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I remove my hand from my stomach. Nauseated or not, I need to escape him. “Don’t you have to work?”
“I told you I was on my break, but I’m actually here on business.”
I continue walking through the lodge to the studio they set up for me, which I think used to be a small party room. I’m assuming it hasn’t been used since they built The Knotted Barn, where all the wedding receptions happen now.
“What kind of business would you have with me?”
“I heard a rumor that you’re moving in with the girls.”
How does he know? I only heard last night when Gillian came over to her old house to pack up the basement and said that she’d arranged for me to stay with the girls, so I don’t have to live with Emmett.
Gillian has done a lot of kind and unselfish things for me in my lifetime, and I appreciate her active approach, but if she’s worried I can’t control myself around Emmett, she needn’t bother. As if just because the man is tall and built and has that playboy persona I love, I can’t keep my pussy under lock and key. But really, she’s probably doing me a favor because though I won’t fuck him, I might go to jail if I have to live with Emmett.
“So I’m told.”
“Good. I didn’t want you at my house anyway.”
I stop in the doorway to the studio and look at him.
He laughs. “I’m kidding, but you’ll be much happier there. But please don’t sync to their schedule. There’s one week every month when all of them have their periods. I’ve marked it in my calendar, so I know to be on my best behavior.”
He’s got to be joking, but I don’t say anything. I just stare at him, unimpressed.
“I’m kidding. You really don’t get my humor, huh? Isn’t that a thing, though? All the women synching to the same schedule?”
“I guess,” I answer, not really wanting to talk about this.
A line of women are coming down the hall with yoga mats swung over their shoulders. They’re all talking loudly, and some hold coffees or drinks from the café in the lobby of the lodge. There are a lot more women than I thought would be here, which is job security, but still, my nerves pile up.
The nausea reappears. Maybe I should have eaten.
“Excuse me,” I say and run to the bathroom down the hall.
I push open the door and fall to my knees in front of a toilet without shutting the stall door. I’m unsure how I have anything inside me because I have barely had an appetite lately.
Mindlessly, I press down the lever on the toilet and tilt my head back with my eyes closed, taking deep breaths in hopes of calming my hormones.
“Are you okay?”
Shit. I turn around, and there’s Emmett leaning into the stall with his hands anchored to the stall frame.
“This is a woman’s bathroom.” I quickly get to my feet, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Not my first time.”
“Spare me your kiss-and-tell stories.” I wash my hands before taking a paper towel to dry them and run across my mouth.
“Why are you throwing up?” he asks, disregarding my jab.
“Must be something I ate.” I walk by him, but he lightly clasps my elbow in his large hand.
“You’re pregnant.” He says it with certainty.
I have no idea how he’d know or guess. The man knows nothing about me.
“What? Why would you think that?” I act as if he’s the kid at the board in class who can’t solve the problem, all while he solved it before it was even a question.
“You are,” he says, so self-assured.
