TRISTAN STARED AT THE envelope from Ralph Wolfram that waited on his desk. When he opened it and slid out the contents, would there be a note inside that said I know what you did last summer?

He didn’t want to worry about the encounter last night, because the evening with Victoria wasn’t a mistake. However, he couldn’t deny there was a real basis for her concern.

If there were hints before of either the firm or the charity benefiting from this donation, he didn’t want to imagine what would happen once news got out she was pregnant with his child before the deal was negotiated.

He opened the overnight envelope and slid out the short stack of paper inside. The first page was a cover letter, letting him know this was the non-disclosure agreement he needed to sign, before discussions could continue with Wolfram. The next nine pages were the agreement, complete with a required notarized signature at the end.

Who the fuck wrote a nine-page NDA just to open business negotiations. He picked up his phone and dialed.

“S’up?” Mischa answered.

“I think I already know the answer to this, but did you sign an NDA with Wolfram?”

“Nope. Why?”

Tristan scanned the document, picking out snippets of text. “I’d tell you, but according to this paperwork, if I do, he could have me killed.” He forced a chuckle, but he wasn’t sure it was completely a joke.

“Sounds serious. You busy tonight?”

Tristan was hoping to kidnap Victoria again for the evening, but depending on what Mischa had in mind, that plan didn’t have to change. “Not sure. Why?”

“I’m thinking you, me, Victoria, Ash, all get together here and knock our heads together, like you wanted to the other day. You can tell me what’s up with the weird questions about NDA’s, too.”

It sounded like a perfect idea. “I’ll be there, and I’ll call her too.”

“You will? That’s the second time you’ve offered.”

“Things change.”

Mischa made a clucking noise. “Now I don’t want to wait for tonight. What things? Things that involve you stepping up to the mantle of fatherhood?”

“More than that. We’re dating.” It was easier to say than Tristan thought. He liked the way the word dating rolled off his tongue.

“Sweet.” Mischa’s enthusiasm sounded genuine. “That explains that.”

“What does?”

“She and a couple of the higher-ups were at the rec center yesterday. I think she smiled more during that visit than the entire time she and I dated. And not like those phony play nice smiles. They were the absent-minded kind of grins that slipped in when she didn’t think anyone was looking.”

Tristan knew the feeling. He felt like a goof, but he didn’t mind. “You’re okay with it?”

“As long as the two of you are happy. Just don’t break each other.”

Tristan forced the bitterness from his laugh. “You’re one to talk. She’s pretty amazing, though.”

“I don’t have a comeback for that. Not my type, but she’s a decent person.”

“I can’t say I’m disappointed to have a different infatuation than you.” The contrast of this conversation to the one they had years ago, right after Mischa left Victoria, was night and day. So much had changed. Or maybe nothing had except for Tristan. “I guess that means we’re both dads now.”

“Do not let Ash hear you say that. Brother-in-law. That’s what I am. You start tossing terms like Daddy around this house, and it just gets fucked up.”

“Okay. I get it.”

“Seriously, though. It’s weird, but also good to see the two of you together,” Mischa said.

The shift in conversation away from joking, and the comment, spoke to Tristan’s fear things might not stay good. “Dinner tonight. I’ll be there, we’ll plot, and with any luck, I’ll have a date.”

He hung up, and called Victoria. The smile in her voice when he said he’d told Mischa about them was enough to brighten Tristan’s mood. He promised to pick her up tonight, and disconnected.

He turned his attention back to the NDA, wanting to read all of it, especially the bits that had caught his attention while he talked to Mischa.

When he finished, his eyeballs ached, and there was no way he was signing this thing without sending it through some serious legal revisions. It stripped him of any right to talk about pretty much anything to do with Wolfram or his investment firm. Not just the deal, but even mentioning the other man’s name beyond Ralph Wolfram owns an investment firm violated the contract.

It wasn’t limited to spoken word, either. Electronic transmissions. Written. Tristan was surprised there wasn’t a clause in there for telegraph or gramophone, just to cover all bases.

Who the fuck needed that kind of security around opening business negotiations?

*

VICTORIA SAW THE CHARITY’S lawyer walk in, the same as everyone else did. A couple of whispers floated through the room, that he was here to meet with one of the auditors.

Her insides were twisted into impossible knots. It couldn’t possibly be about the encounter last night. News didn’t travel that fast, even when people were intentionally spreading it.

She shouldn’t be worried anyway. It wasn’t as though her pregnancy was a secret. Though, she didn’t get the feeling many people had put together how neatly it coincided with that night.

Tristan’s call eased some of her tension. It was more hearing his voice than what he had to say, but the details were pretty good too. She expected the gnawing to get worse when he said Mischa knows, but instead it made her smile. Tristan was right—not keeping things a secret felt good.

She looked forward to when she could be that open with everyone.

“Victoria.” Malory stopped at her cubicle.

The expression on her boss’s face erased her good mood. “What’s up?”

“We need to speak with you in the conference room.”

Where the lawyer and auditor were. She pushed back from her desk. “Of course. What about?”

“We’ll discuss details when we’re in there.” Malory’s voice was low, intended only for her ears. “But if there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable answering, that’s why the lawyer is here. And follow his cues about everything.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s probably nothing, but we have to cover our bases.”

Shit. Victoria’s mouth was dry when she settled into a chair next to the lawyer, at the conference table. Introductions were made, and the auditor noted he was recording the conversation.

“Am I under oath?” She tried to joke.

“Technically, no.” The lawyer’s tone was flat. “There’s no penalty for perjury here, but it is in everyone’s best interests if you answer as honestly as you can.”

“Do you remember attending a charity dinner at the local country club about three and a half months ago?” the auditor—Bob asked.

Victoria’s pulse hammered in her ears. “I do.”

“And the weeks that followed?”

She nodded.

He pointed to the digital recorder.

“Yes.” She said.

“What was your intention in attending the function?”

These answers were easy. Everyone there knew why she’d gone. There was no secret around how it related to work. “I was there to make contacts, specifically hoping to meet some of the more affluent business owners in the valley, and introduce them to what we do here. Our cause.”

Bob’s expression never shifted, as he scribbled something on the pad in front of him. “Were you successful?”

“Yes. I connected with several people who have become regular supporters, and immediately after we brought in a large influx of donations that were helpful in our expansion.” Maybe this wasn’t about the baby after all. Her heartbeat started to return to normal.

“That matches the records we have.” Bob’s tone was as flat as his face. “Do you recall what the donations were?”

“Not off the top of my head. I have the paperwork, and I believe you were provided with all of it. Some was cash, and the rest was equipment.” She could do this. These were basic questions about her job.

He rifled through the papers on his clipboard, pulled one from the stack, and slid it across the table. “Do you remember these donations?”

She glanced at the list of five dollar amounts, all in the thousands, next to donor names. Some of her more impressive draws from the event. “As well as I remember any of them.”

“Is there any reason you can think of that these amounts wouldn’t match those reported by the same donors?”

And her creeping calm vanished. “They lied when they reported their donations?” The answer slipped out unfiltered. “I’m sorry. I mean misreported.”

“Five people you met via the same connection? Who you worked with.”

If she were to guess at his implication, it was that she’d somehow skimmed off the top. Indignation swelled inside, and she opened her mouth.

The lawyer’s hand on her arm was enough to make her pause. She glanced at him and he shook his head.

At least they had her back.

“That money goes through multiple checkpoints before it’s deposited,” the lawyer said. “The checks are written out directly to the charity. Ms. Small is no more able to interfere with those donations than anyone here, regardless of whether or not she was the original point of contact.”

She hated that she wasn’t allowed to speak for herself, but was grateful for his measured response. Hers may not have helped her cause.

She answered a few more questions, but for the most part, the attorney spoke on her behalf. The remaining conversation was more of the same—implying she should know why the dollar amounts the charity received were less than what the donors reported. According to Bob, the percentages were small enough they didn’t trigger automated flags, but the manual checking had uncovered enough to raise questions.

Victoria bounced between furious and all-but being accused of embezzlement, and fear that she might not be able to prove her innocence. Bob thanked her for her time, and she walked from the room, fists clenched to keep from shaking.

“Join me in my office for a few more minutes,” Malory said.

Victoria clenched her jaw. “Sure.” In the small room, she closed the door, but didn’t sit when her boss did.

“I’m temporarily pulling you from soliciting donations, or working with the public in any capacity representing us, until further notice. You’re being placed on a sort of paid leave.” Malory didn’t look at her.

“Are you kidding me?” There was no reason to hold back in here. “I’m good at my job. I’m better than good, I’m incredible.”

“I know.”

Victoria squeezed her hand so hard, her nails bit into her palm. The sting didn’t distract her from fury. “I didn’t do those things he implied. I’ve bled my own savings to keep this place operational. Not because I want the glory, but because I believe in the cause. I didn’t skim a couple hundred dollars.”

“I know that too.” Apology hung in Malory’s voice. “This isn’t just about the mismatched donations. It’s, um...” She tugged a strand of hair and stared at her desk. “You’ve never said who the father is.” Her face matched the red of her sweater.

Victoria’s insides clenched. “I don’t think it matters.”

“It doesn’t, but... Shit. I should have HR in here for this or something.”

Shit was right. “For what?”

Malory grabbed thicker lock of hair. “I’m not going to ask you any more personal questions. I’ll just tell you what the lawyer told me, and let you consider if it could be an issue for us going forward.”

“Okay...”

“If the donation personally benefits someone in the organization, or their family, we could lose our tax-exempt status.”

Victoria struggled to wrap her brain around the meaning. She grasped enough that hurt and rage hummed inside. “It’s not Mischa’s baby. And even if it was, how would the donation fall under what you’re talking about? That’s the reason you don’t pay him, right?”

“You earned a promotion from that. A pay raise.”

“For the string of donations. Because that’s my fucking job. You rewarded me for excelling at what I was hired for. If he was the father—and I’ll reiterate again he’s not—the man is worth millions. Your extra fifty dollars a month isn’t worth the cost of a fucking building.” She couldn’t hold back her anger now that she’d let the lid off.

Malory looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. “This is only temporary, and just for show. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can let you get back to work. In the meantime, you need to clean out your desk.”

“Of course you do. But it’s just for show. Only temporary.” What would happen if Victoria started throwing things? This was beyond unbelievable.

“I’m sorry. This is for the charity. Will you close my door again on your way out?”

Victoria stalked to her seat, and dropped into her chair. As she uncurled her fingers, crescent-shaped marks glared up at her, the skin red and broken from her fingernails.

She stared up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears and willing herself not to lose it in the middle of the office.

Tonight she’d meet up with everyone, they’d find a solution. Except she wouldn’t. Because if image was a problem when she and Tristan were laying low, there was no way she could afford to be doing things like dinner at Mischa’s house.

Fuuuuck. The scream echoed in her skull.