"Are you really okay?" he asks finally, his voice low. "And don't say 'fine' again."
I look up at him, at the genuine concern in his eyes, and for a moment I almost tell him everything. Almost confess that I'm carrying his friend's baby, that I'm terrified, that I have no idea what I'm going to do.
Instead, I offer a partial truth. "I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately. Nothing serious."
He studies me, clearly not entirely convinced. "If you need anything—anything at all—you can call me. It doesn't have to be about the project."
The offer touches me in a way I hadn't expected. "Thank you."
When we reach the lobby, he hesitates. "Are you sure you don't want me to see you home? No offense, but you look like you might pass out."
I manage a small laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I mean it, Camille." His eyes hold mine, serious now. "Let me help."
Part of me wants to accept, to lean on someone else's strength for a while. But I can't. Not now. Not with him.
"I appreciate it, but I'll be fine." I step back slightly, creating necessary distance. "I'll see you next week?"
He nods, though reluctance shows in the set of his shoulders. "Take care of yourself."
When I'm finally home, I change into soft gray sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. I curl into the corner of my couch, a cup of ginger tea—supposedly good for morning sickness—steaming on the coffee table beside me.
My phone sits next to the tea, Alex's contact information glowing on the screen. I've been staring at it for ten minutes, my finger hovering over the call button before retreating again.
Should I tell him? Will he even care?
And beneath those questions, another one lurks, more troubling than the rest: Why did I feel that pull toward Tristan and Julian today? Is it just pregnancy hormones making me emotional, or something more?
I set the phone down without calling, draw my knees to my chest, and close my eyes. One problem at a time. First, I need to decide what I want for myself, for this baby, before I involve anyone else—including Alex.
But as I sit in the quiet of my apartment, I can't help but remember the concern in Julian's eyes, the quiet approval in Tristan's voice. Two men so different from each other, and from Alexander. Two men who, under any other circumstances, might have been possibilities.
Instead, they're complications in an already difficult situation.
Chapter 16
Julian
The project specs document on my monitor blurs into meaningless words as my mind wanders back to Camille's face during the meeting this morning. That pale complexion, the slight tremor in her hand as she reached for the water glass, the way she paused mid-sentence as if fighting some internal battle.
I've seen enough to know something's wrong, even if Tristan seemed oblivious. I push away from my desk, abandoning any pretense of productivity.
My assistant pokes her head in, clipboard in hand. "The contractor called about the foundation pour. They want to move it to next Tuesday."
"Fine. Whatever works." I wave my hand dismissively.
She lingers in the doorway, eyebrows raised. "You okay? You've been distracted all afternoon."
"Just thinking about the project," I lie, stopping at the window to stare at Brooklyn's skyline.
"Sure." Her tone makes it clear she doesn't believe me. "I'll tell them Tuesday is approved."
When the door closes, I press my hands over my eyes. This isn't like me. I don't obsess over business associates, don't let personal concerns interfere with work. At least, that's what I tellmyself. But the truth slips through anyway—I'm worried about Camille. Worried in a way that crosses several boundaries I shouldn't be crossing.
She looked terrible today. Not unattractive—I'm not sure Camille could achieve that if she tried—but unwell. Worse than during our first meeting when she'd been sick. The shadows under her eyes were deeper, her skin almost translucent. And there was something else, something in her expression that spoke of more than physical discomfort. Fear, maybe. Or uncertainty.
I drop back into my chair, fingers drumming against the armrest. This isn't just about her health affecting the project. I've worked with people fighting colds, nursing hangovers, pushing through personal crises. That's just part of business. This feels different. I feel different about it.
