Abby was deep into a conference call with the European division when Sarah, her assistant, knocked softly and slipped into Liam's office. Sarah was usually impeccably quiet, but today she looked flustered, holding a large, ornate bouquet of white lilies.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Brooks," Sarah whispered, her eyes wide. "The delivery service insisted these go directly to Mr. Sterling's desk. They wouldn't take no for an answer."
Abby ended the call and walked over to the desk. The lilies were magnificent, but their scent, usually mild, hit her with the force of a toxic cloud. Her stomach immediately lurched.
"Get those out of here, Sarah," Abby whispered urgently, clutching her throat. "Please, immediately. Take them to the lobby. The scent is overwhelming."
Sarah looked confused but quickly complied, retreating with the lilies. Abby sank into the nearest chair, taking deep, shaky breaths, struggling to suppress the rising nausea. This was the most violent physical reaction she'd had yet.
Once she composed herself, she noticed the card that had been discreetly placed beside the flowers. It was small, heavy, and personalized with an elegant, almost cursive handwriting that was definitively not Liam's.
To my dearest Liam. I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother. Thinking of you always.
V.
The simple, initialed note sparked a sudden, unexpected flare of jealousy in Abby. V. A woman who knew his grandmother was ill. A woman who was close enough to send a beautiful, expensive gesture of sympathy to his private office. A woman who called him "dearest Liam."
Abby told herself it was ridiculous. Liam Sterling was a wealthy, powerful man; of course, he had a private life and a rotation of beautiful, sophisticated women. Her relationship with him was strictly professional, and her choice of Donor 476 had been made specifically to avoid the complications of a romantic entanglement like the one implied by the lilies.
Yet, the anger persisted. It was a cold, sharp feeling that had nothing to do with her job and everything to do with the man she now knew was the biological father of her child. She hated the idea of a "V." stepping into his moment of vulnerability, offering comfort she couldn't give.
She looked at the leather-bound photo frame again. She carefully picked it up, fighting the urge to look at the picture inside. Instead, she turned it slightly, so that it faced the wall again.
Her professional mind kicked in. V. is a variable. An unknown risk. If Liam had a serious, high-profile relationship, it could impact company morale, or worse, expose her current proximity to him to an outside world.
Abby quickly typed a message to Sarah. Subject: Immediate Floral Policy Update. The note instructed that all floral deliveries to the 50th floor must be rerouted to the main reception area, citing "new CEO allergy concerns" as the reason. It was a professional solution to a profoundly personal problem. She had effectively blocked "V." from her territory.
Abby looked around the opulent, quiet office. She was a single woman, secretly pregnant, fighting off nausea caused by the scent of a rival's expensive flowers, all while managing a multi-billion dollar empire. She had never felt more powerful, or more alone.