“I’ll probably be on bed rest by then!” I snapped, feeling tears fall down my cheeks, utterly pissed and hurt that I was being ‘temporarily’ let go even though I knew it was more than likely coming. But, then again, knowing and doing are two completely different things. And then…I realized what I had said. I sucked in a breath, glancing up at him.
He wore a slightly crooked grin, his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I think for your safety’s sake and mine, I’m going to forget you ever said that…or even why you would have to be on bedrest. But I do need a particular timeframe of when you might be able to come back so I can get a temp in here.”
I sucked in another harsh breath, realizing he was going to be quiet. This was the difference between a good reporter and a bad one—Clifford vs. Micah. I stated softly, “Thank you.” He nodded, and I cleared my throat, wiping some of my tears away but fuck if they didn’t keep coming. “I imagine I could come back to work in,” I tried to do the math of what the doctor said on normal triplet births, “probably eight or nine months.” That would give me a few months with my babies before entering the workforce again.
He nodded. “All right. Do you want me to carry the box down for you since your entourage might need their hands to manhandle another reporter?”
I shook my head and gave him a quick hug. “No. I’ve got it.” I pointed at him. “I’m the best you have. Remember that.” I stooped to pick up the box, realized it was heavy, and grunted a little, heaving it up.
He helped me steady it, and stated quietly, “Take care of yourself, Elizabeth. This is a whole other lifestyle you’ve gotten yourself into.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
He cleared his throat and said more loudly, “I’m only keeping your spot open since you are the best. Don’t piss me off by waiting too long.”
I smirked, nodding, sentimentally staring at the doorway where some of the reporters had started to congregate. “See ya, Clifford.”
He nodded with a quick glance at my stomach before, going into the doors where I wasn’t welcomed right now, herding the reporters away, and back to their desks. I told Trofim, “I want to go to my dad’s church.”
Leaving the building was just as hectic as entering. Micah was in the crowd scowling, so I knew he hadn’t been killed. I was jostled even more than before as more reporters showed up with the news I was here. They got my walk of the unemployed on camera, box in hand, and head hanging so they wouldn’t see the residual effect my tears on my face.
And on the way to church, I actually had paparazzi following me, making the journey there much more interesting since they were driving in ways guaranteed to get us in a wreck. I bumped against the door as our driver took a sharp right just as one of my bodyguards phone started ringing.
It was Trofim’s and he answered it, then immediately handed it to me. It was Daniil. Sighing, I put it to my ear, trying to right myself after the driver swerved to miss one of the idiots with the cameras. “Hello?” My phone was no longer in existence, so this was the only way he could contact me.
“I just saw the footage of you leaving work,” he stated, sounding worried. And that was all of ten minutes ago, which meant some of those cameras had been running live. “I could tell you had been crying. Are you all right?”
“I just lost my job. A job that I loved. What do you think?” I asked dryly and then grunted, hitting the door again.
“Your editor fired you,” Daniil stated slowly. “Because of us.”
It wasn’t a question, but I stated, “Yes. I knew it would happen, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I couldn’t do my job properly with this much press hounding me…when I’m supposed tobethe press.”
There was a pause, and then I shouted, falling forward and onto the floor when the driver slammed on the breaks. The phone went flying out of my hand, and damn expertly, Trofim reached out a hand, catching it in mid-flight and helping me back into the seat. He handed the cell back to me, and Daniil was hollering over the line by the time I put it back to my ear. “I’m fine. Just some damn paparazzi bothering us.”
“You just scared the shit out of me!” he shouted, breathing hard. “Just come home! You don’t have work now. And I’ll stay home today. We can have a day to ourselves. It would be nice, especially after last night.”
It startled me, hearing him say ‘home’ like that. I sat there for a few moments a little stunned, and I heard his breath catch, and he shouted my name again. Christ, he was going to have a heart attack if he kept that up. “I’m here. I’m fine. I was going to go to my dad’s church, but a day alone would be nice.” I paused, remembering I was supposed to be sticking to my guns. “As long as you don’t try to finagle a different outcome for tonight.”
He sighed. “Just come home. I don’t want to argue anymore.” He snorted. “Besides, my back can’t take another night on that couch. I never knew how uncomfortable it was.”
“All right,” I said hesitantly, wondering if there was a catch somewhere there. He was giving in too easily. “I’ll tell the driver to turn around.”
“Good,” he cleared his throat and said quickly, “I miss you. Hurry up.” And he hung up.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. Had Daniil just shown a weakness to me? Stunned, I handed the phone back to Trofim, telling him we were changing course and going back ‘home.’ He relayed the information to the driver. I spent the ride home hanging on for dear life as the paparazzi hounded us the entire way.
Walking through the door completely frazzled, I was jumped by Daniil. I dropped my box, barely missing smashing our toes as he hauled me off my feet, carrying me across the foyer and up the square stairs. Breathless, I asked, “What are you doing?”
“Walking, Ms. Forter,” he stated factually. And that was it.
“Daniil!” I squealed when he started a full out run down the hallways once we got to the top of the stairs. Amazingly, I was being jostled, but I was a little mystified. “Why are you running?”
“Makeup sex,” Daniil murmured, not even out of breath. “I really don’t like arguing with you. And I don’t like being shut out of my own damn bed. But, if it’s going to happen, there’s going to be some fucking perks involved afterward.”
Stunned, I stared up at his face. He was serious. About all of it. It seriously bothered him, us arguing. Maybe even more so than me—which surprised me since he did it so damn well.
I squeaked again when he tossed me lightly on the bed and started stripping. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket so his shirt was off in seconds, and he was kicking his dress shoes off and unbuckling his belt before I even had a chance to catch my breath. I had stared for all of a few seconds before I got with the program, quickly stripping off my own clothes.
