“Thank you,” I say as I gaze at the salad Tristan sets before me. “This looks delicious.” I stab a piece of chicken. I’m parked on the couch with a stack of magazines, books, and my laptop on the coffee table. Tristan is treating me like a queen and I shouldn’t complain, but I’m anxious about the status of my job at Sawyer, McCall, Underwood and Garret.

“Still no word from Lara?” he asks as he sits on the other end of the couch with a salad of his own.

I shake my head as I chew and savor the rich flavor of avocado dressing. I left my boss a message this morning explaining I was rushed to the hospital yesterday afternoon and that I needed to talk to her. Knowing Lara, she’s too busy with her own cases to deal with me. I’m reaching for a glass of water when my phone buzzes with a call. Lara’s name pops up, and I glance at Tristan in fear.

He says, “We’re good no matter what happens.” Before I called Lara this morning, my husband and I discussed the possibility of me working at home. We revisited his idea of video conferencing and having one of my peers brought in for the court appearances, but I’m sure it was a waste of our time. Lara is not one to make compromises, and when I told Tristan that, he said we’d talk about it once we knew for sure.

“Okay.” I take a deep breath and blow it out before answering the phone and say, “Hello, Lara.”

“You’re off the Wyatt case.”

Typical. Lara jumps to a conclusion based on whatever worst-case scenario pops into her head. “Do you know what happened?” I ask.

“You’re pregnant and on bed rest.”

I don’t want to ponder how she got the information because it’s probably not legal, so I say, “I understand.”

“And since he’s your only client, I suppose that means you don’t have any work. And since you’re too sick to come to the office—hmm.”

Her snark gets under my skin, but I do my best to remain calm. “Lara. Trust me. I don’t want to be on bed rest any more than you want me to be, but I can still work. I can assist on other cases. Write briefs or—”

“We have paralegals for that.”

This is going as I expected, but I give it one last attempt and brace myself for the fallout when I say, “It would really be a shame if you were punishing me for getting pregnant. Or even firing me for such a condition.”

Lara doesn’t respond right way, and I imagine I can hear steam hissing out of her ears. She lets out a dramatic sigh I recognize as her strategy for calming down. “I’m doing no such thing. But if you haven’t got work, then there’s no reason to pay you.”

I knew she’d find a loophole. And short of cold-calling past clients in an effort to drum up fictitious business, if Lara doesn’t want me to work, I won’t. “Right.”

“I’ll expect your resignation letter by the end of today.” Saccharine drips from her voice as she says, “It’s been a pleasure, Cassie. Best of luck with your new family!”

The phone clicks before I have a chance to reply, and I pull it away from my ear to stare at it. As a lawyer, my first instinct is to sue Sawyer, McCall, Underwood and Garret for wrongful termination, but I know what would happen if I did. The case would be drawn out forever then no matter the outcome, I’d be a pariah in the legal circles of this town. Like I suspected, I’ve lost my job and there isn’t a darn thing I can do about it.

“So?” asks Tristan.

“I’m unemployed.”

Tristan’s salad bowl clatters on the coffee table as he sets it down, and he asks, “Are you okay?”

I nod. I’m numb, because I’m not sure what to feel. When I first considered that Lara would likely fire me once she knew I was pregnant, I consoled myself with the knowledge that plenty of firms would consider themselves lucky to get me. But that was before I was ordered to bed rest for the next six months.

I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this. Except for falling in love with Tristan, nothing I’ve done has been easy. Dread makes me queasy, because I know I’ve been lax. I haven’t been watching what was going out versus coming in, and I have no doubt I’m not as flush financially as I was a few months ago. It seems no matter how hard I’ve tried, I’m likely in a position where I have to worry about finances. Again. And this time it’s my own fault.

Tristan’s face is clouded with concern, but he doesn’t need to know I’m worried. “Really,” I say. “I’m fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“We’ll figure something out, Cassie.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at it. “I’ve got to get going. I’m off to do my volunteer shift at the clinic.” Tristan works with aliens who are addicted to caffeine. Relief floods me, because while he’s gone, I can take the time I need to review our finances. He stands up and our bowls rattle as he stacks them. He bends down to give me a quick kiss. “Try not to worry while I’m gone. Everything is going to be okay.”

“I know.”

He calls out as he leaves the room. “I love you, Cassie Nichols. This is just a small glitch.”

“Love you, too.” I grab my laptop, and the screen is bright when it flashes open. I find my spreadsheets and pull up the budget before I log into online banking. I take a deep breath and dig into my financial picture.

“Cassie?” I glance up at Tristan as he pokes his head back in the room. “I hope you’re not already looking for another job. You need to rest.”

“I’m not.” I give him what I hope is a sheepish smile. “I was looking for a movie to take my mind off things.”

“Good. I’ll be back in time to make lunch.”

“Bye,” I say, and the moment the door clicks shut I dive into my spreadsheet. The memory of my mother showing me how the program could do the math I was learning at school comes to mind. The anniversary of her death is just days away, and I feel the pain of my loss like I do every year.

When my mother died, I lost more than a parent. She was the breadwinner in our family. So when my father’s drinking over the loss of my mother got bad enough he could no longer work, it didn’t take long until the money disappeared. I quickly learned if I wanted to eat, I needed a job. I was clever enough to get one in a restaurant washing dishes because I’d heard they fed you during your shift. I discovered that a lot of food goes to waste in fine dining, and learned to scrape off untouched portions of meals to take home for my father and myself. I shudder, because it sounds disgusting to me now. But in reality, it was minor compared to the other things I had to do to take care of a drunken parent. I shake off my memories and return to my spreadsheet. While I don’t want to touch my retirement and investments, I do have a safety net.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out that if we cut a few extras, we have three months of expenses covered by my savings before income needs to start coming in again. My breathing becomes shallow as I fight off panic. In three months, I’ll only be six months pregnant, and still on bed rest for another three. I glance over at Tristan’s laptop. When I answered the questions for being matched with an alien, I was very clear that I planned on being the one who made the money. So when Tristan arrived, we decided he would work at his writing without any need for him to bring home a paycheck. When he’s published, the money he makes will be for extras. He’s nowhere near ready yet. Besides, we’d need to sink money into editing, a cover, and marketing before seeing a dime anyway.

I let out a sigh. The arrangement I have with Tristan means it’s up to me to find a job, no matter how menial it may be, to help eke my savings out a few more months. I stretch out my legs and groan a little from the stiffness. It’s time to start making phone calls to my work connections and beg for anything I can get.