Page 111 of Sexting the Billionaire

Taylor's expression turns carefully neutral. "Mr. Sullivan."

Camden. My stomach clenches for reasons entirely unrelated to pregnancy.

"Tell him I'm busy," I say automatically, reaching for the closest file to appear occupied.

"He says it's about the leak. That he can explain." Taylor hesitates. "Should I call security?"

I consider this, weighing the satisfaction of having Camden escorted out against my genuine curiosity about his explanation. "No," I decide. "Send him in. But stay nearby."

Camden looks different than I expected—subdued, almost hesitant as he enters my office. Gone is the smooth confidence that once charmed me, replaced by what looks uncomfortably like genuine remorse.

"You have five minutes," I say, not offering him a seat. "Make them count."

"I didn't leak the pregnancy news," he says immediately. "That wasn't me, Cassie. I would never do that."

"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe, given your exclusive interview with the industry blog that published it." My voice is ice, my posture rigid. "Your photo is right there in the article, Camden."

"They interviewed me about our relationship last week, after I saw you at the Fairchild reception," he admits, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I said things I shouldn't have. Things I didn't even believe. But I never mentioned any pregnancy. I didn't even know."

"Then how?—"

"They added that later, from another source." He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture I recognize from our relationship. "Someone must have seen you at the doctor's office, sold the photo. The blog just combined it with my earlier quotes to make it seem like one story."

I study him, looking for the tells that always gave away his lies during our relationship. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the too-steady eye contact. I don't see them now.

"Why would you even speak to them in the first place?" I ask. "What was the point of badmouthing me to the press?"

"Because I was hurt. And jealous." He says it simply, without defensive posturing. "Seeing you with Kade... seeing howsuccessful you've become, fully yourself... it made me realize what I threw away. What I tried to diminish."

"So you tried to destroy my reputation out of jealousy?" The anger rises fresh and hot. "Do you have any idea what these stories have done? The questions about my talent, my professionalism?"

"I'm sorry," he says, and to my surprise, he looks it. "I was insecure. I couldn't handle that you were thriving without me, that you found someone who appreciates what I couldn't. It was petty and vindictive and completely unfair to you."

"Why are you telling me this now?" I ask, wariness replacing some of the anger.

"Because I want to make it right." He squares his shoulders. "I've submitted a full retraction to the blog, clarifying that our relationship ended months before anything began with Kade. I've contacted the other publications that picked up the story to correct the timeline. And I've resigned from Sullivan & Marsh."

This catches me completely off guard. "You quit your job? Why?"

"Senior partner found out about the interview. Apparently, getting into a public feud with Roman Kade's girlfriend isn't good for business relations." His smile is self-deprecating. "But honestly, it's for the best. I wasn't happy there. It wasn't who I wanted to be."

I don't know what to say. This version of Camden—reflective, accepting responsibility—is foreign to me. Part of me wants to maintain the anger, the righteous indignation that has fueled me through the past days of media scrutiny. But another part recognizes the courage it takes to admit such unflattering truths.

"I don't expect forgiveness," he continues when I remain silent. "I just wanted you to know it wasn't me who exposed your pregnancy. That's... private. Sacred, even. I wouldn't violate that, no matter how petty I've been about everything else."

Something warm and wet slides down my thigh, registering dimly at the edge of my awareness. I shift uncomfortably, and the sensation intensifies.

"Are you okay?" Camden asks, his expression changing to concern. "You've gone white."

I look down, horror blooming as I see a small dark patch on my dress. Blood. A wave of dizziness washes over me, the room tilting dangerously.

"Cassie?" Camden's voice sounds distant, underwater. "Should I get someone?"

"Roman," I manage, gripping the edge of my desk to stay upright. "Get Roman now."

23

CASSIE

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