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I work too much. I probably drink too much.
I scowl down at the glass in my hand and set it on the mantel with a definite click.
I’m cold. Closed off. I don’t give people pieces of me easily. Hell, I barely know how to let someone in at all.
And worst of all?
I’m twenty years her senior.
This was never supposed to happen.
Annie was never supposed to happen.
And now, she’s carrying my child.
I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling hard.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m not usually the jealous type. I take a step back and take a deep breath. I just need to get a grip.
Yes, Annie works for me, and yes, she’s pregnant with my child, but I don’t own her. She’s free to have dinner with whomever she wants.
And I know there’s nothing going on between them. Annie isn’t like that. I haven’t been in a relationship with her, not really. Hell, I haven’t even goneon a date with her. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Annie is a one-man type of woman.
I can trust that.
I look at my watch again.
She should be home by now.
Doesn’t she know she needs her rest?
I glance toward the door, my jaw clenching. I could call her. Ask where she is.
But I don’t.
Damn it!
I check my watch. Again.
I tell myself I’m not pissed. That would be ridiculous. She’s not my wife, not my girlfriend, not obligated to report to me.
I rake a hand through my hair and exhale sharply.
I should go to bed. She’s a grown woman. If she wants to stay out all night, that’s her decision. I have no right to care.
And yet, I do.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I glance toward the office door—and that’s when I hear it.
Soft footsteps. Light, careful.
I take a seat in the armchair next to the fireplace and wait.
A moment later, Annie appears in the doorway.
She pauses, one hand resting on the frame, her head tilting slightly when she sees me. Her hair isn’t in the ponytail anymore but flowing loose around her shoulders. She looks tired but relaxed—completely at ease, like she hasn’t been out driving me insane for the past few hours.