Page 86 of Hot for the Boss

“I’m almost ready to move out of your digs. I got up early to do a little more cleanup at my place. Some of us aren’t on vacation this week, you know,” Bas drawls.

“No rush. I’ve moved in with Nia until I relocate to Maui. She and I, um…need to figure out where we’re at and what’s next for us.”

“You mean you’re still trying to decide whether you’re in love with her?” He laughs and shakes his head. “Dumb ass. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It took you a month just to choose the perfect shade of blue for Stratus’s logo. Deciding what’s in your heart is a much bigger decision. At this rate, you might be collecting Social Security before you figure it out.”

Snorting, I head for the free weights. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Do your thing. I’ll do mine.”

Ninety minutes later, I’ve made the weight circuit and logged forty-five minutes of intense cardio. I feel sweaty. Bas looks bedraggled. We leave, and I follow him to my penthouse to pick up more clothes. The weather is getting cooler. I need a coat.

After we take turns showering, I help him pack up, and we decide to grab breakfast so he can fill me in on what’s been happening at the office in my absence. It’s nearly noon when I finally duck into Nia’s quaint cottage. In fact, I’m surprised I haven’t heard from her yet today. Is she really still sleeping?

Once glance inside the place tells me she’s not.

Nia paces the kitchen with a hand pressed to her rapidly rising-and-falling chest. She turns in my direction, and I see tears streaming down her stunned face.

Her expression hits me square in the chest like a semi. When she spots me, her eyes flare wide and guilty. Her anxiety thickens. My heart stops.

What the hell is going on?

“Nia?”

“Evan.” She swallows. “Oh, my god. I…”

I cross the room and take her shoulders, delving into her darting stare. She wriggles out of my grasp.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Nia shakes her head, not in refusal but as if she’s swimming through disbelief to find words. “You’ll be angry. Upset.”

Shit. Has she met someone else? Is she done with me? Those possibilities plop a two-ton weight on my chest. I need information ASAP. But first I have to calm her.

I drag a chair from the kitchen table across the floor and set her in it. I manage to resist the urge to grab her up in my arms again by gripping the back of her chair and looking directly into her eyes. “We’ll figure it out together. Tell me why you’re crying.”

She blinks up at me, mouth contorting as more tears spill. They tear at my guts. This is beyond mere anxiety. She’s in pain. I feel it. I’ve never experienced this transfer of emotion, and I’m unsure why I hurt before she’s even said a word. I only know I need to help and comfort her.

“I-I had a doctor appointment at nine. I scheduled it months ago. It’s my annual well woman…”

A sob interrupts her. The sound tightens every muscle and rips through my chest. “And they gave you bad news?”

I wrack my brain, trying to imagine what they might have told her. Cancer? Something worse? I can’t even wrap my head around what that might be.

“I-I’m pregnant.”

Those two words penetrate my brain, pelt my composure. I couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly. But a mental replay of her trembling voice assures me I did.

Shit.

I don’t have to guess who, when, where, or how it happened. I know all too well. Me. Twenty-four days ago. Her dressing room at the Bawdy Boudoir Burlesque Revue. On top of her, plowing away without thought, caution, or condom.

I release her chair, stand upright, and force myself to breathe. “You’re sure?”

It’s a stupid question, and some rational part of me recognizes it’s a stall tactic to give my brain time to catch up to reality.

She sends me a shaky nod. “They asked the first day of my last period. I couldn’t remember. I have an app that tracks… I realized I was a few days overdue. When they asked if I could be pregnant, I-I said yes. Ten minutes later, they confirmed… I came home to break the news.” Then she sniffles and looks up at me with dark eyes desperate for something. Forgiveness? Reassurance? “I didn’t know how.”

At my sides, my hands curl into fists, like the ones seeming to choke the air from my lungs. Then a thought burns through my brain: She’s not upset for herself; she’s apprehensive about my reaction.

“How do you feel?” I ask.