Page 48 of Serving the Maestro

The last thing I wanted was to see her now—or any of the happily pregnant women who usually filled a typical OB/GYN’s office, especially since I was pretty sure I wasn’t pregnant yet.

Yet, I told myself, holding onto that thought as I stepped onto the elevator.

Of course, if I wasn’t pregnant, I would need a new plan since Trent had a girlfriend he’d conveniently forgotten to mention.

Asshole.

Just thinking of him made my throat tighten. Shifting my focus to the projects slated for the coming week, I pulled out my phone to read whatever new threats and jokes Cam had sent, trying to get me to talk to her.

I would do that.

But not until after the appointment because I wanted a martini—or five—to help ease some of the hurt before I talked to Cam.

* * *

“Hello, Ms. Moors. You don’t need to sign in.”

I blinked at the receptionist, confused. “I always have to sign in.”

With a friendly smile, she shook her head. “Not today. Come around to the door, and I’ll let you back. Dr. Nguyen is waiting for you.”

My gut went cold, but I forced myself to put the pen down and smile at the receptionist before doing as she’d asked.

I’d been dreading sitting in the waiting room full of pregnant women, but maybe I should have been dreading something else.

A cold sweat broke out at my nape as the receptionist met me at the door, already there before I so much as rounded the wall where it angled into a sharp L, breaking off into the back part of the office.

“Is everything okay?” I asked her.

“Dr. Nguyen wants to go over your bloodwork.” She still smiled.

But the look in her eyes before she looked away had my throat tightening up. Something was wrong.

When she led me to an office instead of an exam room, I had to fight the urge to turn away and leave, tossing out whatever empty lie came to mind.

Dr. Nguyen rose as I came inside.

I stiffened. I could leave, walk out of the office, get in the elevator, go to work. Whatever it was the doctor wanted to tell me, if I didn’t hear it, I could pretend everything was fine.

“Jazz. Please, come inside,” the petite, vibrant doctor said, a gentle smile in her eyes as she came around, hands extended.

Instinctively, I offered mine.

The receptionist closed the door behind me, trapping me inside, cutting off my desperate, ridiculous thoughts of running away.

With a weak laugh, I let the obstetrician escort me to a chair. “Did she know I was thinking about bolting for the door?”

Dr. Nguyen didn’t pretend not to understand my meaning. With a rueful, sympathetic smile, she said, “We’ve all been there, Jazz. Whether it’s for the reason you’re here or some other matter—who doesn’t have a knee-jerk instinct to back away when they sense they’re about to face something difficult?”

“So it is bad news,” I said. Tears fell. I didn’t wipe them away.

“It’s...not terrible. But I do have some difficult news to discuss.” Instead of returning to her seat behind the desk, she took the one next to mine.

“What’s the difference between difficult and terrible?” I asked as her hand closed over mine.

“Well, I can’t confirm it without a few more blood tests. But I’m making this speculation based on my knowledge of your mother’s medical history.”

“My mother’s?” Confused, I shook my head.

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