The next week at work is intense and I don’t see as much of Luke as I’d like, even though he tries to make some kind of contact every day, even if it’s just a good-night text.

After spending all this time and effort trying to distance myself from him, and then when I actually get what I want . . . I’m pining after him.

I’m trying to catch his eye as he comes out of meetings, I’m feeling irrational flashes of jealousy when I see him talking to other women, and I’m generally just feeling crappy.

I still haven’t told him about the baby. I need to—I know I do—but every time I try, something gets in the way or I convince myself that it’s not the right moment. Time is slipping by and the longer I leave it, the harder it gets.

Luckily, I am mostly occupied during my work hours. It’s not just me—everyone is all hands on deck, kept busy by this new merger and the issues caused by the regulators stepping in. There’s as much overtime as anyone wants. Disentangling certain departments from InFini and Alder Industries is a mammoth undertaking, and I don’t think anyone expected it to be quite such a monumental task.

I’m taking a quick break one afternoon when my phone vibrates—it’s a message from Claire. I told her to send me articles and pictures of Luke to keep my resolve about ending the marriage. I haven’t had time to tell her yet about my second thoughts.

It’s a TMZ link again. They haven’t gotten any scoop from Luke himself, so they’ve decided to keep running older pictures of him with various models.

Playboy Billionaire Now Taken—but Can He Give Up His Old Ways?

The headline immediately creates a sinking feeling in my stomach. Claire’s probably right—I’ve spent enough time with Luke now to know him better than some celebrity gossip website looking for clicks, but I just can’t help clicking on the headline and into the article itself.

Luke Alder seen here three months ago with lingerie model Eva Starke. Luke’s reportedly off the market now, having gotten married in a secret impromptu ceremony in Vegas last month. But can his new wife keep his roving eye in check?

The blonde model is hanging off of Luke’s arm, and the two of them are laughing. Probably at one of his corny jokes that I like way more than I’d care to admit. She’s gorgeous and thin and famous—why on earth is he still interested in me? How long is it going to be now until he gets bored and ditches me?

I close the web browser window and lean back, massaging my temples. Why am I doing this to myself? Don’t I owe Luke a little more respect than to be looking at these trashy articles? He’s never been anything but a gentleman.

I make a decision—a decision to not make any decision.

I’m having a good time with him now. I can’t deny that. So why rock the boat? I’ll just let things play out how they will and enjoy the ride while it lasts.

And I definitely don’t want him to only stay with me because of the baby, out of some sense of duty. So I won’t tell him yet.

It can wait; there’s still time.

Isn’t there?

* * *

Later that night, Luke gives me another quick phone call.

“Brock is all over my ass at the moment, Tess. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spend any time with you. He barely lets me go to the bathroom. You might think I’m exaggerating but I’m not. I think my Dad has been on to him, telling him to make sure I don’t screw up this deal.”

“I understand,” I say into the phone, even as my heart clenches. When I saw his name flash up on my phone, I was hoping he’d come over, wishing he’d already be downstairs, waiting for me to buzz him up to my apartment. “Honestly, don’t worry about me. You just do your thing.”

* * *

As soon as I get into the office in the morning, I feel it come. A wave of nausea, strong and immediate. There’s no stopping it.

Again? Damn it, I thought this might have stopped by now. How much longer is it going to carry on for? It’s too goddamn much.

I rush into the bathroom and throw myself into a stall, wrenching the seat up and just about managing not to get vomit all over myself.

As I’m kneeling there, porcelain bowl in front of me and grotty tiles under my shins, a voice pipes up from outside the stall.

“Tessa, is that you? Is everything okay in there?”

It’s Paula. Damn it, couldn’t it have been literally anyone else? As if I wasn’t miserable enough already.

The whole office has been buzzing with activity so I’ve been able to keep my head down, focusing on my work to avoid contact with my co-workers.

They know I’m married to Luke—they must—but I haven’t let anyone get close enough to feel comfortable asking me. That’s just the way I like it.

But now that I’m trapped in here with Paula, it looks like my luck is running out. She’s the office gossip. Every office has one, and I’m lucky enough that it was her listening to me puke my guts out.

“No, Paula, I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me,” I say, forcing out what’s meant to be a small, breezy laugh. But I sound tense, even to myself.

“You’ve got morning sickness, haven’t you? I can tell,” she says in an annoying sing-song tone.

“What? No.” More nervous laughter escapes from my mouth. “It’s probably just something I ate.”

She doesn’t respond for a few seconds. I hear a tap running and the sound of her pressing down on the soap dispenser.

“Come on, Tessa, you don’t need to lie to me. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard you vomiting in here, you know.”

I can see her feet standing right outside the stall, like some sort of weird stalker.

I weigh my options.

I could tell her truth. Sooner or later the whole office will notice my expanding belly, after all. But I can’t let Luke learn about the baby through office rumors.

Or I could say that I just really like this new Indian place near my apartment, even though it doesn’t agree with me.

Or I could say that, no, actually I’m just a hardcore alcoholic and I drink heavily in the mornings. I’m married to the boss, after all, so it’s not like he’ll fire me for my habit.

I open my mouth but my planned lie is pushed aside by a sickening wave of nausea. It’s like I’ve completely lost control of my body.

Paula makes a saccharine, sympathetic noise. “Aww, sweetheart, I know this can’t be pleasant to go through, but once the baby comes you’ll forget all about it. Congratulations!”

She leaves, her heels clicking against the tiles and the door slamming shut behind her.

Oh, no. I can’t let this happen. She’s going to go out there and tell everyone and the news will reach Luke. I need to stop her.

I clean up as best I can in a frenzy, hoping there’s no puke on my clothes or in my hair—I’m a classy broad, you see—and dash out of the bathroom.

I scan the room frantically and finally spot her. Paula the bean-spiller. There she goes, ambling over towards the executive boardroom where—this is the point at which all the blood drains from my face—I notice that Luke is just coming out of a meeting.

She’s going to try and talk to him, probably congratulate him on the baby. What the hell, Paula?

I charge across the office, probably looking extraordinarily undignified but I don’t even care. I intercept Paula gets there, her mouth already open to talk.

“Hi Luke,” I gasp, winded. “Do you mind if we talk privately for a moment?”

He grins lasciviously, one thick eyebrow going up. “Oh, do you now?”

I grab his arm and frog-march him away.

“Thanks for that,” I hiss at him. “As if the whole office isn’t already gossiping about us.”

“I do try,” he chuckles, obviously finding it funny that I’m so tense. Maybe he’s used to being the subject of gossip, having had his face splashed across the pages of countless newspapers and magazines.

As we’re walking away, I glance behind us to see Paula looking on forlornly, sad that she’s been deprived of her chance to gossip.

It’s only a matter of time before she starts telling other people.