Page 31 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
By eleven-thirty, I needed to leave. The kids would be hungry, and Lauren had texted that Elena was being fussy. I gathered my purse and headed for the elevator, offering a quick explanation to Duncan about lunch plans.
At home, I found chaos. Chrissy had finger paint in her hair, Sammy was crying because his truck was broken, and Elena refused to eat anything except crackers. Lauren looked frazzled.
"I'm sorry," she said, bouncing Elena on her hip. "They've been difficult all morning."
I took Elena and settled her at the kitchen table with a cup of milk. "It's fine. They're probably picking up on my stress."
After getting everyone fed and settled for quiet time, I checked my phone. Three missed calls from the hospital. My stomach dropped.
"Mom's treatment is today," I told Lauren. "Can you stay until this evening?"
"Of course."
I kissed each of the kids goodbye and drove back to the office, my mind racing between worry about Mom and the conversation I needed to have with Duncan.
The executive floor buzzed with afternoon activity. Through the glass walls of the conference room, I could see Duncan leading a meeting with three men in expensive suits. His posture was relaxed, authoritative, but his eyes found mine the moment I walked past.
Heat crawled up my neck. I settled at my desk and tried to focus on the stack of contracts waiting for review, but my attention kept drifting to the conference room. Duncan gestured toward a presentation screen, his voice carrying the confident tone I'd grown accustomed to hearing in these business discussions.
The meeting dragged on for another hour. When the men finally shook hands and gathered their materials, I felt my pulse accelerate. Duncan walked them to the elevator, exchanging pleasantries about golf and market conditions, but his eyes kept returning to me.
When the elevator doors closed, he approached my desk.
"Do you have a moment?" I asked before he could speak.
He nodded toward his office. "Of course."
I followed him inside, watching as he closed the door and moved to the windows. The afternoon sun streamed through the glass, casting long shadows across his desk.
"I need to talk to someone," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Duncan turned from the windows and moved to his desk, adjusting the blinds on his interior windows until the office was private from the hallway view. "What's going on?"
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Everything is overwhelming. Mom's chemo treatments are getting harder, and she's so sick afterward. Dad is impossible to be around—he snaps at everything and everyone. The kids are picking up on the tension, and I'm trying to hold everyone together while pretending I'm not falling apart myself."
Duncan listened without interrupting, his blue eyes focused entirely on me. When I finished, he moved closer, his voice gentle. "You don't have to carry all of this alone."
"I don't have a choice."
"You do." He reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek. "Let me help."
My heart fluttered at his touch. "Duncan?—"
"I know this is complicated. I know there are a thousand reasons why we shouldn't, but I can't watch you struggle and not do anything about it."
He moved to his office windows and adjusted the blinds there too, shutting out the view from the building across the street. When he turned back to me, his expression had changed.
"Officially, I'm done with work for the day," he said. "Which means anything that happens now is after hours."
I hesitated, my pulse racing. "What are you saying?"
"You asked me once if we could be naughty." His voice was low, intimate. "I'm saying yes."
The space between us seemed to shrink. Duncan moved closer, his hand finding my waist.
"I want to take care of you," he murmured against my ear. "Let me."
My breath caught. Duncan stepped closer, backing me toward the desk with slow, unshakable certainty. I couldn’tspeak. Couldn’t think. Everything I’d been holding in—grief, pressure, exhaustion—rose to the surface at once, and I let it. I let him see all of it.
