Page 19 of Love Me

“Darling, you know my name. Use it. Now, you remember you left your portfolio here.”

“I’m really sorry—”

“An apology?” Orinda laughed, her thick braid shaking behind her. “You realize that tree garnered more visitors than any other piece Jonas had?” She grinned. “It took us a while to find a true buyer amongst the tourists, but we have a home in the works.” She must’ve been able to see the shock on my face, because she added, “Now, Jonas wants to list you as a collaborator. If that’s the case, you’ll receive—”

My stomach clenched, and I jerked away so quickly Orinda grabbed my shoulder to steady me. The assistant brought a trash can.

“I do prefer that you don’t get sick over any of the other works,” Orinda said, her smile like a Cheshire cat’s, “but I suppose as long as we have enough air freshener and the baby is fine, there’s not much we can ask for, is there?”

“The baby?” I asked.

“Oh, darling. Did you think I didn’t know? I have a way about these things. Did you tell Diana?”

Apparently, she had a way of knowing everything, like the new job I had secured only minutes earlier. I shook my head. “Not yet,” I said.

“The time will come to tell her. For now, let’s schedule your showing. I can squeeze you in somewhere.” She gestured at her assistant who brought over a large iPad. She scrolled through the months on a calendar. “Right. So right around here, you’ll be in your third trimester, correct?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know when I’m due. I just found out.”

“Oh,” she said. She raised her eyebrow. “Well, let’s plan for right there, and if we need to move it, we can. This is, of course,” she turned to me and smiled, “as long as you bring that adorable little cherub here for me to hold when you do have her.”

I didn’t question her assumption about the gender. Orinda seemed like someone who knew these things and wouldn’t be told otherwise.

In the study, I sat on the couch, sketching out a new project. My brain was bursting with ideas and for once, I didn’t feel like my insides were rotting like an abandoned apple. It was an energy burst from the realization that I had lost my fellowship at my dream school back in California, but now, I was on the opposite coast with a job working in a gallery and a showing in a few months. Everything was working out for me. Except for that whole pregnancy thing, of course.

“What’s that?” Owen asked.

I jumped. I was so absorbed in my sketches that I didn’t hear the door or his footsteps. I smiled, then went back to my draft.

“You’ll see,” I said.

He poured two glasses of whiskey, mine with ice. He sat next to me, glancing over my shoulder to peek at the drawings, and offered the highball.

“I’m okay. Thanks,” I said. He didn’t move the drink. He locked eyes with me, daring me to take it. I shook my head again.

“Why?” he asked. I shrugged, then went back to scribbling on the pad. I wondered if he was testing me. It felt like he knew why I was refusing.

“I don’t feel like it,” I said.

Owen put his own drink down on the side table. “How did the interview go?”

“I start on Monday,” I said, still sketching. “And I have a showing at Winter Precipice Galleries too.”

“That’s—” I could tell he was smiling from ear to ear with that one word. “That’s wonderful news, Riley! Why aren’t you celebrating?”

“I have all of these ideas, and they won’t stop coming—” I flipped to a new page in my notebook and started the next one. “I have to get them down while they’re in my brain, you know?”

He squeezed my shoulder, then took both drinks. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said.

A few hours later, around midnight, I closed my notebook and wandered around the condo. The door to Owen’s office was slightly ajar. I pressed it open. He was pouring over his computer, some sort of spreadsheet on one monitor and a chart on the other. He tilted his head, then turned towards me.

“Finished already?” he asked.

“I thought you would be in bed by now,” I said.

“I’m not going to bed without you.”

I blushed. It seemed so romantic for him to say something like that. You wouldn’t think that Owen Lowell, a man with killer business instincts, a sexually sadistic reputation, and the emotional walls of a fortress, could also be sweet. But a feeling deep in my gut twinged, worried I’d disappoint him. I couldn’t do anything rough right now, not with my emotional state or the changes in my body.

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