He didn't take care of himself for the same reason he didn't leave his house.
"That is a complicated answer, and I don't know that I have it in me to get into it today." Titus’s green eyes drift down my body, resting in the general vicinity of my lap. "Not when we have more important things to talk about."
Oh no. He's already regretting what happened between us.I'm so fucking stupid. I let myself get whisked away by possibilities I should know by now aren't mine. I let myself think?—
"When is the baby due?"
I can almost hear the tires screech inside my brain. "What?"
Titus’s eyes flick to my face before dropping to look at my lower belly. "The baby. How far along are you?"
“Oh." I clear my throat, wiggling in my seat because I feel weird discussing this with him. Not because Titus has made me uncomfortable, but because I can't imagine any man loves the idea of a woman he's... interacting with… carrying another man's baby. "I'm almost twelve weeks."
Titus sits straighter in his seat, one arm coming out to drape across the back of mine. "When is your first doctor's appointment?"
I lick my lips before rubbing them together. I don't have an answer for that. I've been putting that part of all of this off. Scheduling an appointment makes it all feel so much more real. Like more than just a secret I'm carrying.
“I don’t have one scheduled yet.” My voice is small. The way it always is when I have to face a way I’ve fallen short. When I know I’m shining a light on something people will see as a failure.
And ignoring the reality of my pregnancy is for sure a failure.
But Titus doesn’t look disappointed. He doesn’t even seem judgmental.
He almost looks… relieved as he says, “Good. That gives me the chance to make sure the one you see is the best there is.”
18
Titus
Inarrow my eyes at the trio of doctors in front of me, trying to discern which one of them I can trust with Mariah and her baby.
I’ve spent days compiling a list of every obstetrician within a twenty-mile radius. I’ve gone through their backgrounds. Their education. I’ve picked apart every review and investigated every reference.
I might have also dug through some information most people can’t—and probably shouldn’t—access. But I want to be sure Mariah and the baby are in the best and most capable hands.
Which is why I might have gotten a head start on a list of pediatricians while I was at it.
Sending the list I've compiled to my tablet, I grab the device and head downstairs. Mariah is talking to her friend from Montana, and while I want to give them privacy, staying upstairs in my rooms alone no longer holds any appeal.
Not unless Mariah is there with me, and she hasn't stepped foot inside my space since the morning after the breach at the company.
I'm trying not to be disappointed by it, but I am. Mostly in myself for not knowing how in the hell to get her back in here. It'sbeen a long damn time since I've interacted with a woman—let alone one I find fascinating—and it shows.
So I've focused on what I do know how to do—analyzing data.
When I reach the kitchen, I'm relieved to see Mariah's no longer on her phone call. When she turns to me and smiles, I relax a little. Part of me was worried her friend would tell her to leave Wyoming. That having the guy who signs your digital paychecks practically beg to go down on you is unforgivable. I was fully prepared to offer Mariah anything she wanted to stay, but I'm glad it doesn't seem like I'm going to have to go that route.
Not that I won't give her anything she wants anyway.
Mariah's brows pinch together as I walk to the island. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." It's an honest answer, thank God. "It's time to pick a doctor." I set the tablet down on the counter beside her. "I've gone through everyone in the area and narrowed it down to these three. They have the best patient reviews, the best educations, and the most experience. I think any of them would be a good choice."
I know which one I think would be the best choice, but I don't have much of a leg to stand on here. I'm not Mariah's husband. Not the father of her child. I'm not anything but her employer. All I can do is present the information and?—
"Which one do you think is best?" Her eyes haven't even gone to the screen. "I know you've inspected all of them. Probably know where they live, how many children they have, and their cholesterol levels. So tell me which one is the best. That's who I’ll pick."
The trust she's putting in me is almost as sobering as her accurate analysis of my personality. I don't leave anything to chance. I research. I study. I analyze. I make decisions based on risk.
