Page 60 of Babies for the Big Shot
The flutter turns to a flip. A slow, unpleasant roll.
No. Nope. Not this. Not tonight.
I bolt for the bathroom just in time, dropping to my knees. Great. Fancy dress, billionaire boss, secret coatroom grope fest, and now this. The glamorous life of Sara Brooks, everybody.
When I’m done heaving, I sit back against the wall, sweating and shaky.
Probably stress. Definitely stress.
Nothing else.
I swipe the back of my hand over my mouth and try to breathe.
No. Not even going there.
I need to go to bed. To sleep this night off. To stop wondering what thehellI’m doing all the time.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nick
There wasa time when this office gave me clarity.
Hard edges. Clean surfaces. No variables. A space built for execution, not chaos.
Now it’s compromised.
I should be reviewing the Q3 projections. Preparing for the board review. Finalizing terms on the European expansion before markets shift. There are two dozen urgent matters in motion, any one of which could cost millions if left untended.
And all I can see is green satin.
Sara, in that dress. Her hand on my arm. The look she gave me at the gala, unguarded, tentative, as if some part of her had decided to trust me. As if she didn’t see the damage coming.
I press a hand to my face, exhale, and glance at my phone.
Another message.
Rebecca.
Of course.
As if the engineered run-in at the gala wasn’t enough. As if her words to Sara—coated in venom behind a smile, hadn’t made her position clear. Now she’s back in my inbox. Just like before. False charm, thinly veiled control. A performance she’s perfected.
Rebecca: We should talk, Nick. About old times. About what you’re doing.
Rebecca: I saw the way you looked at me, even if you were with her. You think no one else noticed? You forget, I know you better than anyone.
She doesn’t. Not in any way that matters. But she knows enough.
Enough to damage me. Enough to hurt Sara.
I grip the edge of the desk, grounding myself in the grain of the wood, the structure, the weight. I hear her voice again, too easily. Soft, rehearsed, precise.
“You ruin things, Nick. That’s what you do. You destroy everything you touch.”
She said it often enough that it found a permanent place in my memory. And on the worst days, I believe her.
The phone buzzes again.
