P.S. You're Intolerable (The Harder They Fall, #3)(6)

I shrugged. “He doesn’t look at me, so no, I don’t think he’s noticed.” I smoothed my palm over my stomach. “Besides, I think I’ve hidden it pretty well.”

I’d never appreciated the extra padding around my stomach and hips until it had hidden my pregnancy for several months. The bean had been growing just fine, nestled snugly behind my softness, but she was finally making herself known. Davida and Raymond were right.

Davida gave me a long look, her eyebrows rising over her glasses. “I noticed you were pregnant months ago, darling. That man has traveled all over the world with you. I find it hard to fathom he hasn’t noticed the change in your shape.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

I should have already informed Elliot since he’d have a temp working for him while I was on maternity leave, but he was almost impossible to talk to despite the amount of time we spent together. I’d traveled with him to Switzerland, Dubai, and China, as well as New York and Chicago. When we were home, we spent time visiting sites all over Denver. And during car and airplane rides, hotel stays, business dinners, and site visits, Elliot had remained a wall of marble, so smooth and impenetrable, everything rolled off him.

I was back at my desk, sipping water from the giant jug I drank from all day when Elliot strode toward me.

I tucked my jug by my feet and straightened my spine. “Good morning, Elliot.”

“Catherine.” He breezed by me without looking up from his phone.

And Davida and Raymond wondered how it was he hadn’t noticed my pregnancy. He barely noticed me as long as I got the job done.

I followed him into his office with my notebook and handwritten schedule, which I slid to the middle of his desk. As always, he shifted it a fraction of an inch.

Probably used the lasers in his cyborg brain to find the exact center.

I took a seat across from him, holding my notebook in front of my stomach.

It was unnecessary since Elliott’s focus was on his computer screen. “You smell like coffee.”

I jerked in surprise. “Oh. Do I? I can chew some gum if it—”

“No. I don’t have time to wait for you to find gum, and I’m not a fan of the sound of chewing. I’m not sure anyone is.” His eyes flicked to mine. “I thought you’d quit.”

“I did, but that didn’t last long. I normally drink a cup during lunch, but I was tired, so I had my cup this morning. If it bothers you, it won’t happen again.”

“I didn’t say it bothered me. I made an observation.” The corners of his eyes pinched. “Why are you tired? Is this job too difficult for you, Catherine?”

My middle finger was absolutely itching to rise, but I curled it into my palm. Tomorrow’s postscript was going to be a doozy, cuss words and all.

“No, Elliot. I didn’t sleep well last night, but I’m fine now that I’ve had coffee.”

I hadn’t slept for so, so many reasons I could have written a list longer than Elliot’s schedule.

Because Liam had decided eleven p.m. was the perfect time to knock out tile in the bathroom.

Because I was racked with worry about how I was going to afford all the expenses that came along with having a baby if we didn’t sell this house.

Because Liam was headed back to Australia for a few weeks, and I was seven months pregnant and had never felt so alone.

Because Liam had hired a contractor to work in his absence, and I really couldn’t afford that.

If I dwelled on any of it, I’d lose my mind. And now was not the time for freaking out.

Eager to change the subject, I nodded toward the schedule on his desk. “Do you have questions about the meetings or anything you’d like to shift?”

“Being I’m the one who arranged the meetings, I neither have questions nor a need to shift any of them.” He clicked his mouse twice.

“Of course.”

For the last five months, this was how our morning meetings had gone. Elliot often asked if I was truly up to the tasks he gave me and corrected me with long-winded responses when a “yes” or “no” would have sufficed.

This was why I had my postscripts, since I couldn’t flip him off or tell him his cyborg was showing.

With a heavy sigh, he picked up the schedule I’d carefully written for him. “Luca and Weston will be here for lunch. Email them the menu to Donato’s, please.”

“Sure. Will you give me your order now or—?”

“I just emailed you my order.” Click, click.

“Very efficient.” I said this snarkily. More than I’d intended or would normally allow myself. Seemed the dancing baby on my bladder had absorbed some of my patience.

His brows rose. “There’s no point in wasting time when there’s so little of it.”

“It’s known to be a finite resource.” Again, more snark. I always saved this for my postscripts.

Elliot leaned forward, his narrow-eyed gaze assessing me. “Is there something wrong, Catherine?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Everything’s under control. How about you? Is everything under control on your end?”

“Always,” he answered crisply.

That was true. Elliot controlled his world like a conductor of a symphony. Each part moved at his command, including me. I allowed it because I had to. This job was vital to me. So, even though every single cell of my body screamed to walk around his desk, ruffle up his perfect hair, wrinkle his pristine shirt, maybe scatter some of his papers, I didn’t. I stayed in my seat, a polite smile curving the corners of my mouth.