P.S. You’re Intolerable: Chapter 3

FOR THE ONE-HUNDRED-AND-ELEVENTH DAY, I arrived at the office at eight a.m., sat down at my desk, flipped open a notepad, and neatly wrote Elliot Levy’s schedule in black ink.

And at the bottom, following the notation for his last meeting of the day, I included a postscript—which I’d been doing for a hundred and one days.

Yesterday’s had been: P.S. Are you even human?

The day before: P.S. You remind me of porridge.

Today’s: P.S. You’re intolerable.

Then, like I always did, I precisely sliced that strip off the bottom, slid it inside an envelope with all one hundred and one of the others, and returned it to its place at the back of my desk drawer beneath my box of tampons. In my current condition, I absolutely did not need them, but I’d found tampons were the best deterrent for most men. Though I regularly questioned if Elliot was a cyborg, I couldn’t picture him willingly touching feminine hygiene products either.

This was my only form of rebellion. Those postscripts allowed me to release a tiny drip of the anger I swallowed down on a daily basis. When Elliot’s demands became unbearable, I took out my envelope, ran my fingers over the one-inch strips of “fuck you very much,” and immediately calmed.

The therapist I’d been forced to see when I was a teen would have been proud…ish.

Once that was complete and my desk was back to its pristine condition, I ran through the routine I did before Elliot arrived for the day. Lately, it had been: bathroom, break room, bathroom, emails, bathroom, bathroom, bathroom.

The bean was more of a cantaloupe now and seemed to think my work time was her party time. She used my bladder as a bouncy pillow, which meant I spent far too much time running to the restroom.

If Elliot had noticed, he hadn’t said a word.

That was unusual for him since he never held back his opinions on my work.

Davida was in the break room, dipping a tea bag in a mug and chatting with another exec assistant, Raymond, who worked for LD’s chief lawyer.

Davida wasn’t who I’d initially pegged her to be. Beneath her cool professionalism, she was a sassy, foul-mouthed mother hen. We’d become allies then friends, despite our thirty-year age gap and the fact that Davida was a freewheeling, unmarried, and happily childless lesbian, and I was a soon-to-be single mother.

I’d quickly learned the assistants on the executive floor stuck together. We were the only ones who understood each other’s haunted looks weren’t from seeing some “fucked-up shit,” as Raymond said, but from putting up with our bosses’ demands.

And lately, Davida had started covering for me when I needed to dash to the bathroom for the seventeenth time of the day.

Davida and Raymond stopped talking at the sight of me. They couldn’t have looked more different. Davida was a silver vixen, while Raymond was a slim, twentysomething Black man with a smooth, bald head, horn-rimmed glasses, and an affinity for tweed and comic books, but their wide-eyed expressions were identical.

“Darling,” Davida drawled. “You’ve popped.”

My hands flew to my belly, which had barely fit in my dress this morning. Most of my clothes were a tight squeeze, and I still had more than two months to go.

I’d been lucky I hadn’t gotten very big yet. That all flew out the window over the weekend. Little Girl had made herself known.

“You look good, though,” Raymond assured me. “Not a cankle in sight.”

As I made myself my one cup of coffee for the day—we’d reconciled my second week of working for Elliot Levy—I huffed a laugh.

“Come see me at the end of the day. It’s very sexy,” I told him.

Raymond shuddered. “Thanks, sweetie, but I’ll pass. Pregnancy is a mystery to me, and I plan to keep it that way.”

Davida propped her hip on the counter. “But is it a mystery to Elliot? Or have you finally talked to him about it?”

Pressing my lips together, I shook my head. “Not yet.”

Raymond snickered. “You’re wilding. Surely that man can see with his own two eyes there’s a baby on board.”

I shrugged. “He doesn’t look at me, so no, I don’t think he’s noticed.” I smoothed my palm over my stomach. “Besides, I think I’ve hidden it pretty well.”

I’d never appreciated the extra padding around my stomach and hips until it had hidden my pregnancy for several months. The bean had been growing just fine, nestled snugly behind my softness, but she was finally making herself known. Davida and Raymond were right.

Davida gave me a long look, her eyebrows rising over her glasses. “I noticed you were pregnant months ago, darling. That man has traveled all over the world with you. I find it hard to fathom he hasn’t noticed the change in your shape.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

I should have already informed Elliot since he’d have a temp working for him while I was on maternity leave, but he was almost impossible to talk to despite the amount of time we spent together. I’d traveled with him to Switzerland, Dubai, and China, as well as New York and Chicago. When we were home, we spent time visiting sites all over Denver. And during car and airplane rides, hotel stays, business dinners, and site visits, Elliot had remained a wall of marble, so smooth and impenetrable, everything rolled off him.

I was back at my desk, sipping water from the giant jug I drank from all day when Elliot strode toward me.

I tucked my jug by my feet and straightened my spine. “Good morning, Elliot.”

“Catherine.” He breezed by me without looking up from his phone.

And Davida and Raymond wondered how it was he hadn’t noticed my pregnancy. He barely noticed me as long as I got the job done.

I followed him into his office with my notebook and handwritten schedule, which I slid to the middle of his desk. As always, he shifted it a fraction of an inch.

Probably used the lasers in his cyborg brain to find the exact center.

I took a seat across from him, holding my notebook in front of my stomach.

It was unnecessary since Elliott’s focus was on his computer screen. “You smell like coffee.”

I jerked in surprise. “Oh. Do I? I can chew some gum if it—”

“No. I don’t have time to wait for you to find gum, and I’m not a fan of the sound of chewing. I’m not sure anyone is.” His eyes flicked to mine. “I thought you’d quit.”

“I did, but that didn’t last long. I normally drink a cup during lunch, but I was tired, so I had my cup this morning. If it bothers you, it won’t happen again.”

“I didn’t say it bothered me. I made an observation.” The corners of his eyes pinched. “Why are you tired? Is this job too difficult for you, Catherine?”

My middle finger was absolutely itching to rise, but I curled it into my palm. Tomorrow’s postscript was going to be a doozy, cuss words and all.

“No, Elliot. I didn’t sleep well last night, but I’m fine now that I’ve had coffee.”

I hadn’t slept for so, so many reasons I could have written a list longer than Elliot’s schedule.

Because Liam had decided eleven p.m. was the perfect time to knock out tile in the bathroom.

Because I was racked with worry about how I was going to afford all the expenses that came along with having a baby if we didn’t sell this house.

Because Liam was headed back to Australia for a few weeks, and I was seven months pregnant and had never felt so alone.

Because Liam had hired a contractor to work in his absence, and I really couldn’t afford that.

If I dwelled on any of it, I’d lose my mind. And now was not the time for freaking out.

Eager to change the subject, I nodded toward the schedule on his desk. “Do you have questions about the meetings or anything you’d like to shift?”

“Being I’m the one who arranged the meetings, I neither have questions nor a need to shift any of them.” He clicked his mouse twice.

“Of course.”

For the last five months, this was how our morning meetings had gone. Elliot often asked if I was truly up to the tasks he gave me and corrected me with long-winded responses when a “yes” or “no” would have sufficed.

This was why I had my postscripts, since I couldn’t flip him off or tell him his cyborg was showing.

With a heavy sigh, he picked up the schedule I’d carefully written for him. “Luca and Weston will be here for lunch. Email them the menu to Donato’s, please.”

“Sure. Will you give me your order now or—?”

“I just emailed you my order.” Click, click.

“Very efficient.” I said this snarkily. More than I’d intended or would normally allow myself. Seemed the dancing baby on my bladder had absorbed some of my patience.

His brows rose. “There’s no point in wasting time when there’s so little of it.”

“It’s known to be a finite resource.” Again, more snark. I always saved this for my postscripts.

Elliot leaned forward, his narrow-eyed gaze assessing me. “Is there something wrong, Catherine?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Everything’s under control. How about you? Is everything under control on your end?”

“Always,” he answered crisply.

That was true. Elliot controlled his world like a conductor of a symphony. Each part moved at his command, including me. I allowed it because I had to. This job was vital to me. So, even though every single cell of my body screamed to walk around his desk, ruffle up his perfect hair, wrinkle his pristine shirt, maybe scatter some of his papers, I didn’t. I stayed in my seat, a polite smile curving the corners of my mouth.

“I’m very glad.”

He continued his intense stare for several more moments before sitting back in his chair. “Order yourself something to eat too, Catherine.”

“Thank you.”

Coming from anyone else, I would have thought he was making a nice gesture. But I knew Elliot Levy better than that.

Why let me go out to pick up my own lunch when it was much more efficient to have it delivered with his?

Around midday, Luca Rossi arrived for his meeting with Elliot. As far as I knew, Luca and Weston were Elliot’s only friends. Both were CEOs of their own companies, and Weston was in a relationship with Elliot’s sister, Elise, while Luca had recently gotten married.

Luca nodded toward Elliot’s closed office door. “How’s he doing today?”

I placed my hands on my desk. “I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Mr. Levy is always busy.”

Busy, abrupt, demanding, intolerable. I kept those adjectives between me and my postscripts.

Tapping the edge of my desk, he grinned. “I get it. I’ve known him since college. The guy never changes.”

Standing up, I turned toward Elliot’s office when Luca’s words stopped me in my tracks.

“Hey, congratulations.”

My brows rose, and I swiveled back around, momentarily confused. When his eyes landed on my stomach, I understood. “Oh. Thanks. I’m not used to people noticing yet. It only started happening this week.”

“I have a pregnant sister, so maybe I’m more attuned to it these days.”

This man really was charming and contrary to what I’d told Elliot, I wasn’t immune. It wasn’t that I wanted to jump his bones or anything—Luca was too slick and polished to be my type—but he had a way about him that made me comfortable. I shot him an easier smile. “Well, congratulations on becoming an uncle. I’ll let Mr. Levy know you’re here.”

My stomach churned, and it wasn’t due to Baby Girl this time. I had the distinct feeling my days of avoiding this conversation with Elliot were about to come to an end.