Chapter 2

Sure enough, Damian didn’t come home that night either.

When I woke up, there were a few new messages on my phone.

How’s the baby today?

Lily’s ankle flared up again last night, so I stayed to look after her.

I said things I didn’t mean yesterday. Of course we’re keeping the baby.

I locked my screen without answering.

That morning, we were supposed to close a huge, make-or-break deal.

When my director and I got to the client’s office, the receptionist told us our competitors were already there.

Damian was sitting at the head of the table. Lily was beside him, practically draped over him.

When she saw me walk in, Lily raised an eyebrow, smiling like she’d won the lottery. “You’re late.”

Then she turned to Damian and, without the slightest shame, cooed at him right in front of us. “Damian, this is my best friend. She just got promoted. Sign the contract with her today, won’t you?”

My director seemed to realize what was going on, but she gritted her teeth and slid our contract across the table anyway. “Mr. Sinclair, we’ve been working on this account for a month—”

Damian didn’t even glance at me. He uncapped his pen and signed the contract Lily’s friend had handed him.

“This is a company decision. I hope you’ll understand.”

He pushed the papers back, his tone as indifferent as if he were throwing away a piece of trash.

My hand clenched around our contract so hard my nails nearly cut into my palm.

My director muttered a curse under her breath, gathered our things, and pulled me out of the conference room by the arm.

In the elevator, she sighed and patted my shoulder. “Ivy, this isn’t your fault. Don’t take it personally.”

I forced a smile and said nothing.

In the car on the way back, Damian texted me. Don’t be mad. Lily hardly ever asks me for anything. I couldn’t say no.

A second later, a bank alert came in: $100,000.00 has been deposited into your account.

I stared at the screen and felt sick.

When we were first married, I’d once hoped he’d give me a leg up at work.

He’d told me he kept business and personal life strictly separate. Even as the boss, he never interfered with his people’s deals.

Back then, I’d understood. I thought it meant he was a man with principles.

I never asked him for anything again.

Back at the office, I’d barely sat down when my director was called into the big boss’s office.

Less than two minutes later, my phone buzzed. I was wanted in there immediately.

The boss slammed a folder down on his desk, cursed at my director, and then turned to glare at me.

“I just got a call from Damian Sinclair’s VP. He says the contract went to someone else?”

He planted both hands on his desk.

“That was our biggest deal of the quarter! Ivy, you were on this for a month, and you lost the client at the last minute?”

My director tried to speak. “Sir, they didn’t play by the rules at all—”

“Shut up!” he snapped, cutting her off. He glared daggers at me. “I don’t care about rules! All I care about is results! The deal’s gone. So who’s going to eat that loss?”

I stood there, feeling a deep chill in my heart.

I took a deep breath. I didn’t cry. I didn’t argue.

I reached up, unclipped the ID badge from around my neck, and set it gently on his desk.

“I’m sorry. It’s my responsibility.”

The boss stared. So did my director.

“I quit.” I looked at them, perfectly calm.

“Ivy, don’t do anything rash—” My director stepped forward to stop me.

I managed a small smile. “I’m not being rash. I’m just tired. No hard feelings, everyone. Good luck.”

I turned and walked out, ignoring the shouting behind me.

That afternoon, I took a cab to the private clinic in Manhattan.