Then, to her shock, his eyes were on hers again, and she flinched. Had he noticed that she’d been staring? Worse yet, had he noticed that she’d beenadmiringhim?
Of course not. You didn’t cut the kind of deals she cut every day without cultivating a poker face. There was no way he could tell that from the moment of his arrival, she’d experienced a flutter of attraction, a whispered, animal response that had no right being here, voicing itself.
He cracked her a half smile. She didn’t return it. He turned his attention away again.
Hormones. Damn hormones. Her bloodwork had come back normal, and her doctor had told her she’d be fine as long as she took it easy. Took her prenatal vitamins and got some rest. Tried to avoid stress.
Everything she was experiencing was otherwisenormal.
Fine. The nausea? Normal. Dizziness? Lots of women got it. Sudden flashes of desire for a random handsome dude?
Hormones, hormones, hormones. Because it couldn’t be anything else.
She realized that Grady was asking her a question, only she had no idea what it was. Everyone was turned to her expectantly, Dustin and his milky-cheeked lawyer included. And before she could ask him to repeat it, the table began to rock. The walls, with their twenty-thousand-dollar abstract paintings, began to swim.
Earthquake?she wondered. But no, the rocking was coming from deep inside her.
Chantelle knew that if she didn’t get up this second and run to the bathroom, she’d endure the humiliation of throwing up on the very documents they were here to sign.
“Excuse me,” she managed to mutter, but didn’t dare say anything else, because in a situation like this, having your mouth open was far from ideal.
She got up, abandoned dignity, rushed from the room, finding the hallway unerringly, running now to the nearest bathroom. Not caring that it was the men’s room: it was closest.
The vomiting began the second she burst into a stall. It went on and on until her chest hurt and her throat burned. Nothing but bile and battery acid. Pain and embarrassment.
She exited the stall and began splashing her face at the sink.
“You okay?”
She looked up into the mirror to see Dustin standing there, filling the doorway. Looked down again, rinsing her mouth a second time, splashing more water on her hot face, hating this.
“How long has this been going on?” he asked. “The nausea?”
She shrugged. “Couple of days.”
“Been to a doctor?”
“Sure.”
“What did he say?”
She turned to give him a warning look. “You don’t have to, you know.”
He looked perplexed. “Don’t have to what?”
“Pretend you care. It’s fine. It’s not in your contract.”
He let that sink in for a long moment, before saying, “Your world must be a very sad place, if you think the only reason people act like decent human beings is if they’re contractually obligated to do so.”
She bristled at the insulting comment. Who the hell was he to come to conclusions about what her world was or wasn’t like? She decided to take control of the situation right away. “Dustin,” she said. “I want you to remember this, because I’m not going to repeat it again: your connection to the fetus I am carrying is purely incidental. You are in no way, shape or form expected or required to inquire after its or my well-being. I don’t want to hear any suggestions, recommendations, or commiserations regarding my condition—”
His brows lifted. “Suggestions?”
She waved her arms. “You know, ginger tea, sea bands for nausea, that kind of thing.”
For the merest second, he smiled in genuine amusement. “I promise you that I have never heard of ginger tea or ‘sea bands’, whatever those are, for nausea or any other pregnancy-related symptom. I will not be getting into anything with you about foot baths or back rubs or… whatever. All I did was check on you, because you seemed unwell.” The smile faded, and that serious, stressed look was back. “And also because, deny it all you want, the child you’re carrying is mine, and I feel I’m entitled to at least the right to be concerned for his or her welfare—if not for yours.”
Tell me he’s not getting territorial about my baby,she thought.Because if he is….If he is, a voice inside responded, would that be so hard? Pregnancy was hard.Maybe it would be nice to have someone in your corner….