Page 85 of Things We Burn

Not that careful, obviously.

Kane hadn’t wanted a barrier between us. And nor had I. I wanted that intimacy. I was on birth control, and I trusted science even though I knew that nothing was 100 percent effective. Plus, I was over thirty—a woman’s chances of conceiving at my age were less than 20 percent per month.

I’d considered the risk to be nonexistent.

I hadn’t thought about how powerful Kane was, how equally powerful his sperm must’ve been. Not just to circumvent birth control but then to survive the stress of the past few months.

I had gone through the motions of my life as best as I could. Except I didn’t do anything very well. Cooking was a shitshow. Pregnancy jacked up your tastebuds, it seemed. And then there was the almost round-the-clock vomiting. Luckily, my staff was the best in the world and able to run the kitchen without me. None had blinked an eye at my ‘stomach virus’ making it so I couldn’t run point on dishes.

My team wasn’t easily ruffled.

Still, I had no idea what I was going to do about the kitchen. If my sickness continued—which my reading told me it would, until the second trimester, at least—I couldn’t work. I couldn’t cook the quality food I was known for.

The mere prospect sent me into a cold sweat.

But I’d deal with that when it came. First, I needed to talk to Kane.

Brax had been lying. He’d caught me when I was vulnerable, had sniffed that out. But no way could he ruin everything Kane and I had in one conversation.

I’d been sure of that when he let me into his offices again, the same fake smile, same slimy demeanor.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, gesturing for me to sit.

I ignored that, staying standing. “I’m feeling like I don’t need small talk. I need you to tell me I’m on the approved list to visit Kane.” I had my ice queen persona firmly in place.

Brax’s face softened into what was surely faux pity, but his beady eyes looked calculated.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” I demanded. “You said you would speak to him.”

He nodded. “I did. I spoke, told him about you, showed him this.” He took the crumpled and ripped ultrasound photo out from inside of his jacket.

He’d ruined it on purpose, I was certain. Brax was the kind of person who wanted to ruin pure and wonderful things just because he could.

I let the rage burn my throat, but I kept my expression cool.

“And he gave me this, to give to you.” He took out another piece of paper, this one smooth. Pristine.

Instead of handing it to me, he pushed it across his desk in my direction.

I gritted my teeth at his assholery. I took slow, measured steps to snatch up the piece of paper with steady hands, unfolding it and reading it.

Get rid of it.

I stared at those four words, a viscous sludge rippling through my gut.

My hands began to shake, gripping the paper hard enough to almost tear it in half.

Get rid of it.

Written in Kane’s handwriting. I knew the messy, bold scrawl backward and forward. Had notes from him carefully preserved in a drawer beside my bed at home.

His handwriting. His words.

Get rid of it.

As if it were nothing. As if I were nothing.

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