“Forty-three what?” Reed asked gently.
“Weeks.”
The room seemed to tilt.
My doctor had told me I’d likely be induced at thirty-eight. I couldn’t possibly—
Had I slept through months?
The thought twisted something sharp inside me.
“Well,” Reed said lightly, “that’s impressive.”
He draped an arm over the back of his chair. “Is tonight a baby shower? Or something more corporate?”
Logan scoffed. “We don’t need gifts.”
“Of course not. Just family, then?”
“Close associates,” Logan corrected. “People we’ve worked with for years. They like to know who’s handling their money.”
“Your investors,” Reed translated.
“Exactly. They value transparency.”
“Transparency,” Reed echoed.
“Our operations are clean.”
“Predictable is good.”
For a moment, silence settled between them.
Logan bent forward, picked up my tea, and pressed it into my hands.
Drinking wasn’t optional.
I forced down several gulps despite the nausea clawing at my throat.
“So your investors get to see the future of the Stellar empire,” Reed said. “That must be reassuring. Especially after all these years.”
“For years,” Logan agreed. “They need to understand we’re not going anywhere.”
I set the cup down carefully, willing my shaking hands to steady.
Logan seemed to relax at the sight of my weakness.
“I’d love to continue,” he said smoothly, “but your sister isn’t feeling well. Rest is critical right now.”
For the first time, Reed smiled for real.
“I can only imagine,” he said. “Rest must be essential at forty-three weeks.”
Logan’s grip tightened at my waist.
“She’s fine.”
“Of course she is.”
