Page 71

This awful morning just got a lot worse.
20
The swivel chair behind my desk is occupied when I return from lunch. Margot and Stella don’t notice Kit right away. They continue chatting about the sample sale in SoHo we’re planning to head to after work.
But I can’tnotnotice Kit. He commands attention. And it’s nothing specific I can pinpoint; it’s justhim.
I notice how similar the blue shade of his shirt is to his eyes. I notice that a piece of hair has fallen across his forehead. I notice the straight line of his jaw, steeled for afight.
I stiffen, too, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin like I’m preparing for a war.
It feels like Kit and I are locked in some sort of battle. And honestly, I don’t knowwhy. I told him about the pregnancy because I felt like I had to. Not because I wanted to. And not because I wanted anything from him.
Was I hoping he’d offer? Yeah. But I’m prepared to do this on my own. I’ll follow the plan my mom and I hashed out over the weekend, and I’ll—we’ll—be fine.
I told him I expected nothing. I’m offering him an easy out, and he’s suddenly hell-bent ontalking.
“Damn,” Margot mutters to my left, spotting Kit sprawled in my swivel chair like a king on a throne.
Stella giggles, noticing the same. “Yeah. I’d quit to hit that.”
A fresh burst of irritation appears in response to their appreciative tones. What is Kit doing outside of his office, atmydesk, making aspectacleof himself?
“I’ll see you guys at five,” I tell Margot and Stella, then peel away from them and stride toward my desk solo.
According to the clock on the wall, it’s 12:57. Kit has a meeting at one, which is technically when my lunch hour ends. I suggested to Margot and Stella we stop for a coffee to cut it as close as possible, but I didn’t delay long enough.
I set my decaf cinnamon latte on the counter of my cubicle, then rummage through my purse for my ChapStick. “You have a meeting at?—”
“At one with Benjamin Chase. Yeah, I know.” Kit leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How was your lunch?”
“Fine.” I can’t get the cap of my lip balm off. My hands are toounsteady, shaking with the tension that’s tangible in the air between us.
Why is he being so … cordial? I thought he’d be badgering me to talk again. Or angry about the resignation letter I dropped on his desk a few hours ago.
I know he’ll have no problem finding a replacement—Margot or Stella would happily volunteer—but I figured me leaving so soon would prick his ego a little bit. Not that Iwanthim to be mad, but at least it would be an understandable reaction. Just like I wanted him to saysomethingon Friday, not sit silently with a horrified look on his face.
Kit reaches out and tugs the ChapStick from my grip. “What did you get to eat?”
“Uh, soup.” I’m preoccupied by how tiny the yellow tube looks in his hands as he wiggles the top off.
He frowns as he hands the ChapStick back to me. “That’s it?”
“I wasn’t very hungry. My stomach has been …” I let my voice trail as I smear balm on my lips. Glance at the clock—12:59. “You’ll be late.”
Kit looks at his fancy watch. Stands.
I exhale a sigh of relief. He’s leaving.
“I’m taking you out to dinner. Be ready at five.”
“I can’t tonight. I have plans after work.”
“Cancel them.”
Those two words are infused with an iron I’ve never heard from Kit before.
Normally, I consider him too cavalier. He has this ease that’s not quite laziness, but close, as if he’s always certain he’ll get exactly what he wants. Born from a lifetime record ofgettingexactly what he wants.