Page 12 of Dante (Members From Money Season 2. #153)

He stopped pacing when she entered the office and felt his heart jitter at the wan look on her face. A look that made him want to gather her into his arms and rock her until she was feeling better. The idea of it made him so pissed, he had to turn away.

Marching over to the cabinet, he poured a glass of water and practically shoved it into her hands.

"Sit." His tone was quiet, but with a leashed fury that did not escape her.

It was going to be worse than she anticipated. Lowering herself onto the chair, she wrapped her fingers around the glass and frantically tried to figure out the best way to tell him her news.

"I'm waiting." He was leaning on the front of the desk, arms crossed. She absently admired the play of muscles on his forearms and the way the black sweater stretched across his chest.

"I wanted to tell you from the beginning."

"Tell me what?"

She took a sip of the water and quenched her parched throat.

"I just want you to know that it's not something I planned."

"Ms. Vernon, get to the damn point."

Her back went up and her eyes flashed. "I don't like your tone."

He had to almost physically restrain himself from hauling her up and shaking her. The bloody woman was aggravating as hell.

"You're going to like it even less if you don't spit out what's going on with you." His eyes wandered over her face, lingering on lips made wet by the water she was drinking. Heat flooded through his body like a flood and weakened him. Jesus Christ! What the hell was going on with him?

"I'm pregnant." She whispered it, but it sounded as if she had used a megaphone to shout the words. At first he wondered if he had heard her correctly. Pregnant? Was she involved with someone? Common sense had him changing directions.

"You knew this before you were hired?"

She nodded miserably. "I wanted to tell you."

"Only you didn't." His eyes drifted down to her flat stomach and then up again to her face. "You deceived me, all of us. Was Ms. Carstairs aware of your condition?"

Her eyes flashed at his choice of word, but she did not comment on it, just shook her head.

"I found out for sure after she interviewed me."

"And you didn't think it was something you should have mentioned?"

She lifted her chin. "I needed the job."

A tense silence fell between them, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall. He swore under his breath, scrubbing a hand across his jaw as if that could erase the weight of her words from the air.

She watched him warily, shoulders squared in defiance, but her fingers curled tight around the glass. The confession hung between them, fragile and explosive.

"So, you thought hiding it was the best solution?" His voice was lower now, not gentler, but honed, as if he was wrestling to keep it even.

She met his gaze with a stubbornness that surprised him. "Survival isn't always tidy. I did what I had to do."

He exhaled sharply, the dark lines of frustration deepening on his face. "That job comes with responsibilities, ones you conveniently forgot to mention."

A muscle ticked in her cheek. "I haven't forgotten. I'm more aware of them than you know."

He paced away for a moment, clenching his fists, then turned back, his eyes stormy. "This changes everything, you realize that?"

Her voice was quiet but steady. "I know. But I'm not asking for favors, or pity. I just wanted you to hear it from me."

For a long moment, they simply stared at one another, past grievances and unspoken fears swirling in the space between.

"Where's the guy?"

He hated himself for asking and as soon as the words were out, he could have bitten his tongue in half. It had nothing to do with anything.

"It doesn't."

"He's not in the picture." Her expression was stony and defiant at the same time. "He left as soon as I told him."

Relief flooded through him like a wave. The various emotions at war inside him made him decidedly edgy. He was going to fire her. Of course that was the logical solution. But he knew he couldn't do that.

"I need this job." She didn't care that the tears were burning the back of her eyes and threatening to spill over.

He saw it, the way her jaw trembled before she caught herself, the determined tilt of her chin. The room pressed in with the hush of things unsaid. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, words failing him, then settling heavy and awkward in his throat.

"This isn't about pity," he said finally, quieter. "But you can't expect me to just pretend this didn't happen."

She let out a breath, shaky, threading her fingers together as if to hold herself together. "I don't. But I can't go back, either. Not after what's already done."

He hesitated, struggling with the sharp edge of duty against the blurrier lines of empathy. "You're good at what you do. That's not in question. But trust." He broke off, searching for words. "Trust isn't something you can patch up overnight."

Turning away, he strode to the cabinet and poured a generous amount of scotch into the glass.

He wanted to scoop her up and cradle her.

The urge to do so was so strong, it was alarming.

Clenching his fingers on the glass, he stared out the window, the lights from the buildings around, dazzling, almost blinding him.

She had shared something personal with him and there was no turning back now.

"I should go." Her voice was small and sounded vulnerable.

"Yes." He bit out. "I need to think."

"Will you let me know your decision? I'm not going to beg for my job, even if it's the best I ever had."

He turned to her then and felt the familiar ache inside him starting. If she didn't leave now, he was going to do something unforgivable, like ravishing her. And it wouldn't matter one damn that she was pregnant with another man's baby.

She stood, gathering her bag with hands that tried not to shake, her gaze fixed on the lush pattern of the carpet rather than his face.

But before she reached the door, she paused, as if listening for some final word to change the direction of fate.

The silence between them was electric, full of all the words neither could say.

"I'll come in Monday," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt, "unless you tell me otherwise."

She didn't wait for his answer, didn't trust herself to look back. The corridor outside felt colder than she remembered, the echo of her footsteps loud in the hush of after-hours.

Inside, he gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles whitened, the scotch burning down his throat.

He was torn between wanting her gone and needing her to stay for reasons he could scarcely acknowledge, even to himself.

Through the glass, he watched the city lights blur and wondered at the impossibility of undoing what had just been said.

Tomorrow, he told himself. He would have to decide by tomorrow. But the truth, a truth he could not yet voice, was that his decision had already been made, sealed in the ache that now resided in his chest, relentless as the turning of the night.

He could not concentrate on anything after she left.

The file was still open on his desk, but there was no damn way he was ever going to wrap his head around the documents.

He could still see her, crouched on the floor, retching her life out.

It had shattered him, opened something in him he had never felt before.

All his life had consisted of abuse and bitterness. He had learned from a very young age to dodge fists and bottles thrown by his mother who had taken her anger and failure out on him. He had been a handy target. Young, skinny and afraid. So, he had learned to stay away from her.

In the end she had tried asking him for forgiveness and he had never given it. She had died knowing how much he despised her. She had never been a mother to him.

Dragging his fingers through his hair, he paced the length of his office.

He wanted her. Holy God. He was craving her.

And it had to stop. He could transfer her to another department.

No question would be asked. He could find someone to replace her.

Someone in the company. An older woman with experience. He could.

Goddammit to hell! He squeezed his eyes shut. He could not allow that. She would still be in the company, and he would be aware of it. What the hell was he going to do?

He slumped into his chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and scrubbed at his face with both hands.

The ache inside him threatened to spill over, to drown out everything else.

Logic, responsibility, the very shell he'd built to keep the world at bay.

In the street below, the headlamps and taillights painted rivers of gold and red across the dark asphalt, indifferent to the private storms raging above.

He let the scotch settle in his gut, hoping for numbness that refused to come.

His mind flicked back to her trembling hands, her refusal to beg, the quiet dignity with which she'd held herself together even as everything unraveled.

He admired her for it. Envied her strength.

And hated himself for wanting her so much it hurt.

The file on his desk might as well have been written in another language.

He flipped it shut with a snap, the sound too sharp in the empty room.

He wondered what she was doing now. If she'd made it home safely, if there was someone waiting for her, someone to hold her hair back and whisper reassurances in the dark.

The jealousy was childish, irrational, and utterly consuming. But no, she had told him the bastard had disappeared as soon as she told him the news. Did she love him? His heart quickened at that, and he had to remind himself that it was none of his concern.