Page 136 of Filthy Promises
“Of course it did.” Janine sighs. “Everyone knows his assistant was sleeping with him, right?”
My blood turns to ice.
“St. Clair? Oh, absolutely. Not that I blame her—have you seen him? I’d climb that like a tree.”
They both laugh.
“Wonder what she’ll do now. Can’t be easy watching your boss marry someone else after he’s had you bent over his desk.”
“She’ll do what all the others do: take the severance package and disappear.”
The water runs. More gossip about who’s sleeping with whom. Then the door opens and closes, leaving me in silence.
It’s swift and brutal. Like a guillotine blade.
I finally flush, my hands shaking so badly I can barely work the latch on the stall door. When I reach the sink, I have to brace myself against the counter so I don’t collapse to the floor.
“I told you so,” I whisper to my reflection.
I knew this was coming. I knew it, and still, hearing it spoken out loud feels like someone reached into my chest and yanked out my heart.
Next week.He’s announcing his engagement next week.
To Anastasia, I’m guessing. The perfect Russian heiress with the blue blood and the connections and everything I’ll never be.
And what was I? The convenient fuck. The stupid, naïve assistant who spread her legs and believed there might be something more.
Somethingreal.
I grip the edge of the sink as another wave of nausea hits me—not morning sickness this time, but pure, undiluted grief.
What a goddamn fool I’ve been.
I place my hand over my still-flat stomach. There’s a baby in there. A baby who will never know its father beyond child support checks and occasional obligatory visits.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not sure if I’m apologizing to myself or to the tiny life inside me.
I splash cold water on my face and straighten my shoulders. I won’t fall apart. Not here. Not where anyone can see.
Especially not him.
At my desk, I pull out my laptop and open a blank document. My resignation letter. The cursor blinks at me, mocking in its steadiness.
Dear Mr. Akopov…
I stare at those three words, unable to continue.
How do you formally resign from the man who’s ruined you? The man who saved your mother’s life? The man whose child you’re carrying?
I close the document.
Not yet. I can’t quit yet. First, I need a plan. A real plan that includes what to do about this baby and how to support myself and my mother without Vince’s money.
Mom’s treatment is working, but it’s far from over. If I leave now, will the “anonymous donor” continue paying? Or will Vince pull his support out of spite?
I can’t take that chance.
The intercom on my desk buzzes. “Ms. St. Clair, my office. Now.”
