Page 135 of Moonlighter

I took on too much this year. And now I’m paying the price.

Though next Christmas could be amazing. My baby might already be walking or saying her first words. I’ll be shopping for age-appropriate toys and board books. I’ll be worrying about bedtimes and solid foods and the transition to sippy cups.

But first, I have to save my product launch, shore up my career, and give birth.

And, seriously, what does a girl have to do to buy ten thousand motherboards? An hour ago I had a signed contract. Now I’ve got cold Chinese food delivered to my apartment building and a date with a manufacturer who’s trying to back out of a job that I need badly.

“Stay where you are, please,” Eric says when we pull up in front of the bistro.

“Yessir.”

Pieter materializes beside the car, tapping once on the glass. Eric gets out, hands off the keys and then opens my door.

“Two guards for a restaurant visit?” I ask. “Isn’t that overkill?”

“Probably,” Eric admits, taking my arm and walking me toward the entrance. He glances up and down the street then holds the door open for me. “Do you see him?”

“No,” I say, scanning the tables.

“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?” asks a tall man behind the podium.

“I do not,” I say. “There will be three of us.”

“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a wait. Perhaps forty minutes.”

“Forty minutes!” I gasp as the scent of rack of lamb with homemade frites washes over me. “On a Tuesday at nine p.m.? This is why people move out of New York.”

The host looks unapologetic. It’s literally his job to turn hungry people away all evening. “It’s a bit crowded at the bar. Perhaps you could stand over—”

I shed my coat quickly, revealing my big, pregnant belly.

“Uh…” He falters. “Let me find you a table. Excuse me one moment.” He hurries off.

“That’s handy,” Eric says under his breath.

“He knows I might chew his arm off,” I point out. “It happens.”

Eric puts a protective arm around me as he scans the busy room, ever vigilant. “Isn’t there a quieter restaurant where you could meet this guy?”

“Probably. But it was his choice.”

“Miss? I can seat you right here by the windows.” The host puts a third chair at a tiny table, but size doesn’t matter, not in this case, anyway. It’s a table, and it’s all mine.

I’ve already darted over to seat myself when I catch Eric’s frown. “Window seats aren’t very secure.”

“Look on the bright side. They have food here. And I’ll be able to spot Mr. Khun on his way in.”

Eric sits down with a sigh. “There are postage stamps larger than this table.”

“As long as the steak fits right here,” I frame out a space in front of me. “And we’ll need a bread basket, of course.”

“And soon.” He stops looking worried long enough to smile at me. “Wouldn’t want you to chew anyone’s limbs off.”

His gaze warms me, and his smile hits me low in my belly. Or maybe that’s just the hunger pains. I turn my attention out onto Sullivan Street. I love the low brick buildings of Soho. It’s been dark for hours, but the streetlights and storefronts light the sidewalk.

That’s how I spot Mr. Khun approaching from half a block away. He’s striding down the sidewalk, glancing around in much the same way that Eric did as we left the car. I see him turn to look over his shoulder.

Then he breaks into a dead run.