Page 25 of Dante
Her back went up and her eyes flashed. "I don't like your tone."
He had to almost physically restrain himself from hauling her up and shaking her. The bloody woman was aggravating as hell.
"You're going to like it even less if you don't spit out what's going on with you." His eyes wandered over her face, lingering on lipsmade wet by the water she was drinking. Heat flooded through his body like a flood and weakened him. Jesus Christ! What the hell was going on with him?
"I'm pregnant." She whispered it, but it sounded as if she had used a megaphone to shout the words. At first he wondered if he had heard her correctly. Pregnant? Was she involved with someone? Common sense had him changing directions.
"You knew this before you were hired?"
She nodded miserably. "I wanted to tell you."
"Only you didn't." His eyes drifted down to her flat stomach and then up again to her face. "You deceived me, all of us. Was Ms. Carstairs aware of your condition?"
Her eyes flashed at his choice of word, but she did not comment on it, just shook her head.
"I found out for sure after she interviewed me."
"And you didn't think it was something you should have mentioned?"
She lifted her chin. "I needed the job."
A tense silence fell between them, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall. He swore under his breath, scrubbing a hand across his jaw as if that could erase the weight of her words from the air.
She watched him warily, shoulders squared in defiance, but her fingers curled tight around the glass. The confession hung between them, fragile and explosive.
"So, you thought hiding it was the best solution?" His voice was lower now, not gentler, but honed, as if he was wrestling to keep it even.
She met his gaze with a stubbornness that surprised him. "Survival isn't always tidy. I did what I had to do."
He exhaled sharply, the dark lines of frustration deepening on his face. "That job comes with responsibilities, ones you conveniently forgot to mention."
A muscle ticked in her cheek. "I haven't forgotten. I'm more aware of them than you know."
He paced away for a moment, clenching his fists, then turned back, his eyes stormy. "This changes everything, you realize that?"
Her voice was quiet but steady. "I know. But I'm not asking for favors, or pity. I just wanted you to hear it from me."
For a long moment, they simply stared at one another, past grievances and unspoken fears swirling in the space between.
"Where's the guy?"
He hated himself for asking and as soon as the words were out, he could have bitten his tongue in half. It had nothing to do with anything.
"It doesn't."
"He's not in the picture." Her expression was stony and defiant at the same time. "He left as soon as I told him."
Relief flooded through him like a wave. The various emotions at war inside him made him decidedly edgy. He was going to fire her. Of course that was the logical solution. But he knew he couldn't do that.
"I need this job." She didn't care that the tears were burning the back of her eyes and threatening to spill over.
He saw it, the way her jaw trembled before she caught herself, the determined tilt of her chin. The room pressed in with the hush of things unsaid. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, words failing him, then settling heavy and awkward in his throat.
"This isn't about pity," he said finally, quieter. "But you can't expect me to just pretend this didn't happen."
She let out a breath, shaky, threading her fingers together as if to hold herself together. "I don't. But I can't go back, either. Not after what's already done."
He hesitated, struggling with the sharp edge of duty against the blurrier lines of empathy. "You're good at what you do. That's not in question. But trust." He broke off, searching for words. "Trust isn't something you can patch up overnight."
