Page 11 of Dante (Members From Money Season 2. #153)

The intercom buzzed, startling him from his reverie. He pressed the button, expecting some trivial interruption, but it was Courtney's voice, soft but steady. "Mr. Livingston, there's someone from the city council on line two. They have questions about the redevelopment timeline."

"Put them through." He sat, steeling himself, his gaze flicking to the door as if expecting her to reappear.

For a moment, he allowed himself to wish she would, a flash of her earnest eyes, her unwavering composure.

He wondered, not for the first time, if he could learn from her, a lesson in the careful art of listening.

"Mr. Livingston?" The new voice crackled through the speaker. He squared his shoulders, ready for business. But beneath the practiced calm, something in him shifted, quietly, acknowledging that a project's success might mean more than new facades and fresh paint.

It might mean honoring the lives behind the storefronts, and recognizing the rare courage it took to care.

He glanced at the door once more, then turned his attention to the call, his resolve firmer, his heart unexpectedly engaged.

She supposed it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. While she would not be showing, oh please God! Let it be six months in before that happens. She was not showing and no one suspected anything.

Donald was his charming self, but had taken her refusal to go out with him in stride and told her he would keep asking until she simply got tired of saying no.

He was careful to stay away when their boss was around, which she was grateful for.

She also suspected that she should have made an early night of it. September had turned into October, and the weather had gotten decidedly cooler. With the change of the month, the symptoms had become more aggressive.

She had started to be off on some food items. The scent of any kind of meat sent her running to the bathroom, so she concluded the baby was a vegetarian. Dammit! Not to mention grapes and peaches that she loved so much.

She had taken to drinking gallons of tea, enough to sink a ship. And was sucking on mints all the time to keep from spitting every few minutes.

Her brother warned her that it was time to reveal all to her boss. Even though she was dreading it, she knew he was right.

But it had to be the right time. She had to find the perfect time to drop the news on him. And it had to be soon.

"I need to work for a few hours, maybe less tonight," he told her abruptly, looking up from the contract he was perusing. He had been especially unapproachable today, even more so than usual.

She knew that he had received some bad news concerning the Penn Street project. The store owners had finally given their consent to be bought out, but there had been a fire that had blazed through two of the stores. The press had been hinting that the company had something to do with it.

A quick and sure way of getting the owners out faster so that the demolition process could begin.

They had not come right out and said it, but the implications were enough to have people speculating. On top of that, she had a feeling that something was going on with him personally. And wondered if it had anything to do with Magda Deloitte.

The woman had not ventured into the office since that first time, but she had seen photos of them at various functions. She found herself wondering what he was doing with someone like her. Maybe they were alike in more ways than one.

"Well?"

She started and realized that she had been staring at the device in her hands while her mind went on a journey.

"Of course."

"Good." He flicked a glance at her before returning to the contract. He wasn't sure it was a good idea to have her here after everyone else had left, but he needed her input.

He was a professional and so was she. And by God, they were going to work together without anything happening. He could bloody well keep his libido in check.

She was a beautiful woman, so of course his interest was piqued. He would just have to do what needed to be done and send her home.

She shifted in her seat, the metallic click of her pen the only sound bridging the gap between them.

The room felt cavernous in its emptiness, the desk lamp casting a golden pool onto the sprawl of documents but leaving the corners in shadow.

She tried to steady herself, focusing on the numbers and bullet points, the familiar comfort of structure in a world that lately felt alarmingly unmoored.

He seemed restless, shoulders tight, the pages of the contract fluttering as he turned them with unnecessary force.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence was not unkind, only dense: two people cocooned in their own storms yet tethered by the tenuous thread of unspoken confidences and too many late nights.

Her phone buzzed with a message. She glanced at it, heart skipping: her brother again, insistent in his concern. She placed the phone face down, refusing the urge to cry or laugh.

Instead, she reached for the file folder he needed, sliding it across the desk toward him. Their fingers brushed, and a jolt of awareness zipped up her spine. She told herself it was just static.

"Is this the revised proposal?" he asked, his voice softer now, roughened by fatigue.

"It is," she replied. "I made the changes you suggested. And added a contingency for the Penn Street delays."

He nodded, and she was struck by how tired he looked beneath the veneer of composure. Suddenly, the urge to tell him everything about the baby, the sickness, the anxieties crowding her nights felt almost overwhelming. But she swallowed it down.

Not tonight. Not when the air was already heavy with too much.

Working side by side, the hours slid past. The world outside receded to a distant hush, rain beginning to tap at the window. She risked a glance at him.

He caught her eye and offered a fleeting, crooked smile. For a moment, she saw not the boss or the rumors, but another soul wading through uncertainties of their own.

"Tea?" she offered, and her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Tea would be good."

She stood, grateful for the excuse to move. As she filled the kettle, she wondered: when the right moment came, would she really find the words?

She made them a cup each and brought his over to place in front of him.

"We should order food," he stated absently as he went on reading the contract.

"I'll grab something on my way home."

He looked up at her then, golden eyes holding hers. "When was the last time you ate?"

The question threw her for a second and had her stuttering. "Uhm, I had lunch and a snack."

"Order some food." His tone told her it was no use refusing.

"The kitchen--"

"Staff will have already left." He glanced at his computer, surprised to see that it was almost eight. And he had promised Magda to have dinner. He really should break things off with her.

It needed to be done. His interest was no longer there, and her expectations were becoming tiresome. "There's an Italian place a few blocks away. Call them. We've ordered from them before."

"Italian." The idea of the rich sauce and heavy cuisine had her stomach protesting.

He glanced over at her. "You don't like Italian?"

"Usually, yes." She put the cup down and rose. She was going to disgrace herself and there was no way around it.

"But?"

She pressed a hand to her stomach as if she could stop what was coming. "I'm so sorry. Please excuse me."

When she dashed out of the office, he rose, a frown etching his brow. She had looked positively ill. Undecided what to do, he stood for a few seconds, tapping his fingers on the desk.

Then hissing out a breath, he strode forward and stood just at the bathroom door, his body clenching at the sound coming from behind the door. She sounded as if she was dying in there. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he rocked back on his heels and wondered if he should call an ambulance.

"Ms. Vernon?" Lifting a hand, he rapped his fist on the door. No answer. He tried again and heard her telling him in a weak voice that she was fine.

Pressing his lips together, he shoved the door open and reeled when he saw her seated on the floor, her head between her knees.

"I'm calling a doctor."

She lifted her head and leaned back on the tiles. "There's no need. Will you please leave? I'll be fine in a minute. This is the worst it has ever been."

"What?" He crossed to her and crouched down. "Are you ill? Of course you are. What the hell is wrong with you?"

She sighed shakily and tried to get up. When he took her hand, she gripped it and rose with his help. "I'll just rinse my mouth out and..." She sucked in a breath. "There's something I must tell you. Would you please go back to your office? I'll be right there."

When he hesitated, she gave him a pleading look. "Please."

She waited until he had left before standing in front of the mirror and staring at herself. She looked drained and exhausted. Her eyes were red and runny.

Turning on the tap, she cupped her hands under the water and splashed some on her face. Using the towel, she patted her face dry, uncaring that she was removing her makeup. It was just as well, she thought wearily.

She was going to have to reveal her utmost secret. Taking a deep fortifying breath, she took another moment to try and steady herself.

It was her fault, or it was Caleb's fault and hers for listening to him in the first place.

She should have told him from the beginning that she was with child and let the chips fall where they may.

Now he was going to despise her and fire her for keeping something as important as a pregnancy from him.

Taking another breath, she headed out to face the music.