Page 137 of Nine Months to Bear
“I know.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, you’re about to throw away months of planning for a piece of ass.”
“She’s not—” I stop myself. Age-old question:What is she?Not just a piece of ass. Not just a surrogate. Not just anything anymore.
She’sOlivia.
And that’s the fucking problem.
“Where’s Mikayla?” I need to change the subject before I do something stupid. Like go home and tell Olivia everything.
“Sulking at the bar. You two have a fight?”
“Something like that.”
Taras raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. Smart man.
The music shifts to something slower, dirtier. On the dance floor, couples grind against each other in the strobing lights, happy and oblivious.
“I need some air.”
I lurch up before Taras can lob any unwanted jokes in my direction. Outside, the Boston night hits like a punch to the jaw. Cold. Clean. Nothing like the recycled sweat stench inside.
I light a cigarette, letting the nicotine smooth out the rough edges of my psyche.
“Those things will kill you.”
Mikayla materializes beside me, her silver dress catching the streetlight. She looks good when she’s not in black.
“A lot of things might kill me.” I don’t look at her. “Bullets. Knives. Federal investigations.”
“Olivia Aster is heading for the top of the list.”
Now, I look. “Careful.”
“Am I wrong?” She moves closer, her perfume sharp and pungent. Wrong, though. All wrong. It’s not vanilla and orchids. “You’ve changed since she arrived. The Stefan I knew would never hesitate to execute traitors. Would never let emotions cloud business decisions.”
“The Stefan you knew wasn’t thinking about heirs.”
“Is that what this is about? The baby-to-be?” Her hand touches my chest. “Because if you just need to scratch an itch…”
She presses against me, curves and heat and promise. There for the taking.
But she’s not Olivia.
“No.”
Mikayla freezes. “No?”
“I’m not interested in meaningless distractions anymore.”
She steps back like I’ve slapped her. “I’m meaningless?”
“You’re bored, Mikayla. Looking for drama. Find it somewhere else.”
Her face hardens into something ugly. “She’s really got you wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she? The pure-hearted doctor with her moral superiority and?—”
“Stop talking.”
