“You didn’t use a condom,” she said evenly.
“You said you couldn’t get pregnant,” Keller shot back.
“You said that,” she corrected.
His voice lowered. “It could be Benton’s.”
“It’s not.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can.”
She glanced toward the ballroom. His wife stood near the donor tables, one hand resting over the curve of her pregnant stomach. Unaware.
“You seem to be doing just fine in that department.”
“Lauren—”
“I’m not asking you for anything.”
He looked at her carefully now.
“We need to handle this carefully.”
Of course. There it was—the faculty voice.
“I already have.”
That unsettled him more than anger would have.
A volunteer passed at the far end of the hall. Keller stepped back.
She left him there.
Back in the ballroom, Professor Raines intercepted her near the silent auction table.
“We can’t afford distractions,” he said evenly. “Personal matters aside.”
Her paycheck had his signature on it.
He moved on before she could answer.
Across the room, Preston Sinclair stood near the podium—calm, immaculate, silver threading his blond hair.
He saw her.
His gaze lingered.
Measured.
“You’ve been in the restroom awhile,” he said when she passed him moments later.
“I needed a minute.”
His smile was small. “Of course.”
Not accusation.
