Page 11 of Knot Your Baby

“Freya.” Harlow’s voice carries that alpha tone she usually reserves for Jagger’s tantrums. “I know what croissants should look like. I can handle pastries.”

I grit my teeth, because Harlow is not the best judge in town, but still chooses to not insult her. “But the morning rush will—”

“Will get their perfectly baked goods.” She slides the trays onto the cooling racks. “You’re being a typical omega right now, hovering and fussing. Go home.”

My shoulders slump. She’s right. “Fine.”

The man in the suit shifts his weight. “Should I call your pack? Have them come and pick you up.”

His concern hits like a punch to the gut.

Of course. He’s only being nice because I’m pregnant. That’s what alphas do—they see a pregnant omega and their protective instincts kick in. It means nothing.

I glance at Harlow, then back to him. A slow shake of my head is all I can manage.

“I can drive myself.” My voice comes out smaller than intended.

“Thank you,” Harlow says, relief clear in her tone. “Rest, and I’ll drop the keys off later.”

I gather my purse and phone, each movement feeling heavy. I’ve had eight months to get used to this. Of proving I can do this alone, and here I am, being sent home like a child.

But maybe that’s what I get for thinking I could have it all—a successful business, a baby, a life on my terms.

I kiss Harlow and give Jagger a hug before I trudge toward the door, feeling stupid, helpless and very much alone.

Chapter 4

Miller

As I walk towardthe receptionist station to get a coffee and find out who is my next patient, a flash of copper hair catches my eye as a pregnant woman waddles through the emergency entrance.

It’s strange, but the antiseptic hospital smell fades as something else hits my nostrils. Strawberries? It’s just berries and although the scent is intoxicating, making my head spin, there’s a strange undercurrent to it that causes my teeth to grate and my cock to stir.

I grip the nurses’ station counter to steady myself.

My eyes narrow as the smell nears and so does the pregnant woman with the copper-colored hair. There’s something about her that seems familiar, or is it her scent? But before I can place her, Mrs.—no, Miss—Elizabeth McAllister blocks my view.

“Dr. Astor!” She beams, clutching her purse. “I was hoping you’d be here today. I had to see a different doctor the last time I came.”

Damn!

The last time, I caught her name on my schedule much earlier than today. She’s here every week with increasingly creative complaints, but we both know what she really wants.

And I don’t fuck my patients.

“Let me check the schedule.” I turn to Geri at reception, trying to peer around Miss McAllister’s shoulder at the copper-haired woman. “Who’s next?”

“Elizabeth McAllister in room fourteen,” Geri says, sliding a chart across the counter.

I groan as the pregnant woman sinks into a wheelchair, arguing with her dark-haired friend. “This is ridiculous. I’ve been on my feet all day. I can walk fine.”

Her voice carries across the waiting room, making me smile. That stubborn independence reminds me of my pack mate Zane. Nobody can help him either.

Miss McAllister clears her throat.

“This way.” I gesture her away from the counter and lead her down the corridor, but not before stealing one last glance at the copper-haired woman and hope I get to see her again. I’m not put off by her protesting as her friend wheels her toward triage.

“Miss McAllister.” I close the exam room door. “What seems to be the problem today?”

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