I snort and stack the documents I’ve just printed, when a feminine trill reaches me from the doorway and I look up to see a blonde goddess walking my way.
“Oh, hi. I’m Selena.”
Looking at the fiancée of the man you’ve recently banged and keeping yourself from crumbling into a confession-riddled heap as you kiss her feet and beg forgiveness…not the easiest thing in the world.
“Ah, er, hello. I’ll just buzz Mr Lucas,” I say weakly, keeping my eyes downcast.
So sue me, I am terrified she’ll take one look at me and know what I’ve done. Explaining that I had no clue he is engaged isn’t much of a consolation anyway, and I wouldn’t blame her if she punched me and picked me bald.
“Hannah,” he breathes into the phone, making me aware that my time is up as far as the stay of sexecution is concerned.
“Mr Lucas, sir, Miss Jeffries is here to see you,” I say calmly, though my heart is pounding and I feel awful.
Is it right to feel like I’m being betrayed here? Probably not, but as he clears his throat and tells me to show her in, I feel used and betrayed and…hurt.
Weird, huh?
But a little okay, considering he’d just told me the goddamned condom broke and he has no intention of letting me go until he’s used me up. God. I should tell Amber she can deal with him herself and take Nana and just skip town.
I know it, I know it’s the most sensible and rational thing to do, and yet as I rise and show Selena Jeffries into his office, I know I’m staying exactly where I am.
“Lena.”
I watch as he leans in to place a soft kiss on her cheek and greet her warmly.
“Will that be all?”
That’s right, Han, be professional.
When he looks up at me over her shoulder, his eyes guileless and unmoved, I know I am in deep shit. Gregory Lucas feels no shame in owning me even as he kisses his fiancée.
“For now, Hannah.”
I turn and walk out, keeping my spine stiff and unyielding the whole hour I am forced to work while another woman — his woman — is in there with him, doing God knows what.
When she finally comes out, Gregory steering her toward the elevator, I force myself to keep working and not look up. Guilt or jealousy, I don’t know, but I feel wretched.
“Come into my office please, Han.”
I don’t want him to call me Han. Or Hannah. Or darlin’. I want to be Miss Newman again. Miss Newman isn’t a foolish ninny or a two-timing—
“I’ll be right with you, Mr Lucas. I just have to send this email,” I say, keeping my eyes on the monitor.
“Now, Hannah. We need to talk,” he says implacably.
But I don’t want to! Why can’t he just leave me alone while I wait to go to the doctor’s? The minute I get a negative result, bakery or no bakery, I am so out of here.
I’m a fool, but I’m no idiot, and I know that staying any longer than that will not only destroy me, but will push me back into that dark, trapped place where I existed three years ago.
I rise, collecting my notepad and pencil, to follow him into his office, tensing when I hear the lock snick into place. He steers me to the seating area on the right and waits for me to sit before coming down beside me.
“Hannah, look at me please.”
I do, keeping my face blank as I meet his hard, determined eyes.
“We haven’t spoken since Monday.”
No, I know, I’ve done my utmost not to be alone with him long enough to have this conversation, and he damned well knows it. But as I’ve said, my reprieve is up, and I know he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.
“I’ve made an appointment at the doctor for week after next. When I know, you’ll know,” I say in a no-nonsense voice I am immensely proud of.
He leans back with a huff, and I see the frustration written all over his face. This can’t be easy for him. I mean, the man is so used to getting his own way in all things, so my attitude is probably a foreign concept, like snow in June.
“You’re skirting the issue here, Han.”
“I am not your goddamned ‘Han.’ Or ‘darlin’.’ Or any other thing you want to call me!” I hiss, coming to my feet with a speed that leaves me dizzy. “I work for you. End of story.”
He’s upset now, angry that I won’t just fall in with his plans, as if by some quirk of fate he’s only now meeting resistance from a woman. I want to laugh, a real, out-loud belly laugh, because his expression reminds me of a sulky child’s.
“You forget so easily what we shared?”
Oh, so now he’s going to look at me with scorn? I wasn’t the one who’d fled the bed with a haste that signalled more than fear of commitment.