Page 136 of Power Move

“Eva, where are you going?” I asked, exasperated.

She stood in our closet in a pair of maternity leggings and one of my shirts—the thing barely covering her stomach.

“The office,” she answered. “We have a London incident and Claire and I?—”

“You are officially on leave as of yesterday.”

“I am on work-from-home only.”

I groaned, “Does this integration need to happen before Christmas?”

“Look, it needs to happen. Buy-in is fleeting. And if we don’t integrate, we cannot meet GDPR and everything else. It’s a hot mess. It’s bad enough I cannot be there. If I was in London?—”

I groaned. “If I was in London. Again, and again.”

“Davey, ninety percent of my job is unfucking things across the Atlantic. Youknowthis. Don’t act like I’m doing this for fun. It’s not, but I feel guilt daily for not being there. If… if only I’d been there, everything would be different.”

I didn’t understand. She was so flustered, but I received no notification about a major incident. Why was she in such a damn hurry to leave? And why in the past few weeks did she never stop worrying about London. Things weren’t always puppies and rainbows with our acquisition, but it didn’t seem that bad.

“I am fighting the urge to get on a plane.”

“Eva, no one in their right mind would permit it.” I snickered.

My laugh further angered her.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, David.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Whose head is on the line, Eva? Not yours. Mine.”

“You should be more worried about London.”

“I have knowledge of financials you do not, my love. I have insight you don’t. Let London go.”

She set her jaw, annoyed. I rubbed her shoulders.

“This is really important, and I need to go, David.”

“To London?” I joked.

Voice sharp, she said, “Out. To the office. I’m not running to London!”

I chuckled. “Well, let’s hope. Can you just explain?—”

“I’m already running late,” Eva insisted.

“Call in,” I urged, worried. Nothing about this made sense, but Eva was a hormonal ball of nerves.

“I cannot work on an active incident like this. I know it sounds stupid, but I cannot?—”

“You can.” I needed to talk her down.

“God, do you want totrackme?” Tears welled. “God damn it David! I am trying to fix things. I have a life. I had one before you. I have a career. I will hopefully have one after all of this.”

She thew her arms around.

“All of this?” I asked.

“The baby shit, your constant obsession with organizing the nursery. Your fussing. Your policing my movements. Your worry about the babies more than the company. Good lord!”