Page 61 of Fateful Exposure

I swiped at the iPad, taking in the color patterns and rough strokes. I’d seen the designs already but wasn’t any less blown away than the first time.

"I know I've not said this to you before,” I chuckled, “but you are amazing at what you do."

She smiled, but it was tired and slow. "Thanks, Ashton."

"And you need to fucking sleep. You look like something out of The Walking Dead. And not the heroes."

"I can't," she sighed, falling back against the sofa. "The dressmakers are already on it, and I have to walk them every step of the way. What if they can't reach me?"

"Then I'll send Maria to them. She's got an eye for colors too."

She yawned, stretching her limbs in an unflattering way. "I don't think so. Everything has to…to be perfect…” But her eyes werealready closing, and she lay on her side and folded her legs up into her.

I smiled, my eyes darting down to the iPad. We were entering dangerous ground, but I had a feeling that we would come out on top.

Scathed, but on top.

twenty-five

Selma

When Ashton suggested that I tweak the designs, I failed to see sense in what he was saying. Truth be told, I'd come very close to giving up. What was the point of hanging on? Everyone believed I was a slut who went around sleeping with her employees, and when I wasn't slutting around with them, I was being toxic.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the designs I'd spent the last year working on had suddenly gone public, and the culprit had been my own assistant—someone I'd trusted. To top it off, she’d been working for my ex-boyfriend and cousin, who had made it their life mission to ensure I never succeeded.

Had I learned nothing from the past? Was I cursed to keep following a cycle of heartbreak and broken trust? Would I have to live the rest of my life doubting every single person I meet?

I never got the answers to those questions. Instead, I'd spent the past couple of weeks sketching new designs. Since my publicist—Maria, bless her heart—had told the entire world that the leaked designs weren't my actual designs, I couldn't relent. Everything had to be perfect.

Ashton commented that I was working myself into madness, and it was unhealthy for both me and the baby. I'd tried explaining to him that sleeping was for suckers and I was not a sucker, after which I'd fallen asleep three seconds later.

I was burnt out.

Between vomiting twice every hour because every fucking thing made me nauseous to burying my head in my iPad and making changes to the patterns, I was this close to collapsing. Thankfully, after countless trials and errors, the dressmakers were on the right track and didn't need me as much.

It was why Ashton let me sleep for so long last night. I didn't even know what time we got home. My eyelids fluttered open, and I squinted as I adjusted to the sunlight seeping into the room through the opened curtains. I was in his bedroom, where I'd spent the night for the past two weeks.

Honestly, the thought of returning to my apartment and sleeping alone did not appeal to me anymore. I was a bit sadbecause soon, that was exactly what was going to happen. I was afraid that when all this was over, Ashton would go back to wherever he was before our paths crossed.

As much as I'd like to say the thought didn't squeeze my chest tightly, that would be me lying.

I'd gotten used to falling asleep and waking up by his side every morning. Even before we moved to his apartment, it had been that way in mine. Just like now, his woody, spicy scent settled around me like a warm blanket, and I inhaled, sighing on the exhale.

One quick glance at the bedside clock told me it was eleven in the morning. I yawned, hungry. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept this long. My bones felt lax but there was still a tinge of fatigue beneath the feeling. I paid it no mind; ever since I'd gotten pregnant, tiredness and I had become best friends.

Ashton wasn't in the room, so I assumed he was probably in the kitchen or the living room. Sitting up, I grabbed my iPad resting on the bedside table, and unlocked it. A few emails were waiting for me, some from recognizable email addresses, others unknown. Today was a Saturday, but every day was a workday in this industry.

My stomach—which I guessed was probably the baby—cried out for food, and I pressed a hand over the gentle swell as if it would quell the pleas. Just a few emails and I'd go downstairs.

As I clicked on the mail icon, my eyes scanned the subjects, checking for what was important. When I got to the fourth email, my breath hitched. My index finger froze midair as the name registered. I blinked, sure my eyes were playing tricks on me.

When the email didn't disappear after a few seconds, I let out the breath I was holding. I clicked to open it, taking my sweet time as my eyes scanned the letters and my brain made sense of them.

Beneath the surface, excitement hummed in my veins, and it was with great effort that I sat my ass down and consumed the entire email, letting the iPad fall limply on my thighs. I ran it over in my head once, twice, absorbing it until a smile threatened to split my face in half.

This is it. Oh, my God. This is it.

The door opened then, and Ashton walked in, tray in hand. His eyes locked on mine, and he paused, taking in my smile and the excited glint shimmering in my eyes.

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