His Secretary's Little Secret. Catherine Mann
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to find out the reason.
“Easton?” Xander pushed.
“She’s an attractive woman.” Not a lie.
“A cool woman, classic. And she’s been here awhile. She’s also not your type. So what changed?”
She absolutely wasn’t the sort to go out with a guy like him. And yet there was chemistry between them. Crackling so tangibly he could swear he was standing in the middle of a storm with the heavens sending lightning bolts through him. She clearly felt the same way, except the next morning, once the storm had passed, she’d insisted it couldn’t happen again. He’d thought if he waited patiently she would wear down.
She hadn’t.
Until today. “And what would my type be?”
“You really want me to spell that out?” Xander’s crooked glance almost riled Easton.
Almost. Then he reminded himself he was the chill brother normally. He was letting this business with Portia mess with his head.
“No need to spell it out. I’ll get defensive and have to kick your ass.”
“You can try.”
Easton smiled tightly. As kids, he used to lie in wait for Xander, always trying to best him in an impromptu wrestling match. He won about half of the time, which wasn’t too bad considering his older brother had shot up with height faster and Easton hadn’t caught up—and passed him—until they were in high school. Now, they had exchanged the good-natured physical wrestling for well-placed banter.
Silence between the brothers lingered, allowing the chorus of nocturnal creatures to swell. Not that he minded. Easton and Xander could both get lost in their own thoughts, with neither of them rambling on with nonsensical chatter. He’d always appreciated the ability to hang out with his brother without feeling the need to fill every moment with speech.
Easton had to admit Xander was right. Easton had always dated women who were more like him, free-spirited, unconventional types.
Date?
That didn’t come close to describing what had happened between him and Portia.
And maybe that was the problem. What had stopped him from asking her out on a date? Before that night, he’d wanted to keep their relationship professional. But after they’d crossed that line... He’d been trying to talk to her about that night. But he’d never done the obvious. Ask her out to dinner...and see where things progressed from there.
He’d always been a man of action and speed. But why not take things slowly with her? He had all the time in the world.
Easton didn’t know where things were heading with Portia, but he wasn’t giving up. He hoped that dating was the right plan and considered asking Xander for input. Usually he and his brother told each other everything, relied on each other for support—hell, they’d been each other’s only friend when they’d been traveling with their parents. Easton needed a plan. And his brother was good at plans, and Xander had far more success in the romance department.
Except right now Easton wanted to hold on to the shift in his relationship with Portia. Keep that private between the two of them. He didn’t want to risk word getting out and spooking her.
Because, yes, something had changed between Easton and his brother too since Xander had married Maureen, and Easton couldn’t figure out what that was. His brother had been married before and had loved his wife, mourned her deeply when she’d died. Still, Easton hadn’t felt he’d lost a part of his brother then, not like now.
So yeah, he wasn’t ready to share yet.
Or maybe it had nothing to do with his brother.
And everything to do with Portia.
* * *
Up until realizing she was pregnant, the most anxiety-inducing moments in Portia’s life had been when she’d fretted about taking care of her brother and paying bills.
This morning had combined all of her anxieties. Her secret pregnancy coupled with arriving to work a half hour late. She’d been sick for what felt like hours and it had thrown her off schedule. Portia was never, ever late. Tardiness drove her insane. Since the morning sickness seemed to be getting significantly worse, she might have to move up her appointment with the doctor to next week. That made her stomach flip all the more since it would mean facing the uncomfortable reality of having to tell Easton.
Dr. Lourdes.
Her boss.
Damn.
Refocus. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Easton’s schedule needed to be organized for the day. That wouldn’t happen if she didn’t collect herself right now. Tugging on the sleeves of her light pink cardigan, she stepped into the office, ready to do prep work for Easton’s arrival.
Blinking in the harsh white light, her tumultuous stomach sank. Easton sat behind his desk, already at work.
His collar-length dark hair was slicked back, blue eyes alert and focused on a stack of papers in front of him, full lips tightly pressed as he thought.
She drew in a sharp breath, another wave of nausea and dizziness pressing at her. He looked up from his desk, his clean-shaven face crinkled in a mixture of concern and...surprise? She realized he was the one all put together this morning and she was the one feeling scattered and disorganized.
This sudden reversal robbed her of her focus. His eyes traced over her, his head falling to the side in concern.
“Are you okay? It’s just—you are never late. In fact, you arrive to everything at least fifteen minutes early.” He set his pen down, eyes peering into hers.
She swallowed, her throat pressing against the top button of her off-white button-up shirt and her strand of faux pearls. Part of her wanted to lean on him, confide in him and get his support. But how? She didn’t have much practice in asking for help.
“Uh.” Stammering, her mind blanked. “Yeah. I just... I think I may have the stomach flu. I haven’t felt this bad in ages.”
She put a hand to her stomach as if to emphasize her symptoms. But really, her palm on her stomach just reminded her of the life growing inside her and how difficult telling Easton was going to be.
“I think that is going around. Maureen called out with the same symptoms. Should you go rest?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got crackers and ginger ale on hand. Anyway, how’s our little patient doing this morning, Doctor?” She added the last part to keep a professional distance between them.
“Walking around, even attempting to take flight. X-rays show no breaks in the wings and there are no missing feathers, so I’m guessing it’s a strained muscle that will benefit from rest. Then back into the wild.” He ran his hands through his hair, his athletic build accented with the movement.
“That’s good to know. Your risky climb saved his—or her—life.”
“His,” he answered simply.
Oppressive silence settled between them. She hated this. There had been a time, not even that long ago, where conversation had felt easy and natural between them. But since the tropical storm, she’d looked for every reason to put distance between them. This morning was no different. “If you’re busy with patients, then I’ll get to some transcriptions.”
“Actually, I’m not busy with patients. Let the transcriptions wait.” His voice dropped any pretense of nonchalance. Determination entered his tone.
“Okay. But why?”
“Let’s talk.”
Every atom in her being revolted. Talk? How could she begin to talk to him? She wasn’t ready. She needed more time.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t talk. We work.” She fished the planner