Filthy Promises: Chapter 40

I’m doing my favorite activity as of late—bending over the toilet in the executive bathroom yet again—when I hear the door open. My stomach heaves one final time before I can pull myself together.

“Did you hear about Akopov?” A woman’s voice echoes against the tile.

I freeze, hand halfway to the flush. I recognize that voice. Melissa from Finance.

“What about him?” Another voice—Janine from Legal.

“The announcement is coming next week. He’s officially getting engaged to that Russian heiress.”

The toilet stall suddenly feels too small. Too hot. I can’t breathe.

“Already? I thought they just started dating.”

Melissa laughs. “Dating? Please. These people don’t date—they make arrangements. My cousin works for the event planner they hired. The ring alone cost more than my student loans.”

“Of course it did.” Janine sighs. “Everyone knows his assistant was sleeping with him, right?”

My blood turns to ice.

“St. Clair? Oh, absolutely. Not that I blame her—have you seen him? I’d climb that like a tree.”

They both laugh.

“Wonder what she’ll do now. Can’t be easy watching your boss marry someone else after he’s had you bent over his desk.”

“She’ll do what all the others do: take the severance package and disappear.”

The water runs. More gossip about who’s sleeping with whom. Then the door opens and closes, leaving me in silence.

It’s swift and brutal. Like a guillotine blade.

I finally flush, my hands shaking so badly I can barely work the latch on the stall door. When I reach the sink, I have to brace myself against the counter so I don’t collapse to the floor.

“I told you so,” I whisper to my reflection.

I knew this was coming. I knew it, and still, hearing it spoken out loud feels like someone reached into my chest and yanked out my heart.

Next week. He’s announcing his engagement next week.

To Anastasia, I’m guessing. The perfect Russian heiress with the blue blood and the connections and everything I’ll never be.

And what was I? The convenient fuck. The stupid, naïve assistant who spread her legs and believed there might be something more.

Something real.

I grip the edge of the sink as another wave of nausea hits me—not morning sickness this time, but pure, undiluted grief.

What a goddamn fool I’ve been.

I place my hand over my still-flat stomach. There’s a baby in there. A baby who will never know its father beyond child support checks and occasional obligatory visits.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not sure if I’m apologizing to myself or to the tiny life inside me.

I splash cold water on my face and straighten my shoulders. I won’t fall apart. Not here. Not where anyone can see.

Especially not him.

At my desk, I pull out my laptop and open a blank document. My resignation letter. The cursor blinks at me, mocking in its steadiness.

Dear Mr. Akopov…

I stare at those three words, unable to continue.

How do you formally resign from the man who’s ruined you? The man who saved your mother’s life? The man whose child you’re carrying?

I close the document.

Not yet. I can’t quit yet. First, I need a plan. A real plan that includes what to do about this baby and how to support myself and my mother without Vince’s money.

Mom’s treatment is working, but it’s far from over. If I leave now, will the “anonymous donor” continue paying? Or will Vince pull his support out of spite?

I can’t take that chance.

The intercom on my desk buzzes. “Ms. St. Clair, my office. Now.”

My stomach drops at the sound of his voice. I almost prefer the morning sickness to this feeling of my internal organs flipping inside out and upside down.

Swallowing down against the hideous tide of nausea, I grab my notebook and pen, armor against the storm, and walk into his office.

Vince stands by the window, hands clasped behind his back. He doesn’t turn when I enter.

“Close the door.”

I do as he says, then stand there, pen poised over paper, ready to take notes like the good little assistant I am.

Like we’ve never touched each other. Never tasted each other. Never whispered filthy promises in the dark.

“The Hong Kong merger papers need to be finalized by Monday.” He still doesn’t look at me. “Work with Legal to expedite the process.”

“Yes, sir.”

The formality makes his shoulders stiffen. “And clear my schedule for Friday evening. I’ll be having dinner with the Kuznetsov family.”

To plan the engagement announcement, I realize. My chest tightens painfully.

“Anything else?” I ask, proud of how steady my voice sounds when I’m dying inside.

He finally turns. His eyes are cold, assessing. “You still haven’t told me what’s wrong.”

The audacity nearly makes me laugh. “Nothing’s wrong, Mr. Akopov. Just busy with work.”

“Bullshit.” He moves toward me, and I take an involuntary step back. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. Why?”

Because I’m pregnant with your child. Because I’m in love with you. Because you’re marrying someone else. Take your pick, Vinny boy.

“I’ve been focused on my mother’s treatment,” I say instead.

He studies my face, searching for the lie. “That’s not all.”

“It’s all that matters right now.”

“Rowan.” His voice softens, and it’s almost worse than his anger. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” I snap, my control slipping. “About work? About the weather? About your engagement?”

His eyes narrow. “What engagement?”

“Don’t.” I shake my head. “Just don’t. I know, okay? Everyone knows. It’s all over the office.”

He curses under his breath. “It’s not what you think.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” I grip my notebook tighter. “You don’t owe me explanations.”

“I do if you’re upset about it.”

“I’m not upset.” That’s a lie, and it tastes like one on my tongue, but I grit my teeth and stay the course. “I’m just your assistant, remember? Your perfectly professional assistant who schedules your meetings and organizes your files and occasionally lets you fuck her when it’s convenient.”

His jaw tightens. “I thought we were past this,” he says quietly.

“Past what?” I laugh, the sound sharp and broken. “We were never going to work, Vince. You’re getting engaged. You’re marrying into your world. The world where I don’t belong.”

“You don’t understand⁠—”

“I understand perfectly.” I cut him off. “And it’s fine. Really. I knew what this was from the beginning.”

Another lie. I never knew I’d fall this hard. Never knew I’d end up pregnant and alone, watching the man I love prepare to marry someone else.

He steps closer, crowding me against the door. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t care.”

His proximity makes my head spin. The familiar scent of him surrounds me, making it hard to think.

“I do not care,” I lie, meeting his gaze defiantly.

He searches my face, those ice-blue eyes seeing too much. Always too much.

“Liar,” he whispers.

He bends down to kiss me.

It’d be easy to let him. So, so fucking easy. This part has always come so naturally for us.

But it would be a lie in its own right. Not a filthy promise but a filthy lie. A filthy fantasy. I can’t live like that anymore—and I sure as fuck am not letting my child live under that cloud of bullshit, either.

So before his lips can touch mine, I push back.

Vince freezes. It might be the first time I’ve ever truly seen him look surprised. His mouth is parted, eyes black, breath held captive in his throat.

“This isn’t over,” he says fiercely. “Not by a long shot.”

I take another step away, just to be sure, as I gather what remains of my dignity. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Rowan—”

“I have work to do.” I bend to retrieve the notebook I dropped when I pushed him away, using the moment to compose myself. “Is there anything else you need, Mr. Akopov?”

The formal title hits him viciously. I see it in the way he flinches, almost imperceptibly.

“No.” His voice turns cold again. “That will be all, Ms. St. Clair.”

I walk out of his office on shaky legs, closing the door behind me.

At my desk, I open my laptop and pull up the resignation letter again. This time, the words come easier.

Dear Mr. Akopov,

Please accept this letter as formal notification that I am resigning from my position as Executive Assistant with Akopov Industries. My last day will be…

I pause, considering the timing. Two weeks seems too soon. A month might be safer.

Soon, I promise myself. I’ll leave soon.

But first, I have some decisions to make about the life growing inside me—a life that changes everything and nothing at all.

Because whatever Vince says, whatever he does, one thing is crystal clear:

He’s getting engaged.

And I’m getting left behind.

Just like I always knew I would be.