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“Because you’re noble?”

I don’t answer.

Marcus nods. “Right. Because you’re you.” Quieter, he says, “So she’s pregnant. With Alester’s child?”

“That’s the arrangement.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I look at him.

He holds my gaze, then slowly raises both hands. “Fine. I’m not asking yet.”

“Good.”

“No, not good. I’m showing restraint. There’s a difference.”

My phone lights up on the desk. I glance down before I can stop myself.

A message from Maggie.

Not just a message. A photo. A plastic cup of orange juice from the clinic lounge, held in her hand. The caption reads: Not coffee.

I stare at it for a second too long.

Marcus notices because Marcus notices everything I would prefer he didn’t. “Who’s that?”

“No one.”

He leans forward. “That’s never no one.”

I turn the phone slightly away and type.

Me: Acceptable.

Her reply comes almost immediately.

Maggie: This tastes like ass.

I exhale once through my nose.

Marcus narrows his eyes. “Was that a laugh?”

“No.”

“That was almost a laugh. Who are you texting?”

I put the phone face down. “Continue.”

“Oh, hello, I’m still here,” Marcus says, waving one hand between us. “You were telling me about the pregnant wrong-number woman who is somehow Alester Chandler’s surrogate, and now you’re smiling at your phone again.”

“I am not smiling.”

“You’re doing the Dalton version, which is worse because it looks like a medical symptom.”

I ignore him.

Marcus looks from my phone to my face. “Is that her?”