Page 3 of Line Change

“Yeah.” She follows me silently out of her office and to the elevators.

“How about you drive with me? Your car will be safe here for tonight. I’ll let the guard shack know what’s going on,” I say as we step inside the elevator.

She huffs out a breath. “I’m such a mess. How am I going to figure all of this out? I’m going to be a mom to a tiny human being who is going to need me, going to rely on me—”

“You don’t have to do it all yourself. You’ve got me, and I know the ladies will be there for you too, which means you’ll also have the guys.”

She fiddles with the ring on her thumb. “I know. I …” She stares at the ground. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” The doors slide open, and I beckon her through them before grabbing her things and following her out.

I lead us to my truck and help her inside. True to my word, I stop at the guard shack and let security know we’re leaving her car in the lot.

I glance over at her a couple of times during the drive to my place and frown at the sight of her curled up against the glass. I hate seeing her upset. I wish I knew what to do to make things better for her. For right now, I’ll do the only things I can—take her to my condo so she has a safe place to sleep and feed her.

I silently vow not to let her go through her pregnancy alone, nor will I let her be homeless. I have to figure out how to convince her to let me help for more than tonight, let me be her support.

Chapter two

Sutton

I follow Sebastian into his condo, looking around as he leads me into the spacious kitchen. I set the carrier with Bert and Ernie in it on the ground. I hate to admit it, but going home with him is a much easier solution than my alternative—finding a hotel that’ll take me and my cats for the night without charging an arm and a leg.

I yawn as the weight of the day hits me hard. My stomach growls, and I realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Probably why I’ve had a bit of a headache all day. My stomach was in knots, and the thought of eating the leftover mac and cheese from last night made me nauseous. All I’ve managed to stomach was a pack of crackers and peanut butter a few hours ago.

“You alright?”

I turn my attention to Sebastian. “Yeah. It’s been a long day. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, love.”

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t do something to me when he called me love earlier. It’s probably just a term British people use the way we use hon or darling, so I shouldn’t get my hopes up—not that I have any reason to care, because I can’t date him.

I made a vow years ago that I’d never be with anyone wealthy, or at least not someone who has millions to their name. Is there a term for the opposite of a gold digger? Because that’s me. I want to find a nice, sweet middle-class man who loves me and makes me happy. A guy who is completely different from my father and the men in his circle. It wouldn’t hurt if he was also hot and knew how to deliver orgasms, but at this point, I’m not sure how picky I can be. Some women won’t date a man outside of their religion or political party; I won’t date a man outside of my income class, or at least a man who is multiple income levels above me. Not that I haven’t fantasized about how things could be between me and Sebastian if the circumstances were different. But even if I did want to break my whole no dating wealthy men rule, because I have thought about it, it’s too late. I’m pregnant. With another man’s child. I have more important things to worry about than my love life.

I clear my throat. “Where’s the guest room? So I can put my stuff in there.”

“Well …” He shifts on his feet, pulling at the back of his neck, and a sinking feeling takes root at the base of my stomach.

“Sebastian?”

He does have a guest room, right? He’s got to.

He runs a hand through his dirty-blond hair, tugging on the ends, the tips of his ears turning red. “See, I have a guest room. Two, actually …”

“But?” Because I know there’s a but coming.

“They have no furniture or beds.”

I twist the ring on my thumb, glancing around, my eyes landing on the sofa. “I can sleep on the couch. Just point me in the direction of the bathroom.”

“Sutton,” he growls.

“Bathroom,” I repeat.

He blows out a breath and tells me to follow him.

“Guest bathroom.” He opens the door and moves out of the way so I can walk inside. “Towels are in the closet.” He tips his chin toward it. “Extra soap and toothbrushes under the sink, if you need them.”