Page 138 of Sexting His Assistant

“Of me?”

She looks at me quickly. “No. Of everything.”

That is either true, or close enough to true.

I let her settle. I don’t push too hard at first. If she feels trapped, she will shut down.

The waiter brings our drinks. When he leaves, she folds her hands in her lap.

“I don’t want to trap you,” she says. “I don’t want money.”

“That’s usually what people say before asking for money.”

Her face flushes. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is walking into my office and announcing a pregnancy in front of my staff.”

“I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t answering.”

“I was recovering.”

She looks confused. “Recovering from what?”

“A gunshot wound.”

Her reaction is immediate. Her eyes widen, and her hand tightens around the edge of the table.

“You were shot?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No. I heard something happened, but I didn’t know you were hurt.”

I watch her carefully. That reaction looks real.

So whoever is pushing her didn’t tell her everything.

I keep my voice calm. “How far along are you?”

“Almost eight weeks.”

“Almost?”

“Seven and a half, maybe eight. I haven’t had a proper scan yet.”

“You said yesterday you saw a doctor.”

“I did. Just not… not everything.”

The first lie is clumsy.

I drink my coffee and let her sit in it.

She shifts in her chair. “I know this is a shock.”

“It is not a shock.”

That unsettles her. “It isn’t?”