Chapter 1
Part 2: "I expected you to read it."
"I did."
"All thirty-seven pages?"
"I trust you hired people expensive enough to make sure they're equally unpleasant."
"Nora."
My fingers tightened around the pen.
"Show me where."
His gaze moved over my face.
I knew what he saw.
No makeup.
Hair twisted into a loose knot.
A sweater two sizes too large.
Dark circles beneath my eyes.
He frowned.
"Are you sick?"
"No."
"You look sick."
"Thank you."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then don't say things like a man who has never spoken to another human being."
A faint flash of anger entered his eyes.
Good.
Anger was safer than concern.
He tapped the last page.
"Bottom line."
I lowered the pen.
One signature.
That was all.
I could leave New York before I started showing.
My college roommate, Claire, had already offered me her guesthouse outside Burlington, Vermont.
I could sell the last of my mother's jewelry.
I could work remotely.
I could raise my baby somewhere far away from Hale Meridian, family offices, succession committees, and people who described children as assets.
The pen touched paper.
A cramp tore through my abdomen.
I froze.
It wasn't severe.
Not exactly.
But then the room tilted.
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Nora?"
"I'm fine."
Grant took one step toward me.
"You're white as a sheet."
"I said I'm—"
A rush of heat climbed my throat.
The library disappeared sideways.
I remember the pen falling.
I remember Grant saying my name.
Not coldly.
Not impatiently.
Terrified.
Then nothing.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the library rug with my husband's hand behind my head.
"Nora. Look at me."
His face hovered above mine.
I'd never seen Grant afraid before.
It made him look younger.
Almost human.
"Move," I whispered.
"What?"
"Move," I whispered again, the strength in my voice barely registering above the drumming rain outside. "I need... to get up."
"You are not getting up," Grant ordered, his voice raw, stripped of every trace of corporate polish. His fingers were tangled gently in the hair at the nape of my neck, cradling my skull against the hardwood floor. His other hand pressed against my cheek, trembling almost imperceptibly. "Your skin is ice. Nora, what's happening to you?"
"Nothing," I lied, squeezing my eyes shut as another wave of vertigo rocked through me. "Low blood sugar. I skipped lunch."
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