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His body tenses, his eyes relieving me of all insecurities and doubts and fears. He’s looking right through the crystal glass and seeing me in my most vulnerable form.
“You will.Wewill,” he corrects himself, shooting me a sincere look. “I was thinking you could do the internship program a few days a week—part-time.”
I stare at him in disbelief, which is unwarranted, considering Damon often looks out for my career.
“Actually, yeah. I’d love that.”
“Okay.” He gives a small nod, biting his lip.
A lip I want to bite. I feel better today—physically—free of nausea, which paves the way to sexual desires again.
“I sent you the link to apply. I’ll see you later. I have a meeting.”
“Wait, I have a question.”
He stops in his tracks.
“For Abby’s project, if she’s scared it won’t be approved, couldn’t they build the building higher versus wider?”
“We could, but you should never tell a client no.”
He’s out the door, and I head back to the copy room, missing him the second he walks out.
My heart finds me utterly stupid for putting the brakes on us, but my mind is convinced it’ll be worth it.
I finish scanning for the presentation, then apply for the part-time internship. Last time I checked, I’d only seen full-time applications. I figure Damon went and created one for me. As if that’ll contain the rumor mill.
Not that I care.
A few weeks later, on Friday, I wake up on the wrong side of the bed—both literally and figuratively.
I barely sleep without Damon. And I miss him terribly.
The only good thing about today is the sunshine that smothers Chicago as we near the end of April.
A strange sadness creeps upon me all day, and I’m at my wit’s end by seven o’clock. I just finished another report, and I’m exhausted. The heels don’t help, though at least I’m comfortable enough in jeans and a black blazer.
I ask Damon if he needs anything before I go home. He doesn’t, so I wish him good night.
“Gemma.”
I’m about to leave his office when he smacks the door closed with his palm atop my hand, his other hand gripping my waist underneath my white shirt.
“What do you want?”
He turns me around, and I see guilt and wonder and admiration when I stare into his eyes. “It’s been three weeks.”
“So? What do you want from me? For me to give you another chance? And then what? What happens when the baby’s born? Will you bail on us then?”
I’m officially pregnant. I don’t know why, but having my doctor confirm it to me through blood work makes everything surreal.
He shakes his head. “I wouldnever. I asked for a minute to breathe, not to end us.”
“You ended us all on your own.” I push against his chest. “Every time you leave, you betray me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop.Stopbeing sorry. All I need you to do is talk to me, and you can’t even do that.”
