Page 106 of Dirty Boss

Then there was a noise that was more familiar. I brushed the last few bits of soil off the workbench, frowning. It was a slight squeak, barely audible over the other sounds of life and city, and it took me a few seconds to place it.

My mail slot. Someone had just dropped something off at my house.

Idle curiosity made me glance over the low parapet wall of my rooftop terrace, peeking down at the steps that ran up to my front door. No one was there, but my gaze snapped to the lone figure of a woman darting down the street away from my house.

A blond woman, above average height, bundled in a long, knitted cardigan that brushed against her calves as she hurried away. Her hair was piled in a high bun that I’d recognize anywhere.

“Alba!” I called out, hands curling against the brick of the low wall—but a car honked at the same time, and she didn’t slow, didn’t stop. “Alba!” I called out again.

Her steps faltered, her head turning slightly. It was her. She was here, at my house.

After all these months, Alba had come back.

My heart thundered, and before I knew what I was doing, I was shooting down the trapdoor and down the rickety ladder that led to my attic space. Then I flew down the attic stairs, landing hard on the wood floor outside Charlotte’s room, and I ran to the main townhouse stairway. Two flights of stairs spat me out at the front door, where an envelope lay waiting for me in the foyer. It was a normal letter-sized envelope, and Alba had written my name in block letters on the front.

I snatched it up and crashed into the door, swearing as I tugged on it and found it locked. I threw the lock and sprinted down the steps, vaulting over a dog on a leash while its owner yelled at me. I’d left my front door wide open, and I didn’t care.

“Alba!”

She turned a corner, her cardigan fluttering around her legs. I redoubled my speed, legs and arms pumping, breaths gusting out of me. Finally, I turned the same corner and saw that I’d gained on her.

This time, when I yelled her name, she turned around. Her eyes widened, shock and panic flashing across her face, and she made to spin around again.

“Alba, wait!” I crashed to a stop in front of her and watched as she took a deep breath and turned to face me fully. My lungs burned, my legs trembling from the all-out sprint.

Her eyes snapped from my face to my right hand, where I held the crumpled envelope she’d slid through my mail slot.

I held it up. “What’s this?”

She gulped. “A letter. I—I have to go.”

“Wait,” I said, and took another deep breath. “Wait. What does it say? Why a letter?” It hit me then, that she was right in front of me, wide-eyed and blond-haired and beautiful. My throat clogged up, and all the feelings I’d tried to ignore for months came rushing back at me. All these months, I’d tried to forget her. I’d done my best to clean up my life, but she’d left a big, gaping hole in the middle of it.

And now she was here. Out of nowhere, she appeared at my doorstep. I couldn’t let her go.

“Just read it,” she replied. “Read it and get back to me.”

“Don’t go,” I pleaded. “Please, Alba. Just give me a second.”

She closed her eyes, shoulders dropping, and nodded.

I tore the envelope so aggressively it ripped nearly in half. Pulling out the folded piece of paper, I glanced at Alba, who was staring across the road at the leaves on a tree—the first tree on the street with its leaves beginning to change.

My gaze snapped back to the letter. She wrote:

Vaughn,

My cowardice hasn’t allowed me to face you in person, and even the thought of hearing your voice over the phone or seeing your name pop up on my phone screen fills me with fear, so I find myself planning to drop this at your house before I scurry and hide.

Maybe it’s for the best, because it’ll allow you to process the news on your own.

I’m pregnant?—

My gaze stumbled over the word, and then I looked up at Alba, who was still staring at the tree, then down at her midsection. She wore a loose, flowing dress that hid her shape—until a gust of wind blew against her. The outline of her stomach bulged slightly, a curve that confirmed what her letter proclaimed.

She braced herself, squaring her shoulders the way she had before entering the Noble Gala Foundation, and shifted her gaze to meet mine. Her expression was steady, but I saw the doubt and fear hidden behind her eyes. Her chin lifted slightly, and she said, “We can get a DNA test once the baby is born.”

“What?”