“Nice to meet you too. I’m the associate director of finance here. The big bosses are tied up right now. I’ll take you to the room, let you get set up.”
As he leads me into my glass prison, I can’t get over how calm he seems. Once inside, he points me to the TV at the end of the conference table and sits, pulling out his phone. “The rest of the team should be in soon.”
“Great.”
Just the two of us in the room, I set up my presentation in the background while I continue to assess the threat level in front of me. He has the same demeanor as any cocky finance bro with enoughmoney to fly a woman across the country and pay for her hotel, yet dickish enough not to think about flying her back home, oblivious to the fact that finding out your partner was cheatingandhaving a baby on you might, I don’t know, suck?
It’s lodged in my brain. I can think of nothing else, especially not the numbers I’m supposed to present in less than five minutes. “Sorry, I’ve only been talking through email with two people. What was your name?”
The pissant smiles at me. “It’s David.”
Fuck.
Eight
Liem
After my awkward meeting, I go back home. Home? I guess the apartment feels more like home than I’ve felt in a while. How do I tell Bri that David is the reason we get to stay in New York for the month? Should I even tell her?
All this time, I was hoping to run intomyex, then I ran into hers instead. It isn’t like I’m working for him specifically, only his company, and it’s not like shmoozing them means we’ll become besties, but I have to tell her I saw him and talked to him—that I’ll be working tangentially to the idiot who fucked her over—right?
Knowing he looked well-rested and happy while she’s hopping all over Brooklyn walking dogs and assembling college girls’ furniture for green juice tips?
I’ll gauge her mood and take it from there.
Inside, I don’t see her at first, then I spot the curls waterfalling over the couch’s arm. I circle it, accidentally stirring her from a nap. It’s not her usual naptime, though I’ve only had two weeks of observation.
She blinks up at me. “Hey.” As she sits up, I can see on her face she’s not feeling well. “How did it go?”
“It, uh . . .” I trail off when her face falls even more. Something’s not right. Maybe this isn’t the best time to tell her. “It went okay. They approved us to move to the next stage.”
“Oh, yay. That’s great, babe.” There is no luster in her tone, no melody in her voice. She huffs, her hand gripping her lower stomach.
“You okay?”
She perks up as if I caught her in the act. “Yeah! Everything’s good.” Her pinched brow says the opposite.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s—” She exhales like someone in labor. “I’m gonna go lie down in my room.”
When she tries to walk, her gait falls heavily to one side. Limping? Hell no.
I go to her, gingerly lifting her from her feet into my arms. She doesn’t protest. Bri accepting help is both rare and worrisome.
In her room, she helps me lower her onto the bed, one of herhands never leaving her stomach.
“What is going on?” I ask again.
“I’m fine, really.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“No, I’m good. It’s . . .”
“It’s what?”
I swear her brown skin gains a tinge of pink. “It’s cramps.”
