Page 107

I head for the copy room. It’s empty and noticeably warmer than the already-toasty office. The massive machine is churning out documents at a rapid pace.
I tap the screen, sighing when I see two-hundred-plus-page contracts are in the queue ahead of my job.
“Hey.”
I glance over my shoulder at Stella.
“Hey,” I reply, trying to ignore the quickening pace of my heart.
I’m not doing anything wrong, but I feel jumpy. Guilty. I’m closer with Margot, mainly because of what I confided in her, but I consider Stella a friend too.
She glances at the growing stack of paper. “Sorry. I didn’t think anyone else would be trying to print this late in the day.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, then glance at the clock. The five minutes I promised Margot have already passed.
Stella catches me and smiles wryly. “Margot stopped by your desk too?”
I smile back. “Sure did.”
“Do youeverleave by five?” Stella’s teasing, but there’s also curiosity in her tone.
I keep my expression neutral as I shrug a shoulder. Kit tends to work later than any other executive on this floor. I’m usually the lastassistant to leave. Stella isn’t the first person to comment on it.
The printer pauses for a few seconds.
Stella strides toward it, glancing over the documents. “That should be all of mine,” she tells me. “If anything else comes out, just drop it at my desk?”
I manage a nod, trying not to looktoorelieved. “Will do.”
“See you in the lobby,” Stella tells me, then walks out.
The printer whirs to life again, spitting out my single sheet of paper. I grab the warm letter from the tray and hurry back to my desk, scanning the lines of text one final time. I slip an envelope out of my bag and knock on Kit’s door. Might as well give this to him now too. Stop avoiding and lay everything out on the table.
“Come in,” Kit’s voice calls a second later.
My fingers fumble with the handle as I open it and step inside his office.
“Hey.” He glances up, giving me his full attention as I close the door.
I swallow nervously. “Hey.”
Kit leans back in his chair, holding eye contact. “What’s up?” he asks cautiously.
The last time I entered his office without a professional reason was with my first letter of resignation. The time before that, a pregnancy announcement. So, I understand his apprehension.
“I have a couple of things to give you,” I state. Fake a cough to clear my throat. “They’re, uh, non-work-related.”
He straightens in his chair, focus sharpening as he nods once.
“Is now an, uh, okay time?” I question.
“Of course. Take a seat.”
I do, fighting a strong burst of déjà vu as I pass him the envelopewith the paternity test results first. Dr. Bailey’s office did the test when I was eight weeks. I’ve had the results for more than two months, waiting for Kit to bring it up. He still hasn’t.
Kit takes the envelope, a crease appearing on his forehead as he studies the outside. “This is addressed to you. And”—he flips it over—“it’s unopened.”
“We need to have a custody conversation soon,” I start.