It was time to check into grants. There was help out there. She only needed the time to find who would willingly donate money. Tonight, she'd research and put in the paperwork.
The landline phone rang. She picked up the receiver. "West-Central, this is Aubrey."
Silence.
"Hello?" she repeated.
"You left," Serge said.
She closed her eyes at the onslaught of relief upon hearing his voice, regardless of how deep and gruff he sounded. "I had to. I told you that."
"Fuck that." He exhaled. "I can't talk now. I'm walking into a meeting. Be atourhouse tonight."
"I can't," she whispered.
"You will." A ruffling sound and faint voices came over the phone. "Aubrey. Don't make me come over there."
"Serge..." She lowered her voice. "I planned to be with you tonight, but something came up. I will need another night, and then I'll meet you. We can talk over dinner."
"It's not fucking over," he said.
"No." She pressed a hand to her stomach. "Please, I know what it looks like—"
He disconnected the call. She held the receiver in her hand, staring at it. He wasn't even giving her enough time to explain that she had to work tonight, and with him around, she would never be able to concentrate.
He'd taken her choice away, just like he'd threatened. All because he was mad that she'd left last night while he was dealing with business.
She hung up the phone, knowing that she'd see him tonight. Her weakness for him terrified her. Tension gripped her neck. Guilt over denying him what he needed stole the joy from coming into work. She didn't intend to hurt Serge.
They had to find a better way to communicate. She could give a little if he gave her more confidence in their relationship. She only wanted to compromise.
Compromising wasn't in Serge's personality.
Chapter Twenty Three
Serge marched intothe house, anxious to see Aubrey. Inside his kitchen, he tilted his head and looked around. There were no lights on inside, no sound, no movement.
