“Wow. I had no idea. That’s—that’s really sweet.” Surprising, but in the best way.
She takes off down the hall again. “Jack doesn’t like it to get around, but he’s really a big ol’ softy.”
“It sounds like it.” Bull comes to mind. Jackson could afford to buy some purebred pooch, but he opted to save a life by rescuing a dog that needed a second chance.
Cindy stops at the end of the hall and shows me into a large conference room.
“I hope your husband’s health improves.”
“Thank you. Wait right here. Jack will be right with you.” She closes the blinds at the window looking into the hallway and shuts the door as she leaves.
I settle into one of the soft leather chairs parked next to the very long mahogany table. My stomach still rolls a bit, but at least the urge to vomit has passed. I inhale and exhale a few times, trying to steady my nerves.
Taking my little note card from my purse, I double check the points I want to make during the interview.
I pull a pen from the side pocket of my bag so I can jot down a couple of extra notations.
I turn.
Jack closes the door and takes four long strides. “Ronnie.”
I scoot the chair back so I can stand, but he kneels in front of me.
He takes my hands. “You look great.”
His touch is a soothing balm to my nerves.
“Thanks. You too.”
He kisses the backs of my hands. “How’ve you been? It seems like forever since I saw you last.”
I swallow the words I’d like to toss at him, still vacillating between missing him and being royally ticked off about the way he’s behaved. “It’s only been a few days.”
“A single day is too long.” He grins.
I have to do something before he melts me with that smile. I gently twist my hands out of his grasp. “So, what are we going over?”
He moves to a chair. “Not much. I only want to see which positive traits you plan to highlight. Which ones do you feel are most important for a potential man of your dreams?”
My fingers flutter at my pendant. I sit on my hands so I won’t look so freaking nervous. “I don’t know about most important. I figured I’d go for some of the lesser thought about qualities. Like how a man handles stressors, such as the loss of a job or the death of a family member. These things happen to almost everyone at some point, and they can really affect a relationship.”
“Okay, that’s good. What else?”
“The importance of a potential mate being willing to compromise on large issues, such as where the couple will live. If partners don’t agree on big ticket items, it can be detrimental.”
“All right. Perfect.”
He leans toward me, his elbows on his knees, eyes intense. “So, how’ve you been? Did you get over that bug you had the other day? Or are you still feeling puny?”
I pull at the neckline of my dress as my throat thickens. “Well, it’s lingering a bit. But I’m fine right now. Thanks for asking.”
He traces my jaw with the pad of his finger. “I’m sorry you’ve been sick. I wish I could make it better.”
My chest tightens. I bite the corner of my lip. “I’ll be okay.”
His eyes search mine. “Do you have anything you need to talk about? Anything at all?”
I shake my head and lean away from his hand. This is not the time for telling secrets, Jack. You have no idea. “No. I’m good. Is there anything else we should discuss for the show?”
He checks his watch. “No, I don’t think so. I need to go. I’ll see you in a little while.”
“I thought you were going to tell me which traits you want to chat about.”
He gives a half-shrug as he stands. “Oh, just the basics. Nothing too controversial.”
I get to my feet as well.
He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Keep your eyes open backstage. I don’t want you to trip and get hurt. You have to take extra care in your condition.”
A hot knot of dread sinks deep into my gut as the room takes a spin around my head. I steady myself with a hand on the back of the chair at my side. “Say again? My condition?”
Jack glances at my belly, but only for a fraction of a second.
“Look, I have to get to make-up. We can talk after the show.” He pulls me into his arms, giving me a gentle squeeze as he presses a soft kiss to my temple. “I want to talk later. I think we need to talk.”
I can’t breathe. When he lets go, I grip the chair again. He leaves the room, and I lean over, getting some oxygen to my brain.
He knows. But how? What gave me away? Oh, God. What’s he going to do? What will he think? What will he say?