Page 8 of Say My Name

“Sperm donors?”

Her eyes close.

Well, fuck.

She opens them again and looks annoyed, but the color rising into her cheeks gives her away. “You said you wouldn’t ask again.”

“I didn’t ask. I read.”

“You read something I was very clearly trying to keep private.”

“You turned it toward me.”

“While attempting to hide it from you.”

“Not your best work.”

“Get out.”

I don’t.

The binder makes sense of her reaction. It makes sense of the phone call she ignored when I came in, too. She hit the side button so fast I barely registered the clinic name on the screen.

I registered it now.

Chicago Cryo Clinic.

My amusement disappears so completely she must see it happen because some of the fight goes out of her posture.

“This is real,” I say.

Her chin comes up. “Of course it’s real.”

“How long have you been looking into it?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“How long?”

She crosses her arms. “You’re still my boss, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going to save us both the HR seminar this conversation is sprinting toward and remind you that my reproductive plans aren’t an appropriate workplace topic.”

That stops me.

She’s right, and I know she’s right. The fact that we’re alone and I’ve known her family for most of my adult life doesn’t change where we are or the power I hold here.

“I’m not asking as your boss.”

“Well, you can’t take him off and hang him outside with your coat.”

“Apparently you’ve never met our board.”

Her lips twitch.

I put both hands in my pockets because reaching for the binder again would be a spectacularly bad decision. “Have you chosen someone?”