“What?” he asks.
I shake my head and flash the screen.
His nostrils flare as he reads. “She’s protecting her shit in case of a lawsuit. That was not the tone of our conversation whatsoever, but she put in writing that I threatened her to make her point.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” I say. “And maybe her tone was in reaction to you.”
“I logged in the day you went to the beach house to see if you were at your desk and she was shit-talking about you to Cammy. She’s got it in for you. She’s a jealous bitch.”
I growl and get out of the bed.
“Where are you goin’?” he asks.
“I need to pee if you must know,” I snap, before heading to the bathroom.
My heart skips a beat when I wipe because the toilet tissue slides and I’m nervous to look. But sweet relief, no blood, just arousal from being pinned and kissed. Which is mortifying.
When I’m done washing my hands and brushing my teeth again, I decide to strip down and get into the shower.
Halfway through lathering my hair, motion catches my eye and I turn. He’s stepping in.
“Oh no, nuh uh,” I deny and point at him and try to shield my nudity.
“What? It’s big enough for two.” And then he looks down at my torso. “Three.” He smiles.
He wasn’t just looking at my nudity, he was looking at my stomach. I don’t look pregnant yet, obviously, but the look on his face makes me think he’s imagining me big and round. And he has a smile on his face that would give me butterflies if I wasn’t so damn angry.
I quickly work the rest of the shampoo out of my hair and go to move past him, but he’s blocking the exit so catches me by the hips. “Don’t go.” He moves closer, head descending with a look in his eyes that I know very well. It’s the look that he gets whenever he climbs in the shower with me, like he’s counting the water droplets on my naked skin and wants to touch his tongue to every single one of them.
Desire sweeps through me, but I deny the sensation and give a curt shake of my head. “I don’t think so.”
He releases me with a pout. I try to ignore it, wrapping up in a towel quickly, heading out of the bathroom with my hair dripping wet.
Once I’m in the kitchen, phone in hand, I towel dry my head as I call Shara.
She answers.
“Shara, Hi. It’s Violet. I have no desire to quit my job.”
“Really,” she says acidly, “Sounds like it’s a hazard to your health according to him.”
“I had a scare last night, as I told you, and he’s being over-protective. I’ve got morning sickness hitting me and after last night’s scare, a day or two resting wouldn’t be a bad idea, just to make sure there’s no more spotting. But I’d love it if you could courier my laptop over and-”
“Maybe it’s best we put you on unpaid leave of absence for now. Assess once you’re feeling better. Your husband’s threats weren’t taken lightly.”
“Wait. I’ll come in tomorrow. I’ll be there at my desk and I’ll just see how I am. If it’s too much, can we talk about it then?”
She sighs heavily. “Honestly, I’m meeting with HR this afternoon to talk about your … situation. Legally, they might agree with me – that it’s too risky for the company to keep you on right now. You working for us could be a liability that the company deems too risky given your situation. Can I ask how far along you are?”
“I’m … five or six weeks.”
“Right,” she says snidely. “So eight months of this and then maternity leave. But already you can’t balance work and your pregnancy, so honestly, Violet, I don’t see good things at this juncture. The company needs someone with time and energy to help us grow. I got word we’re about to merge and it’s going to mean real upheaval and pressure for the next six months or longer.”
“Whoa. Wait. I didn’t say I couldn’t handle my job or balance my pregnancy with it. I wanted to work from home for a day or two because I had a scare and the doctor told me to take it easy. I can do my job from here if you send the laptop over. If you don’t want me to do that, I’ll come to work, but be aware I might spend a chunk of the day in the bathroom throwing up.”
She sighs like I’m exasperating her. “Come in tomorrow and we’ll talk. By then I’ll have had a conversation with the higher-ups, and we’ll see where things are at.”
“I’ll be there at 8:30,” I say.
“Fine.” She ends the call without a goodbye.
And Killian was right. She’s being a super-bitch. For some reason, her tone in the text message was completely different. Is that her covering her ass?