Chapter 15

Ivy's POV

The sleek black SUV glided to a stop in front of Kane Enterprises, and I shifted in my seat, one hand instinctively pressing against my stomach.

Zayn had insisted that I followed him to his office today so I wouldn't be bored at home.

“You good?” Zayn asked again, his voice low as the engine idled. His hand hovered near mine on the console, not touching, but close enough that the warmth seeped through the space between us. Those dark eyes of his, softened in a way that still caught me off guard.

I nodded, managing a small smile. “I’m fine, Zayn. The vitamins are in my bag. Stop worrying.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he killed the engine and came around to open my door before I could even reach for it. His palm settled lightly on the small of my back as we headed inside, guiding me through the revolving doors like I might vanish if he let go. The lobby was all marble and echoes, employees straightening at the sight of him. I felt their curious glances like pinpricks on my skin.

The private elevator ride up was quiet, just the soft whir of machinery and the weight of his gaze on my reflection in the mirrored walls. “If you need to sit, tell me,” he murmured.

“Okay…” I replied softly, but his concern wrapped around me like a blanket I didn’t know I needed.

The elevator opened into the executive suite, sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows.

At the center reception desk sat a woman who looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. Isabel. Zayn’s secretary. Her auburn hair was pinned perfectly, her tailored skirt and blouse hugging every curve. She rose as we approached, tablet in hand, a bright smile fixed on her face.

The moment her eyes landed on me, everything shifted. Her gaze swept over me and she narrowed her eyes. She recovered fast, but I caught it: the tightening of her lips, the way her knuckles whitened around the tablet.

“Mr. Kane,” she purred, stepping closer to him, her shoulder brushing his arm just a little. “I have the quarterly reports prepped, and the Tokyo investors are on standby. I cleared your afternoon as requested, but these urgent contracts need your signature. Also, the merger notes…”

Her words faltered as her eyes flicked back to me, that venomous look returning. I felt nervous under it, like she was dissecting every inch of me, wondering what I had done wrong.

Zayn barely glanced her way, already checking his phone as he guided me toward his office doors. “Handle the preliminaries, Isabel. This is Ivy. She’ll be with me.”

“Ivy,” she repeated, her voice cool as she extended a hand. Her grip was too firm, almost testing. “Pleasure. I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you... assisting on a project?”

I pulled back, keeping my face neutral. “Just here with Zayn.”

He didn’t notice a thing, or if he did, he didn’t care. His hand stayed at my back, steering me inside. “Water? Tea? The doctor said hydration matters. Decaf only.”

Inside his corner office, the city skyline stretched out like a painting. I sank onto the plush leather couch by the window, the cushions swallowing me in comfort. Zayn shrugged off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves, those toned forearms flexing as he settled at his massive desk but angled his chair toward me.

“Sit back. Relax,” he said. “We won’t stay long. Sign a few things, then home. Or wherever you prefer.”

I watched him, this man who’d gone from stranger to... whatever we were now.

A knock sounded. Isabel entered with a silver tray: electrolyte water, fresh berries, crackers. She set it down near me with care, her heavy floral perfume filling the space. Her eyes lingered on me, that jealous glare sharpening as she leaned over Zayn’s desk, blouse dipping noticeably.

“Anything else, sir?” she asked, voice intimate. “I rescheduled your three o’clock. The charity gala—I RSVP’d you. You’ll need a plus-one. I could…”

Zayn waved dismissively, eyes on his documents. “Good. Send projections to my email. Cancel the gala if it clashes with Ivy's next appointment.”

Isabel’s smile cracked. “The gala’s key for networking. The board expects you. Surely your... guest can handle one night?” Her gaze slid to me, saccharine sweet. “You look tired, dear. First trimester fatigue is brutal, I read all about it.”

I kept my voice even. “I’m managing, thanks.”

Zayn looked up then, frowning as if tuning in for the first time. “Isabel, enough. Focus on your role.” He turned to me fully, concerns flooding back. “Comfortable? Couch too firm? I can grab pillows.”

“I’m perfect,” I said, reaching for the water to steady myself. His attentiveness warmed something deep in my chest, even as Isabel’s frustration radiated like heat off pavement. She hovered, tapping her tablet, clearly pained by every check-in he gave me.

The meeting stretched. Zayn dove into business, explaining the European supplier deal dragging on. “Supply chain risks here, if we lock it now, expansion’s secured. What do you think?” He asked my opinion like it mattered, pulling me into his world despite my limited experience.

I offered what I could, drawing from old admin jobs. His questions came with constant pauses: “Thirsty?” “Back okay from the drive?” At one point, he had another assistant fetch a heating pad, claiming it was necessary and he’d researched that morning. Isabel watched through the glass partition whenever she could, her face twisting each time he brushed a hair from my face or asked if I needed anything.

She knocked again later, more documents in hand, leaning close to Zayn. “This clause benefits us, see?” Her body language screamed for his notice. “I highlighted it for you.”

Zayn nodded absently. “Solid. File it.” His eyes drifted to me nibbling crackers, scrolling pregnancy tips on my phone. “Eat more berries, antioxidants.”

Isabel’s knuckles whitened. As she gathered papers, and left afterward.

Alone, Zayn moved to the couch, arm draping along the back, fingers lightly tracing my shoulder.

“She doesn’t like me,” I murmured.

“She won't dare.” His voice was firm.