I sit in the front row, clutching a piece of paper in my shaking hands, which I rest on my heavy belly. At least the podium on the stage will hide my tremors.

It’s not easy to mentally block everything that’s going on around me. The reporters are abuzz with activity, putting together their equipment and pointing their cameras at the spot where I’ll stand—only five more minutes from now.

Good thing Angela gave me a short list of bullet points, instead of some long-winded statement. This will be torture, but it’ll only last a minute or two.

God, and I thought my first press conference was going to be about my book—preferably the debut one.

I look around me, imagining myself holding my first book instead of this stupid list. This is just a function room in the office building, but it looks nice enough. The reporters seem eager… Oh, if only they were here for my book, enthusiastically waiting to hear all about where I got my inspiration from, and whether certain side characters are going to be featured in my future stories.

As I scan the room, my eyes land on a tall, imposing figure just outside the function hall. He’s moving with confidence, like he’s on a mission.

Shit.

I try to get up, pressing my palms against my seat cushion to push myself out of it. Damn it, why do I have to be so fat?

Yeah, I know I’m just pregnant. But it’s hard not to feel large when my calves have merged with my ankles.

I move quickly—as quickly as a heavily pregnant woman can move.I waddle up the three steps of stairs up the stage and reach the podium.

Immediately, all eyes and camera lenses turn to stare at me. Conversations grind to a halt as people abandon whatever they're doing to give me their full attention.

Whoa. I’ve never had so many pairs of eyes on me before. And to think there will be even more when those cameras put my face on TV and on tabloids—not to mention newspapers, if this gets big enough.

The mic on the podium sits a little too high, so I pull it down. Sharp audio feedback pierces through the room, and everyone winces as if in pain.

“Sorry,” I say into the mic when the noise finally stops.

Angela’s watching me with eyes as big as saucers and a facial expression that, without using any words, says, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?

This is not what we’ve planned. Angela was supposed to introduce me and stay beside me as I speak, but I need to improvise.

I catch Angela’s gaze and glance in the direction of Heath, who’s about to enter the function hall. He’s got the same expression as Angela, only with more anger. He asks the same question—what the fuck do you think you’re doing?—but his possessive gaze tells me he thinks he can tell me what to do.

Well, Mister, I’ve been patiently doing what you want me to do. The bed rest? Wasn’t even necessary. But I did it anyway. For you.

I probably shouldn’t admit at this point that the bed rest wasn’t horrible. I mean, getting to stay home and sit on my ass to write all day? That’s the life.

Angela follows my gaze and notices Heath. She seems taken aback. But then, she adjusts her glasses and starts marching toward him. She blocks his way and exchanges words with him.

It won’t take long for Heath to get past Angela. I don’t know what Heath plans to do to disrupt this press conference, but I’m not waiting to find out. I need to put whatever time I have to good use.

“Thank you for coming out here today,” I say into the mic. I pause for a second, distracted by the echo, and hold my cheat sheet in front of me. “I have a short statement to make regarding the news that’s circulating about Heath Anders and me.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but now there’s even more attention on me. Cameras freeze, pointed directly at me. Everything stands still. I don’t even notice any breathing.

So I take a breath and enjoy the silence for a moment. It’s hot here, under the intense lighting camera crews point at me. A thin film of sweat forms on my skin.

“I understand my name has been mentioned as Heath Anders’ victim. My name is Katherine York, by the way.” I feel dumb introducing myself in this way. Is this too late in the speech? I don’t know. This was supposed to be Angela's bit, but now I’m just playing it by ear. “That’s right. You saw my name on the contract that was shown this morning by Jeff Scott.”

Some of the reporters sitting in front of me scribble things on their notebooks, and I wonder which parts of my statement will make it to whose articles.

“I’d like to state that there’s been no improper conduct, much less harassment, from Heath Anders, in the entire time I worked for Anders Capital Management,” I say again into the mic.

Whispers turn into a low buzz among my audience, and I know I’m losing control of the situation. One man speaks up. “Katherine, are you carrying Heath’s baby?”

“Yes,” I admit, to the shock of almost everyone in the function hall. I can see the widened eyes, and the dropped jaws. “We’re together, and we’re having a baby. There’s nothing strange here. Just a couple who has decided to start a family.”

“What about the contract?” a reporter pipes up, his voice a little louder than the rest of them.

“The contract was just for fun. We didn’t mean it,” I say, as casually as possible. Easy and breezy. I put on a big smile and raise my eyebrows, as if I’m asking them, can you really believe Jeff thought it was real? He’s one crazy dude.

“Katherine,” a woman calls my name. “Did you start seeing each other when you were still working at Anders Capital Management?”

“We first met because I was Heath’s assistant. But as soon as we started to date, we decided it wasn’t a good idea for us to keep working together, even if there was no policy against dating in this office.” I smile.

This is easier than I thought it would be. Just tell them the truth, right? I can do that. I have to improvise a little, but I’m pretty good at fiction, too.

My reputation is going up in flames, and there’s no way for my name to not be forever associated with this scandal.

But I don’t mind it. If anything, this feels liberating.

I can finally do whatever I want, without caring about people judging me.

I don’t even care anymore about Vera, because I have my own little family now. Jesus, I can’t believe how much I used to worry about what she’d think when it shouldn’t have mattered.

She’s been asking a lot of questions about how I afford to hire a nanny to babysit his son for me. I guess now she’ll find out.

“What’s being pregnant like?” asks another reporter.

“Oh, it’s nice, but it’s not magical like some people say it is. I feel duped, honestly.” I’m starting to feel good about myself, having made a bunch of reporters laugh.

That’s when someone sidles up to me, making me jump in surprise. From the way my skin sizzles at his touch, I know who it is. I don’t even have to see his gorgeous face to know it's him.

Heath wraps his muscled arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. He smiles at our audience of reporters, but the strong grip of his hand on my upper arm tells me he’s ticked off.

Heath holds me in place while he adjusts the mic. The audio feedback makes everyone grimace again, but he makes no apologies. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. Thank you for coming out here.”

Heath pulls me tight against his side and says, in a low voice, “Smile.”

I bristle under the assumption that I’m just a little woman who does what Heath tells me to do. But I do it anyway. I smile. Because I’m done anyway, thanks to Angela’s short and concise note.

A million lights flash around us, almost blinding me, as the reporters sense a good photo op.