“I miss Jessica,” Robin, the receptionist, whispers to me as I hurry by her desk, balancing coffee and a bag of bagels. “She never allowed people to wait too long out here.” She sighs wistfully as she nods towards a group of men in buttoned-up suits. “They’ve been waiting forty minutes already.”

“Forty minutes?” I ask, aghast.

I’m keeping an eye on my watch. I picked up the coffee eight minutes ago, and David, my new boss and acting CEO of Croft Media doesn’t like his coffee to be any colder than ten minutes from the time of pick up. I don’t know how he does it—even if I’m a minute late, he chastises me for not being punctual.

Yeah, I hate the prick, too.

Robin nods conspiratorially.

“Who are they?” I ask, glancing at them. They seem like nice enough people, but nothing like the people that Jessica pushed to associate with when she headed up the company.

“I think they’re students interviewing to be interns,” the receptionist says.

“Ah.”

I felt bad for them—this wasn’t the company that Jessica had started. And I knew they had no hope of getting an internship.

They weren’t investors, at least. For the last three weeks, we’ve had a steady stream of investors coming into the office to check out the business and make an offer. Our stock has plummeted since Jessica left the executive board. Actually, she was more shoved off the board, due to pressure from the Dubrevian government.

But if you asked anyone here, we aren’t floundering. We are merely “assessing our options” and “refocusing the core of our business.” I went to business school at Stanford—I don’t have to smell bullshit to know it’s there.

“Shit,” I mutter, looking at the time. Nine minutes down, and it will take me that long to get to David’s office. “I’ll see you later, Robin!”

“Good luck with the boss!” she calls after me.

She knows that he hates me. I think it’s the contract that Jessica had written up for me before she left. I get paid—well—and they can’t fire me without it costing even more money.

I’m too expensive to keep and way too expensive to leave. So David just treats me like a piece of shit. With Jessica, I was her right-hand woman, giving her advice, helping her with anything she needed. David just treats me like an errand girl, constantly making copies or getting coffee.

Amazing how quickly my life took a nosedive. At least I’m pulling a huge salary. Even that isn’t enough to make me feel better, though.

You’ve got a date tonight, I remind myself. Little bright spots like that help me get through the days. I just have to have something to look forward to at night.

And tonight, I have a date with one hot lawyer from Midtown. I smile to myself at the thought as I push open the door to David’s office.

Only to have the smile fall when I see his expression, his fingers steepled.

“My coffee’s cold, isn’t it?” he intones.

I never thought I’d say it, but I hate my job.

* * *

“He’s trying to make you quit,” my date, Dominic, says. His blond hair is cropped in a professional cut, his suit tailored immaculately. He even looks suave as he pops his prime rib in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “He’s trying to make your working conditions unbearable.”

I shake my head, watching as he starts to cut into his steak again. I push my plate away. Today’s events have ruined my appetite, even though I’m on my seventh date with Dominic. We’re at a nice steakhouse in Uptown, and I should be enjoying it, but my stomach keeps churning.

“Well, he’s succeeding.”

Because even though I’m making a six-figure salary—a pretty unheard of number for an executive assistant—if they lay me off, they owe me a fifty-million-dollar severance. Yeah, you read that right. Jessica made sure that I was taken care of before she was forced to resign. After being unable to rub two nickels together all through college, seeing fifty million dollars attached to my name in any way is surreal.

When David and the rest of the board found what Jessica had done, they made calls to confirm her actions. Twice, actually—the last time with a lawyer to be sure it was legal.

No wonder he’s trying to make me leave. I poke at my salad. Why did I order it with ranch dressing? It sounds disgusting at the moment.

“It’s been stressing me out,” I mutter. That’s an understatement. It’s been keeping me up at night, giving me headaches. Taking away my appetite, like tonight.

Dominic leans forward. “It’s actually against the law.”

I raise an eyebrow and see that he is grinning slyly. “Oh?”

He nods, leaning back as he crosses his arms. “It’s called constructive termination. You could have a lawsuit on your hands.”

I snicker softly and take a swig of my water, the ice cubes clinking against each other. “I always knew I wanted to date a lawyer.”

Dominic is a great lawyer too. From what I’ve heard, he can be the most charming counselor or he turn on the aggression and get a witness to sing.

A man who works hard for his money—I never realized how important that is to me.

His eyes shine as he looks at me. “And I always wanted to date someone like you.”

I nearly choke on an ice cube. He doesn’t know how much money I’d make if they laid me off. I briefly consider telling him, then shake the thought from my head. Nah, he doesn’t need to know. Not this early in our relationship.

I met Dominic Slavinsky two weeks after I got back from Dubreva. It was at a friend’s party. We chatted. He asked me out. It was all very respectful and cordial. He took me for a bike ride in Central Park on our first date. And then we had a picnic lunch.

Perfect.

Just like him.

And not like another person I can’t seem to get out of my head.

Henry and the night we spent together crosses my mind, and I fight to keep the frown from my face as I look at Dominic. It’s hard and I end up covering up the bad taste in my mouth with another gulp of water.

Henry is dangerous. Henry has no respect.

Dominic is comfortable. Dominic respects me.

The two couldn’t be any more different. Why am I even thinking about some billionaire asshole prince who probably doesn’t remember me?

Because you’re a glutton for punishment, Cat? Probably. It would explain why I’ve stuck with my job this long. After having one of the best jobs in the world working for Jessica, being sidelined like this is incredibly deflating.

It feels like what Henry asked me in bed that morning is coming back to bite me in the ass.

“I can’t believe that you think my job isn’t important. That I’m like some sort of servant.”

“Well, you kind of are, aren’t you?”

His lazy grin pops up in my head again, and I grimace, closing my eyes. God, he looked so sexy. And so fucking annoying.

Why? Why do I do this to myself?

Bile rises in my throat, and I drink more water.

“You should start recording instances of your boss harassing you,” Dominic continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Keep a log of it. Any and every instance of him trying to make you leave. Because,” he winks at me, “I can help you win that court battle.”

I shakily get up from my seat, jostling the table and all of the plates and water glasses on it. “Sorry.” I gulp and feel that growing unease that you get when you’re about to be sick. I know what’s coming. And I need to find a toilet. “I’ll be right back.”

Dominic calls after me as I run to the bathroom as fast as my short legs in stiletto heels can take me. I take a wrong turn and have to backtrack. A waiter, knowing what’s happening, points in the opposite direction. I cover up my mouth the rest of the distance as I sprint.

I yank open the door to the ladies’ room.

“Good evening,” the attendant says as I blow right past her, into the first stall.

I don’t even have time to throw the lock home as I fall to my knees and empty everything that’s in my stomach. And when I think it’s over, I heave again. And again. Until there’s nothing left.

“Ugh.”

I sit back on my haunches and wipe at the corner of my mouth. Usually I have a pretty good constitution. I can’t remember the last time I threw up. I must be getting sick from all this stress. Wearing me out.

That has to be it.

I suddenly go numb as a thought hits me, and I’m nearly sick again. When was the last time I had my period? I scramble through my memories trying to remember when. It was before I left for Dubreva. Over eight weeks ago. And since then, I’ve been too stressed out or too busy with life to really think on it. My period has always been susceptible to stress.

I’ve just never thrown up before from it. And the thought of what it could be makes me sick again.

I grasp the bowl of the toilet once more and dry heave, as there’s nothing left in my stomach. Tears sting my eyes.

“Oh my,” the attendant says, standing in the open door of the stall. She looks a little ill herself as her eyes flick from the toilet to me. “Do you need some help, Miss?”

If this is all true, I need all the help I can get.

Please don’t let it be true.

* * *

I feel ridiculous as I sit on my toilet at home, holding the stick between my legs. It’s like adding insult to injury. Also, I can’t seem to hold my hand steady as I pee on the test. I’ve had some scares in the past, but this feels different.

Please let me be wrong.

“You okay in there?” my roommate Alison asks from the hallway. Sure, I make really good money at my job right now, but I didn’t always. We’ve been roommates for three years now, and have become friends. Alison works at an advertising agency, and I wasn’t about to leave her stranded just because my money situation improved.

Plus, the apartment is really nice, even though it’s tiny.

The door to our lone bathroom didn’t latch when I burst in here after my date. I see her pacing through the crack of the door, too worried to leave me alone, too nosy to go away.

“No,” I mutter, putting my face in my hands.

The date ended badly. I couldn’t quite tell Dominic why I had left the table in such a rush, other than I had gotten sick. Which is the truth, I suppose. But only half the truth. I could tell that he wanted to ask more, but realized that I didn’t want to speak about it.

Again, he’s absolutely wonderful.

We shared a cab back to my place, where he gave me a chaste kiss on my forehead. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed—this was supposed to be the night. After such a disastrous one-night stand with Henry, I wanted to take it slowly with the next guy and get to know him before I fell into bed with him.

Nothing like staring down the barrel of parenthood to take you out of the mood. No wonder my parents never did it while I was growing up. As far as I knew, anyways.

I practically had to unlock the door and pretend to step inside my building for him to leave, even though the meter in his cab was ticking up while waiting. He’s concerned about me and my welfare. Again, wonderful.

I ran to the pharmacy after he left and bought the first test that I could get my hands on. I felt like the pharmacy cashier was watching me, like he knew. I wonder how many frightened women run into the pharmacy, like me.

Scared that they might be having a baby.

No, no, no, no.

I’d been on birth control at the time, right? I ran through the timeline in my head, and remembered that one thought as he kissed my breasts, as he plunged into me: Did I have my pill that day?

I never had trouble with it, because I’m always in a manageable time zone.

Except that day.

“Fuck,” I whimper. My hands start shaking as I take out the stick after emptying my bladder onto it. How long did the box say to wait? I fumble with it with my left hand as I hold the test with my right, trying not to take my eyes off it.

Two minutes. Damn. I toss the box back on the counter with a snarl.

“Can I come in?” Alison asks. “I need to get my hair dryer.”

I glance at the door to tell her no, but she barges right in. As roommates in a six-hundred square-foot apartment, we lost all sense of privacy months ago.

And now she’s staring at the pregnancy test in my hand.

“Oh,” she whispers softly. “Uhm.”

“I don’t know the results yet.” I hiccup softly, managing to keep my tears in as I look at her. I realize how pathetic I must look, with my panties around my ankles and my dress hitched up around my hips. I’m sure my makeup is streaked. “I got sick during my date and I threw up and I got one of these. It’s all ruined. Everything is.”

“Shhhh,” Alison says, and she sits on the edge of the old bathtub, which is right next to the toilet. “Nothing’s ruined. That’s why you have me.” She grabs my free hand and gives it a squeeze. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

That’s what I love about Alison—no questions asked. She just says exactly what I need to hear at that very moment and doesn’t offer any judgment. We’re both working women, totally focused on our careers. But that doesn’t mean that she’s not one of my best friends.

We stay like that. I purposefully keep my eyes on the test. Too afraid to look. Too afraid not to. She doesn’t say anything and I can feel my heart up in my throat.

Then, the lines appear. Plural. Two pink lines.

“What does that mean?” Alison asks. Her voice is strangled. Rough. Because we both know what that means.

I lick my lips.

“I’m pregnant.”

With Henry’s child. A billionaire prince who has probably forgotten that I even exist. Between his stay in the hospital and his next notch on his bedpost, I’m just a blip on his radar.

But he’s certainly a much bigger blip on mine.