I can’t help overhearing most of the conversation. Even when Mr. Hunter finally reins in his voice, it’s still booming and powerful, the kind of voice that I want caressing my skin in the bedroom. But maybe not quite at that volume. 

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I hear him talking about an heir. At first, I don’t completely understand what he’s saying, but then it sinks in.

He needs a baby.

He needs a baby to get access to his trust fund. This is what the tension must be about—the sheer emotion he’s barely keeping contained inside. 

Hunter Housing, Inc. builds affordable housing developments and gives even better breaks to military veterans, and everybody knows it. I applied for this job because even if it’s not in my field—I graduated with a degree in journalism—it’s a reputable place that prides itself on its integrity, trying to do good work.

My boss, who makes me wet just walking in the door, might be rough around the edges. His carefully tailored suits might not quite hide the fact that he’s the kind of man who takes what he wants, who attacks with the same ferocity I bet he had on the battlefield. It must be killing him that his father holds the trump card in this situation. It would be killing me.

If I had a father who was pulling all the strings, anyway. My mother left when I was eight and Robin was six, and midway through college, Dad died of a heart attack. We’re on our own now, and lately things have been shitty, to say the least.

It’s why I have a constant tension headache brewing at the back of my skull. Between Robin’s migraines, my student loans, and the rising cost of rent, we’re barely making it.

We’re not making it, actually, which is why I’ve been searching for another solution.

My heart hammers against my rib cage. This could be it.

No. That’s stupid as hell. Who has a baby with her boss just to dig out of an ever-worsening financial mess?

I might.

I’m practically trembling in my seat when I hear him hang up the phone, the slamming of the handset coming through the closed door.

As insane as it sounds, I can’t ignore the fact that my chest feels warm and relieved at this thought. If I could strike a deal with Mr. Hunter, if I could give him the baby he needs in exchange for some security, I’d be able to move on with my life. I’d be able to leave behind my father’s death and the ex who...

Well, the ex who ruined my career prospects as a journalist in this city, anyway.

I’m not going to think about Peter now. All I know is that Mr. Hunter is sitting in his office, alone, and he’s looking for a solution. He has to be. I’ve only been here a month, but he strikes me as the kind of man who doesn’t give up—not for anything. He could be hiring a surrogate right now. He’d do anything to get those veterans out of the shelters. Veterans and their families, and then the rest of the people the city has chewed up and spat out.

Plus…a baby means baby-making. And I’ve wanted that from the moment I first saw him.

I rise to my feet, smoothing down my blazer again. There’s no time to pull out the mirror before I go in there. I’m just going to go.

I steel myself, drawing myself up to my full height.

You’re a smart, confident woman, I tell myself. You can do anything you set your mind to. 

This time, hopefully, I’m right.

I go to the door and knock softly but firmly on the surface with my knuckles. “Mr. Hunter?”

There’s a pause so long that at first I think he’s not going to answer. I should just go back to my desk and wait for the email that will be coming any second now, telling me what we need to do for the rest of the afternoon. Telling me that he doesn’t want to be disturbed, perhaps. Or telling me to bring in the materials for his next meeting.

I’ve just turned away when I hear his voice. “Come in.”

My heart leaps into my throat.

Maybe this is stupid. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything at all. No—I definitely shouldn’t say anything at all. I should pretend I never heard a single word of his conversation. I hesitate, for a moment too long.

The door to Mr. Hunter’s office swings open, and he’s standing there, a strange expression on his face. He looks irritated, a little, but there’s something else flickering in his eyes that I can’t quite identify. “What are you doing out here, Ms. Dawson?”

That voice, that low, commanding voice, makes me melt. I straighten up anyway, lifting my chin. “I just—” I swallow hard, beginning again. “I was coming to see if you needed anything.”

“Why would I need anything?” His mouth is pressed into a thin line. 

It’s now or never. I can just say something to smooth this over and go back to my desk. But then that will leave Robin—and me—hanging out to dry. We only have a few days left before the landlord kicks us to the curb. She’s been trying her best to work a part-time job to cover the rent, but this month it’s not happening, and I don’t have high hopes for next month. She can barely get out of bed most days. 

There’s no one left for her but me.

I open my mouth. “I heard your conversation just now,” I admit, my heart beating so hard and fast, I feel faint. “I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but I heard what you said, and I thought…I thought maybe I could help.”