Chapter 2 - An Offer With Conditions
By morning, thirty-seven messages waited on Claire’s phone.
Most came from people she barely knew.
You were incredible.
Are you okay?
Is that really Roman Veyne standing behind you?
Someone had recorded part of Blake’s performance and Claire’s speech. The clip had traveled through Boston’s charity circles before midnight.
Blake’s messages arrived separately.
You embarrassed me.
We need to handle this privately.
You know those videos don’t show the whole conversation.
Claire put her phone facedown.
Hannah stood at the stove making eggs with the determination of a person preparing for war.
“He’s upset about context,” she observed. “Apparently there’s a flattering context for insulting a pregnant woman.”
“Don’t make me laugh. My ribs hurt.”
“Eat.”
Claire’s apartment was small enough that Hannah could reach the refrigerator without turning completely around. A folded crib stood against one wall. Boxes of donated baby clothes occupied the corner where Claire once kept a reading chair.
She loved the apartment.
She hated how often she had to explain that loving it did not mean she had never wanted anything else.
At eleven, Elaine called.
“The foundation wants a meeting Monday.”
Claire looked at Roman’s card on the table.
“About the expansion?”
“Yes. And Claire?”
“What?”
“You’re attending as the program director.”
Claire sat straighter.
“That isn’t my title.”
“It is now. The board approved it this morning. Salary adjustment included.”
For several seconds, Claire could not speak.
Hannah turned off the stove when she saw her face.
“Good news?” she mouthed.
Claire nodded, crying before she meant to.
Monday’s meeting took place at the clinic, at Claire’s request.
Roman arrived without photographers.
He wore a dark suit and carried a folder with colored tabs. A foundation director named Denise accompanied him.
Claire appreciated Denise immediately. She asked practical questions about insurance, driver screening, and whether evening appointments required additional coverage.
Roman listened.
When he proposed financing three vehicles, Claire shook her head.
“We need dispatch support before vehicles.”
Denise looked interested. “Why?”
“Because a van doesn’t answer a phone when a mother’s appointment changes.”
Claire opened her spreadsheet.
For forty minutes, she explained the gaps.
Roman asked about maintenance costs.
Denise asked about measurable outcomes.
Nobody asked how she felt about Blake.
At the end, Roman closed his folder.
“Send the revised budget. We’ll review it through the foundation’s normal process.”
Claire looked at him carefully.
“There’s something I need to say.”
He waited.
“Your help at the benefit doesn’t purchase access to my private life.”
Denise became very interested in her pen.
Roman’s expression remained calm.
“Agreed.”
“And funding can’t depend on whether I return your calls outside work.”
“Agreed.”
Claire had expected reassurance.
Perhaps charm.
His straightforward acceptance left her oddly disarmed.
After the meeting, Denise stepped into Elaine’s office to discuss paperwork.
Roman remained by the conference room door.
“For the record,” he said, “I would like to ask you to coffee someday.”
Claire folded her arms.
“That complicates your agreement.”
“Only if you can’t say no.”
“I can.”
“I noticed.”
She almost smiled.
“I’m seven months pregnant.”
“I noticed that too.”
“I’m exhausted. My finances are a disaster. And my last relationship ended with a man explaining that fatherhood would interfere with his lifestyle.”
Roman’s gaze softened.
“Those are reasons you might not want coffee. They aren’t reasons I wouldn’t ask.”
Claire looked away first.
“I’m not ready.”
“Then the answer is no.”
“For now.”
He nodded once.
“For now.”
That afternoon, Blake appeared at reception carrying flowers.
Claire saw him through the glass partition and felt her shoulders tighten.
She stepped into the hallway without inviting him farther.
“You can’t come to my workplace.”
“I’m trying to apologize.”
“Then start.”
He glanced toward the reception desk.
“Not here.”
“Send it in writing.”
His jaw shifted.
“You’re enjoying this.”
Claire looked at the flowers.
White roses.
Her least favorite.
Blake had bought them for every occasion because the florist closest to his office always carried them.
“I’m working,” she said.
He lowered his voice.
“You need to be careful around Veyne. You don’t know what that family does.”
“Then tell me.”
For one moment, real fear crossed Blake’s face.
Then it disappeared.
“Just stay away from him.”
Claire watched him leave.
On her desk, a new email waited.
The sender’s name was familiar.
Tessa Marlowe.
May you like
The subject line contained only three words.
Please hear me.
