When I got back, I called Emilia’s desk directly. She answered on the first ring. And I knew she knew it was me, because my name was on her caller ID. “I need to see you in my office.”
A long pause on the other end. “Um. Okay, can—”
“Now,” I snarled and slammed the phone down, trying to contain the unexpected rage and frustration that had risen up just on hearing her voice. I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax or this would become ugly.
I walked over to the door and pulled it ajar so she wouldn’t have to knock, double-checking that Maggie was still gone.
When she came in, she must have known something was up because she didn’t close the door and instead stood right next to it. I was sitting in my chair gazing out the window at the atrium garden, my chin in my hand, trying to figure out what the hell to say to her.
Without looking at her I said, “Close the door, please.”
She hesitated, then slowly shut the door behind her. I gestured to the chair opposite me without saying anything. She crept across the room and sank into the chair, sitting on its very edge. It was casual Friday so she was wearing a pair of jeans. They looked too big for her and I realized these were the old pair she always used to wear—the ones that once had fit her like a glove, that showcased her long legs and her gorgeous, round ass. They were baggy on her now.
She watched me with wide eyes. “Did I do something to piss you off?”
My eyes went to hers, my chin still in my hand. “What makes you think that?”
She blinked at me. “Um. Because you are acting like you’re pissed off.”
“Maybe I’m getting tired of the bullshit between us.”
She took a deep breath, blew it out and seemed to go a shade paler, if that was possible. She laced her fingers in her lap and bounced one of her knees up and down.
“I know you’ve been wanting to talk. I know you’ve got things to say. I’ve got things to say too. I just…I can’t. Not right now.”
“You’re sick,” I blurted.
Her knee stilled. Her hands smoothed across her lap. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Um. Yeah,” she finally said quietly.
“Are you pregnant?”
She let out a half laugh. “No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Of course. It’s—”
“You’re still on birth control, right?” And this is where I’d know if she was lying. Because I already knew the answer to this.
She looked away from me and out the window. “I’m not taking the birth control pill. But I’m on other—”
“You never mentioned that in Vegas, that you’d stopped taking the pill.”
“I was pretty shitfaced. There’s a lot of things I didn’t mention, but—”
“So you’re not certain, then.”
She looked back at me. “What?”
“You’re not certain that you’re not pregnant.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m not pregnant—I’m not even fertile.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
She shifted in her chair and grabbed a lock of her freakish white hair, twirling it around her forefinger. “It means I can’t get pregnant, okay? Stop worrying about it.”
“There’s only one way I’m going to stop worrying about it.”
She looked at me with the question in her eyes.
I opened my desk drawer, reached inside and slapped the pregnancy test on the desk between us.
She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “I’m not taking a pregnancy test.”
“Why not?”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Because I. Am. Not. Pregnant.”
“Then it won’t cost you anything to go in the bathroom and use it—for the sake of my peace of mind.”
“Adam, you need to drop it—”
“I’m not going to drop it. I have a right to know and it takes you two minutes to use that.”
“You’re starting to really piss me off now.”
“You’re going to keep your secrets. You’re going to refuse to talk to me—or anybody—about why your life appears to be circling the drain in front of all of our eyes, fine. But I have a right to know this, goddamn it. Now go and piss on this fucking thing and if it’s negative you can storm out of here and we’ll never have to look at each other ever again.”
She scowled, then snatched up the box from the desk. Standing, she walked around me to get into my private bathroom, and slammed the door after her.