Semua Bab Touched by the Billionaire, Owned by the Devil: Bab 41 - Bab 50

The office was buzzing when I arrived the next morning. Someone had left a bouquet of flowers on the reception desk with a card addressed to the entire staff, and everyone was gathered around trying to figure out who sent them. Michael was convinced it was a secret admirer. Derek thought it was a vendor trying to bribe them. Lena said it was probably just a marketing ploy and they should all go back to work. I left them arguing and walked to my desk. The bonus check was still fresh in my mind, and the bills were paid, and I had slept better last night than I had in weeks. Shane had stayed on the couch after our conversation about the receipt, and I hadn't heard him get up once. The morning had been quiet. Almost peaceful. I was halfway through my emails when Sarah appeared at my desk. She had a folder in her hand and a smile on her face that I'd learned to recognize. It was the smile she wore when she was about to say something that would sound polite but feel like a slap. "Goo

The office was quiet when I arrived the next morning, I had woken up before Shane again, slipped out while he was still snoring on the couch, and caught the first train. The nausea had been mild today, just a faint queasiness that faded after I ate a cracker on the platform. My waistband was definitely tighter now, and I'd had to leave the top button of my skirt undone under my blouse. Michael was at his desk, working on his paperclip creation. He held it up as I walked past. "It's a dragon again. I think I finally got the wings right." "It still looks like a duck." "I know." He set it down with a sigh. "I've accepted my fate. I'm a duck artist now." He squinted at me. "You're early. You're never early." "Couldn't sleep." "Same. My neighbor's cat was yowling all night. I think it's in love with the radiator." He wheeled closer and lowered his voice. "Hey, more gossip about the Blackstone thing. Apparently Elias Blackstone was at some charity event last night, asking about a

The pregnancy was getting harder to hide. I stood in the bathroom on Friday morning with my shirt lifted and my palm pressed against the curve of my stomach. It wasn't flat anymore. The swell was small but definite, a gentle rise that my loose blouses couldn't entirely disguise. I turned sideways and studied my reflection, tracing the outline with my fingers. A few more weeks. Maybe less. Someone was going to notice. I dressed carefully, choosing the black blouse because it was the most forgiving, and left the top button of my skirt undone. Shane was already awake when I came out, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and his phone. He looked up as I passed, and his eyes tracked me across the room. "You're getting fat," he said. The words landed like a slap. I kept my expression neutral. "I've been eating more. You told me to." "I told you to take care of yourself. I didn't tell you to let yourself go." He took a sip of coffee and returned to his phone. "You sho

Derek was waiting at my desk when I got back from lunch, a tray balanced in one hand and a notebook in the other. He had flour on his collar and a look of intense concentration that I'd learned to recognize. Something new was happening. "Okay," he said, setting the tray down with a flourish. "I've been working on this recipe for three weeks. It's a lemon blueberry muffin with a streusel topping. I need honest feedback. Brutal, if necessary." I took one. It was still warm, the streusel crumbly and golden. The lemon was bright without being sharp, and the blueberries had burst into little pockets of sweetness. "Nine." His face lit up. "Nine? A real nine? Not a pity nine?" "A real nine. This is your best one yet." He scribbled in his notebook with the fervor of a man possessed. "This is going in the permanent rotation. I'm calling it the Adeline. After you. Because you've been my most consistent rater and you never lie to me." "You're naming a muffin after me?" "It's the highest h

The monitor glared back with endless rows of data, the numbers blurring together while Gideon paced inside his glass office. His jaw was tight, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his usual sharp focus seemed entirely fractured. He would stop, stare at the wall, and then resume his restless walking, looking completely bothered by something no one else could see. A sudden draft swept through the cubicle, raising goosebumps along my arms and making the fine hairs on my neck stand up. Rubbing my hands up and down my sleeves, I tried to shake off the weird, heavy feeling settling in my stomach. It was probably just the building's ancient air conditioning acting up again. Lena rolled her chair over to the edge of the partition just as Michael walked by with a stack of files, the two of them already whispering in hushed, excited tones. "You need to hear this," Lena murmured, glancing toward Gideon's office to make sure he was too distracted to notice. "The entire floor is talkin