If I tell Casey what happened, he’ll lose his shit and things are already a mess. I’m not ready to pour gasoline onto an already lit fire.
I stay in the cubicle as long as I dare, sucking back breath after breath until I fill my lungs without panic.
Then I wipe my face, and I steel my spine. I’m Lexi Callahan. I’m not weak, even if I feel it.
I walk stiffly back to my desk, my body like lead.
Tasha gives me a curious, probing look as I sit, but I can’t meet her gaze. I’m embarrassed and ashamed, and I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything wrong.
I feel weak. That’s what he’s done. James has taken my strength, reduced me to a damsel in need of saving.
I don’t know how I get through the rest of the day. I’m numb, dazed. All I want to do is go home and crawl into bed. The only thing that keeps me going is the feel of my baby moving inside me, as if they can sense I need the reminder I’m not alone.
As soon as 5 p.m. hits, I’m out of my seat, my computer already shut down. I don’t pause to shrug into my jacket. I snag it off the back of the chair and then I’m bolting for the elevator. As the doors slide shut, I see his smug face, leaning against the top of a cubicle, a folder in his hands.
I fucking hate him.
I don’t avert my gaze until the doors slide shut and only then do I breathe. Two of my colleagues try to make small talk, and I give them clipped but polite responses. I don’t allow myself to relax even a fraction until I’m out of the front door and standing on the sidewalk in front of the building.
I want to break, to lose my composure, but Casey is waiting and if he knows what happened today he’ll burn the building to the ground just to avenge me.
But my heart slows when I see him, my body relaxes and relief floods every cell.
I’m safe because he’s here.
He’s leaning against his truck, his arms folded over his cut, his ankles crossed.
Despite my efforts, I can’t hide my upset and he notices it because he sees everything when it comes to me.
He pushes off the truck and is moving with purpose. We meet in the middle of the sidewalk and he takes my face in his hands instantly, his expression tight in that way it always is when he has something to fight.
“What’s wrong?”
I don’t want to do this here, where my colleagues are filtering out of the building, where there is a risk he might run into James and do something even his club can’t protect him from.
So I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m just really tired.” My fingers tighten around his cut, scared to let go in case I drift away. “Can you take me home, please?”
He scans every inch of my face, seeing through my lies. Of course he does. He knows me better than I know myself. “Lex… Talk to me.”
“Not here. In the car.”
He walks me over to the truck, his arm draped around me like a protective shield.
When we reach the truck, he opens my door and helps me in. I don’t realize I’m shaking until he steadies my hands. Fuck, I need to calm down or he’ll flip.
I reach for my seat belt, but he snags it first and gently secures it under the swell of my belly. Then his hand cups my knee, his eyes a fierce storm, as if he’s not sure whether he needs to unleash a hurricane or let the clouds part for the sun.
“What’s goin’ on?”
I shake my head. “Not here. Please, Casey, just take me home.”
My chin wobbles, my emotions hanging by a thread. He wants to argue—I see it in his face—but he doesn’t. He stands, closing my door and walks around the hood.
The air feels caught in my chest while I wait for him to slide into the driver’s seat.
He doesn’t say a word until we’re on the road, my office building in the rear-view mirror.
“Baby, tell me what’s going on.”
