Page 43 of Bound Hearts

“Yes, I was hoping to find Elodie to check on updating her file.”

“She’s probably in a meeting.”

Olivia glares at me. “Or with our COO. Really love our leadership team making me use that relationship-disclosure clause.”

My innate need to keep a safety vest around Sutton runs deep. “Why are you saying this to me?” I’m slightly worried.

She shrugs and looks at her cell phone. “What? It’s true. If you ever come to me with the same request, then I’m sure as hell going to ask about what you guys drink on your weekends in Everhope at Julian’s house.”

“That’s oddly specific, Olivia.” I’m a bit irritated.

“I’m also from there, so I have eyes and ears on the ground as my sources,” she mentions casually, yet she probably puts them to use.

The doors open, and I’m greeted by chance with the woman who will be my wife. There is the guy from compliance, a college-aged intern, along with Sutton, whose eyes find mine, and that tiny smile forms, only to vanish when her gaze sidles to Olivia. She swallows her nerves as Olivia and I step inside.

“Hello.” Olivia’s cheery tone is a 180-degree change from her venomous mood before she entered.

Everyone replies politely, and we all look forward as the elevator doors close, only for them to be stopped when Easton puts his hand in to prevent the doors from moving.

“Room for one more?” he says and enters then jabs a button.

“I’m not sure anybody answered your question, Easton,” Olivia remarks pointedly.

“Good day to you too,” he responds.

The car goes quiet as it begins to move down.

The quiet is stiff. Awkward. And it doesn’t run past me that Sutton and I are stuck in an elevator with HR.

“It’s Monday. Office catering always prepares the best salads on Monday,” Olivia says to break the silence.

Who the fuck cares what’s on the menu?

As I stand, my hanging hand is near Sutton’s. My pinky twitches against hers, and she doesn’t pull away. Nobody would notice, but we do.

I’m trying not to let a tiny smile creep up.

Because our situation is possibly brewing a hurricane that will land in the office.

And those are never good.

12

SUTTON

“Relax,” Foster tells me as he sits in the corner of the exam room. His blazer is hanging on the coat rack next to mine, and he is still in his buttoned shirt and vest since he came from the office. I do love it when he’s in a solid three-piece. The man has his legs and arms crossed as though this is a casual day in a dressing room at the mall.

Except, I’m freezing, my gown crinkling sharply with every anxious shift. My whole body is tight with anticipation. We’re about to see the living proof of what we’ve done, and nerves tangle in my chest.

Giving him a glare, I feel the need to remind him. “You’re not the one up here, so cool it.”

“Sutton.” His voice is soothing yet firm as he rolls up his sleeves to reveal his forearms, then adjusts in his seat by resting his elbows on his knees. “Look at me.” My eyes slowly zip to meet his, and a comforting, tiny smile ghosts his lips. “It will be okay.”

I nod, trying to show him I’m listening, that I trust him. But doubt lingers. “But what if I’ve been wrong about all of this?”

He is quick to interrupt. “It will be okay,” he repeats.

A soft knock sounds, but before I can answer, the female doctor opens the door and enters with a smile.