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I sigh loudly, feeling embarrassed by the way they’re talking about me, like I’m not even here. Yet I say nothing. I don’t even point out that I’ve already mentioned I can’t just use any shower products.
“Yes, there are absolutely certain ingredients you should be cautious about such as Retinoids, Retinol, Salicylic Acid, and… actually, you know what? I’ll print out a list for you. I’ll also give you some links to websites that would be good for Abigail to read.”
“And food? Drinks?” Mickey asks. I don’t know how he manages to make it sound like he’s in physical pain from uttering three words, but he does.
Dr. Patel taps away at her keyboard, and it doesn’t take long before the hum from the printer sounds. “The obvious ones are alcohol, caffeine, raw or undercooked meat and fish, raw eggs…”
My stomach churns at the mention of raw fish and eggs, and before I know what I’m doing, I shoot out of my chair, get down on my knees and reach for the trash can. Their worried voices and questions become nothing more than a faint drone as I empty my stomach into the metal cradled in my hands.
When I’m finally done retching, I wipe my mouth and eyes. I look up as I sense someone hovering above me, and since I’m not exactly amongst friends, it sends chills up my spine. Mickey crouches next to me, holding a paper cup with cold water that I gratefully accept.
“T-thank you.”
The small act of mercy, no, decency, isn’t followed up with comforting words or even a ‘there, there’ pat. He just shrugs and gets up, moving toward the door.
“Thank you for everything, doc.” There’s something in his voice I can’t place, something I’d think was concern if it had come from Jamie or Luce. Coming from Mickey, that can’t be it.
I get up from the floor and sluggishly move toward him, eager to get out of here now that the putrid smell from throwing up clings to my nostrils.
Just as he opens the door, Dr. Patel speaks again. “I need to speak to the two of you alone,” she says, her eyes flicking between Mickey and Soren. “You can wait outside.”
Feeling drained, I don’t fight it. I leave her office alone, closing the door behind me.
As I walk around the corner, I notice a handsome, but scary looking man. He looks to be around six-foot-five or maybe even six, with jet black hair, and eyes so dark I can see my bewildered expression reflected in his orbs. He oozes power and money. I mean, just his suit looks like one of those custom fitted ones that cost more than I spend on rent for an entire year.
“Hello Abigail,” he says, nodding his head slightly at me. A smirk plays on his lips, making him look arrogant.
“Do I know you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as I come to a stop. I don’t recall ever seeing him before, and something tells me I wouldn’t be able to forget if I had.
He shakes his head. “No.”
Okayyy… well, that explains absolutely nothing. Despite wanting to ask how he knows my name, I don’t. I already know I won’t get an answer, at least not a straight or honest one.
Pointing at my flat stomach, he says, “I hear congratulations are in order.”
My breath hitches. “And where did you hear that?” I snark, not liking the way he studies me like I’m the frog about to be dissected in a biology class. It never ends well for the poor amphibian.
Rather than answering my question, he moves toward me. Unable to help myself, I mirror each of his steps by taking one backward. “Relax,” he croons in his melodious voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Call me crazy, but hearing that from a stranger isn’t exactly reassuring. Because then that conjures up thoughts about why I would even be thinking that he would. “If you say so,” I mumble.
He’s so close now I can smell him, feel him in the air we’re both sharing. It’s unnerving as hell. It strikes me then that despite Soren’s and Mickey’s massive builds, I’ve never been scared of them. Not really. But this guy, you’d have to be both deaf and blind not to realize he’s a predator.
Before I can react, he thrusts his arm up, placing his hand on my stomach. I let out a yelp, trying to move back, but I realize I’ve plastered myself against the wall like a damn imbecile. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss, outraged and… yeah, scared. My breathing is ragged, my senses on high alert as sweat runs down my spine.
He chuckles. “I just wanted to see if I could feel it. Call it unprofessional curiosity.”
“You’re a doctor?” I ask, already knowing he isn’t.
Shaking his head, he lets his hand fall away. Then he reaches for something inside his suit jacket, and I gape when he gives it to me. Papers. Not just any papers, my signed contract with Cupid’s Court.
“W-why do you have this?” I ask, my voice shaking.
When I had my interview with Cupid’s, it was with a woman and I just assumed she was the owner. Now, well, now I can see why one should never assume a damn thing because I’m pretty sure he is, at least that’s the only thing that makes sense to me at this moment.
“Does it matter?” he challenges, and I force a shrug. “What matters is that the things I asked Dr. Patel to pass on regarding the contract weren’t wrong. If Mr. Davis and Mr. Taylor won’t take responsibility for you until you give birth, you’ll need to come with me today.”
“Like hell!” I shout, trying to sidestep him to get away.
