Page 104 of Ivory Oath

“When will I have the results from that?”

“It depends on how busy the lab is. Could be this afternoon, could be four days. I’m not sure.”

I’m not sure is some half-assed code for I don’t care.

“Thanks for narrowing it down for me,” I mumble.

Finally, she chuckles, but I’m not laughing.

Anatoly shifts the car into park. “I think you should tell him.”

I fake a gasp. “You do? I can’t believe that. You definitely haven’t been saying that every thirty seconds since we left the clinic.”

To be clear: he has in fact been saying it every thirty seconds since we left the clinic. From the moment I told Anatoly the test came back positive, it’s all he’s been able to say.

“Sorry.” He shrugs. “I just think you should tell him.”

I reach over the console and punch his shoulder. “I know! Stop saying it.”

“I’ll stop saying it when you tell my brother you’re having his baby.”

I level a glare at him. “Are you going to be able to keep it together when we see him? Given what you do for a living, I would’ve guessed you’d have a better poker face.”

“What is it you think I do for a living?”

“Whatever Mikhail tells you to,” I guess.

“Exactly,” he snaps. “I am man enough to admit that when my brother tells me to jump, I don’t even ask, ‘How high?’ I just start jumping. So, no, keeping secrets from him isn’t one of my many, many skills.”

I spit the ginger lozenge I stole from the clinic’s lobby into a napkin and wedge it in the pocket of the passenger door. “Then you have an elevator ride’s amount of time to practice. Because I’m not telling him today. I’m not telling until I get the results back from the blood test.”

If the doctor was right and false positives are rare, then I’m probably pregnant. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to start shouting the news from the rooftops. Especially because, as much as I wanted this, the news still makes me feel like I’m going to hurl. Or maybe that’s the morning sickness.

All I know is, the next time I tell Mikhail I’m pregnant, it’s going to be for real.

We can’t afford any doubts.

The old Cerberus Industries was located on the third floor of a crumbling building downtown. There had been some surface-level updates here and there over the years, but the building was dark brown brick and the terrazzo tile floors were yellowed and chipping.

The new Cerberus Industries belongs in a sci-fi movie. It’s all sleek, chrome lines and wall-to-wall glass. There’s almost zero chance that a bathroom on the fourth floor could leak through the ceiling unchecked for years and make a conference room on the floor below into an unusable sewer. So, a definite upgrade.

“This place almost makes me want a desk job,” Anatoly sighs, adjusting the lapels of his well-worn leather jacket and cracking his tattooed knuckles.

“Oh, yeah,” I muse. “You’d fit right in.”

As soon as the doors open, a petite woman with tortoise shell glasses and a crisp pantsuit grins at us. “Welcome to Cerberus Industries. How can I—” Her mouth snaps shut at the sight of Anatoly walking out of the elevator. It takes her a couple seconds to regain her composure. “How can I h-help you?”

Anatoly grins and tosses her a wink. “Thanks, but I know my way around.”

He moves to walk past her, and I’m positive she’s going to let him. Anatoly has a way of getting exactly what he wants from women. But just as he’s edging past her desk, she darts out and plants every bit of her five-foot-nothing frame in front of him. “I’m sorry, but I need to know who you’re here to see. It’s protocol.”

His smile sharpens. “I’m here to see Mikhail Novikov.”

“Mr. Novikov is busy. If you leave your name, I can give him a message.”

“I’m not leaving my name with his—” He eyes her up and down. “Are you his new assistant?”

She straightens her jacket. “I am. And Mr. Novikov told me to let no one in to see him except for his wife.”

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