The Strategic Integration team's first major project was a deep dive into the South American commodities market. It required long hours, often stretching well past midnight, and the constant, unnerving presence of Liam Sterling. Abby found herself almost living in the office, relying on dry crackers and instant oatmeal to keep the rising tide of nausea at bay.
One evening, around 11 PM, the office was virtually silent. Abby was alone in the glass meeting room, staring at a dizzyingly complex data model, when Liam walked in. He was wearing only a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, a stark contrast to his usual perfectly tailored jacket. He looked less like a CEO and more like a man who worked with his hands, a dangerous kind of freedom.
He did not speak immediately. He leaned against the glass wall, watching her struggle with a particularly stubborn algorithm.
"You've been here since 5 AM, Abby," he said, his voice quiet in the vast, empty space. "I appreciate the dedication, but this isn't sustainable."
"The model isn't balancing, Mr. Sterling. The commodities forecast is over-leveraged against their currency risk. I can't leave until I find the leak." She rubbed her eyes, feeling the exhaustion deep in her bones. The fatigue of the first trimester was relentless.
Liam pushed off the wall and walked over to her desk. He did not hover. He simply looked over her shoulder at the screen.
"The flaw isn't in the algorithm, Abby. It's in the foundational data set. Look at the primary source for their government bond rating. It was downgraded three weeks ago, but our system used the legacy rating."
He pointed, his presence creating a warm, unexpected pressure near her neck. Abby's breath hitched, a purely physical reaction to his closeness. His proximity was a sensory overload: the woodsy scent of his skin, the heat radiating from his body, the low, calm certainty of his voice. She was acutely aware that this man was the genetic father of her child, and she knew absolutely nothing about him beyond the sterile statistics she had purchased.
She quickly reviewed the data. He was right. The smallest, most insidious detail was the one that broke the entire model.
"You're right," she admitted, feeling a flush of professional embarrassment mixed with a deeper, visceral awareness. "How did you spot that so quickly?"
"I don't leave anything to chance," he said simply. "And I recognize obsession. You have a deep need for everything to be perfect. Where does that come from, Abby?"
He was probing again, pushing past her professional armor. She kept her gaze fixed on the screen, feeling exposed.
"I learned early that mistakes are costly, Mr. Sterling. Mistakes mean you lose control. I can't afford to lose control."
Liam paused, his gaze fixed on the side of her face.
"You're afraid of something. You build walls of logic and data. But when you're tired, Abby, I see the crack. And I see a deep determination that has nothing to do with corporate profits."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"What exactly are you trying to protect?"
Abby's heart pounded, a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't expose the vulnerable truth of her single, desperate dream. She needed distance immediately.
She stood up abruptly, nearly bumping into him.
"I'm protecting my integrity, sir. And my career. If there's nothing else, I'm going home to get three hours of sleep and will return with a balanced model."
Liam stepped back, his green eyes still searching, but he let her go.
"Go. But get more than three hours, Abby. We have a flight to Hong Kong on Thursday. Don't burn yourself out before the race even starts."