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“Because you’re on fire,” he says in a low tone. “Let me get a cold compress.”
“It’s just morning sickness. It’ll pass soon. Plus, I’m due on set at nine.”
“You won’t make it,” he calls out over the running water. “It’s after eight-thirty, and traffic is a bitch in this weather.”
“Shit!” How long was I asleep on the floor? Adrenaline pumps through my veins, my eyelids pop open, and I toss the covers to the side. “I can’t be late! I have a photo shoot.”
My feet hit the hardwood, and I race into the bathroom, throwing on the shower. I remove my shorts, kicking them away, and yank my camisole over my head. A choking noise snags my attention, and wide blue eyes meet mine in the mirror.
I thrust my hand in a dismissive gesture. Too late now. “What? You have a boyfriend.” I break his stare and step into the glass shower.
“What if I’m bisexual?” he yells. “And I can still see you! Perfectly.”
“Then leave, weirdo.”
Bisexual or not, he was bound to catch me undressing at some point. Modeling isn’t for the modest, and he’s seen me practically nude plenty of times.
“Tell your boyfriend I said sorry.”
The adrenaline fades while I’m rinsing, and doubt creeps in. Forget the city traffic. My thick hair has to dry, and that takes at least an hour with a professional stylist.
I have to get dressed and in full makeup, without my talented assistant. I’ll never be ready. I’ll miss the photo shoot, and they’ll believe I’m incapable of meeting the requirements of my contract. Ican’tfuck this up.
My chest tightens, and my stomach churns.
Not again.
With a hand clamped over to my mouth, I dash out of the shower, nearly slipping on my ass. Ricky awaits with an open towel, pursed lips, and an “I told you so” expression.
Wrapped tightly, I fall to my knees and repeat the same process as earlier, and even though I elbow him, my bodyguard insists on holding my wet hair back.
“Will you leave me alone? This is embarrassing enough.”
“Shut up. I’m a medic—wasa medic,” he corrects. “I’ve witnessed much worse…like you naked. Disgusting.”
“I miss when you were quiet.”
It’s not true, and he knows it. Whether by forced proximity or divine intervention, we’ve become close, and I’d be lost without him.
When there’s nothing left in my system, my abdomen cramps, and anxiety turns to fear.
I place a hand on my belly. “The baby? Should I?—”
My phone rings in the bedroom, and, overwhelmed, I release a sob, tears burning my eyes.
I attempt to rise, but my head spins, and I wobble.
Once again, I’m in Ricky’s arms.
“I’m calling Ethan,” he says, his voice strained and clears his throat. “I know you’ll listen to him.”
Jackson
Before I leaveEthan’s office, his phone rings and his demeanor brightens. The sight of happiness on his typically serious mug is strange, taboo, as if we share a secret.
We sharesomethingmore than a professional relationship.
Asituationship—if I miraculously get Aurora back.