Jordan deserved it. Really, he did.

“Oh, God,” Abby said, heaving again.

He shoved the trash can under her nose just in time, holding back her hair with his other hand.

Yes, he might have researched what to do if a pregnant woman was puking on the Internet. Yes, it should have been obvious before the search what to do.

But he was a guy. He didn’t have a lot of experience with vomiting or pregnant women. And he definitely wasn’t used to dealing with long hair.

He had congratulated himself on the wet towel thing when that came up in the search. That had been genius.

Well, technically it was his mom’s genius since she’d done that for him when he was sick. His heart clenched at the memory. He didn’t think of her often, not when it always hurt so much.

“Get. Away.” Abby shoved him hard enough that he toppled backward onto his ass. He barely had the presence of mind to let go of her hair.

“I’m trying to help,” he said.

“You’ve helped enough,” she gritted out. “Now stay out of nose-reach. Please. For the love of all that’s holy.”

He finally clued in. “Is it the deodorant again?”

Hazel eyes flashed up to his. “You think?”

Jordan pushed himself back until he was on the outside wall. From the waist up, he was covered in puke. It soaked into his shirt and he unbuttoned it, peeling it free. His undershirt had survived a little better, so he walked over to the sink, shoved the shirt into the garbage bin there, then washed his hands.

Luckily, his sense of smell sucked, otherwise he might have been joining Abby at the trash can.

“What can I do?” he asked.

She moaned and pushed the bin away, lying curled up on her side on the floor.

Jordan was a total dick for noticing her skirt had ridden up and that her panties were just a sexy as those four-inch pumps.

Which—he frowned—she shouldn’t be wearing. Not in her condition.

What if she fell?

“Abby?”

“Shh,” she said.

He fell silent, waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he cautiously moved across the room and glanced down.

Her face was flushed, her eyes were closed. At first, he thought she’d passed out again and his heart skipped a beat. Then her lips pursed, forming a little “o” as her breath puffed through.

She’d fallen asleep.

In a conference room. In the middle of the day. On her first day of work.

She was going to kill him.

He debated whether to wake her or not and after a moment decided not to. How could he? She was carrying his baby, and if she needed rest, then he’d damn sure make certain she got it.

But his conscience pinged as he slipped through the door, closing it behind him. He knew that the kids’ robot project was going to put her under more strain and he knew he should extend the timeline or maybe table it all together.

Except . . . he couldn’t do that.

“What are you doing?” Heather hissed.

When her eyes locked onto his shirt, blatantly eyeing his state of undress and the closed door behind him, he put his hands up. “Come on,” he said. “Like I would ever have a relationship with someone in the workplace.”

She raised a brow, pointed at his shirt. “Hmm.”

“You and your fucking hmms. You think you sound smart by just uttering a syllable? Use words like a normal person.”

“You want words?” she asked. “Why are the hell are you partially dressed after spending an extra half hour with an employee you obviously have a past with? Why does she hate your guts?”

He crossed his arms. “She doesn’t hate my guts.”

Heather laughed. “You’re more delusional than I thought.”

“It’s not like that,” he said. “We—” Jordan sighed, thought fuck it, and laid all the cards on the table. “She’s pregnant. It’s mine.”

“Uh . . .”

For once, Heather using only one syllable didn’t annoy the shit out of him.

“You—” She shook her head, dropped her voice. “You fucking idiot. You’re kidding me, right? Don’t you know who she is? Who her father is?”

“I know,” he said. “Well, I didn’t know that night. But I, uh, learned a couple of weeks ago.”

“And this project. This project we have her on. Don’t you realize how that’s going to look—” She put up her hand, eyes widening. “Wait. Did you say you just learned who she was?”

“No, I found out weeks ago.”

“Before or after?”

He rolled his eyes. “Before or after what?”

“Before or after you found out she was pregnant?”

Jordan hesitated, and Heather groaned, pacing away a few steps before turning back toward him. “Oh, my God, you’re a bigger idiot than I’ve ever given you credit for. You did it, didn’t you? Acted just like Dad.”

“I— It wasn’t like that—”

His sister pretended to hit her head on the wall. “It was. You did exactly what Dad would have done. Tried to pay her off.” She started laughing. “You tried to buy off Abigail fucking Roberts.”

“Shh,” he said. “You’ll wake her up.”

Heather’s laughter abruptly halted. “My new VP is asleep in there?”

“My mere smell makes her puke.”

His sister started giggling, albeit quieter this time. “Oh, this is too good.”

“She’s exhausted,” he said, and if his tone was accusatory, it was because he felt no little amount of guilt about the stress he must have caused her over the last few months. Leaving her that night. Serving her with papers. Being a total asshole at every opportunity.

“I’m not going to fire her,” Heather said. “She’s the best designer I’ve ever met, and she seems to be good at managing people.”

“I don’t want you to fire her,” he retorted, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall of windows next to the door. “Just cut her a little slack.”

“Don’t fuck this up for us. If you want your pet project to go, we need to keep her happy.”

Jordan sighed. “Noted.”

“So why isn’t she on Roberts’ payroll?” Heather asked.

“Unlike Dad, good old Bernie doesn’t like women on staff.”

The lights above them turned on automatically, telling them both that it was getting late. The office generally closed early on Fridays since many employees worked longer days during the rest of the week, so the space was quiet.

“Dad liked women on staff a little too much.”

Jordan smiled ruefully. “That he did.”

“Bernie’s missing out.”

Jordan nodded. “I know. Today was the first time I’d seen her work. It’s genius.”

Heather didn’t say anything for a long moment, just studied him closely before shaking her head. “Careful, brother, or you’ll end up like Dad, a brood of half-bloods gathered under his wing.”

“Just because you have a different mother doesn’t mean that you’re not my sister.” He paused, made sure his words were calm when the anger in him was a real thing. His past—his father’s past—did not define him any longer. “And I’m not Dad. When I’m with a woman, I’m only with that woman.

“I know.” She patted his arm, eyes warming for a brief second before her normal devil-may-care, taking-asses-not-prisoners demeanor returned. Another shake of her head. “You knocked up Abigail Roberts. What a fucking idiot.”

And with that sisterly idiom, she walked away.

Jordan listened to her pack up her stuff in her office, watched as she walked by. “I sent Rich and the others home,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Lock up when you leave.”

He nodded his thanks and sat down to wait.