fingerprint scan?” Before he can answer, I jab a finger at his broad chest. “You’ll have to do a lot more than that if you want to keep me contained, Stefan.”
He strolls closer. “Such as?”
“I don’t know! Handcuff me. Tie me down.”
A beat too late, I realize what I said.
He does, too. His pupils dilate. Eyes turn black in the dim light. “That can be arranged,” he says in a rough whisper that makes my skin prickle.
This—this right here—thisis why I have to leave. The man all but kidnapped me, but one look, one husky whisper, and all my righteous fury transforms into… into…
This.
Andthisis no good.Thisis no good at all.
“Stop it!” I hiss, lunging back. “You don’t get to do that—to turn this into… You lied to me!”
