Indecent Arrangements: Tabloid Affair, Secretly Pregnant!

“Things are good with Nate. We both knew what we were getting into with this relationship and we’re both fine with it.”

He took a deep breath and shoved off the wall. Stopping at the door, he turned to her. “Payton, if you have to lie to me, that’s one thing. You want to lie to Nate Evans?” He touched the single bump at the bridge of his nose. “Be my guest. Just do me a favor and don’t lie to yourself.”

The door swung closed with a thud. The lock tumbled and then even the muffled fall of his steps left her. Alone, she faced the uneasy revelation that perhaps Brandt had seen her more clearly than she’d ever given him credit for.

Chapter Eighteen

SOMETHING was wrong with Payton.

Nate stood by the exit watching the dinner crowd. The up-scale Mexican restaurant was one of his favorites and Payton had mentioned it as one of hers as well, but tonight she’d barely had a bite of her food and her glass of wine sat all but untouched on the table.

He’d gone to her place straight from O’Hare, ready to pick up where they’d left off almost a week before. The trip had been a success and he was in the mood for a celebration. But even before they’d made it to the car he’d sensed something off. They’d talked easily enough, laughed and caught up, but every few minutes her attention would drift, leaving him to wonder where she’d gone.

By the time he closed out the bill his frustration had met its limit and he was ready for answers.

Hitting the sidewalk, Payton looked back at him apologetically. “I’m sorry. I just—” Breaking off with a shake of her head, she stared down the street.

A quiet alarm began to sound in the back of his mind. Obviously something happened while he’d been gone, and whatever it was had her anxious and refusing to meet his eyes. He didn’t want to think it, but if he didn’t know her better he’d say her behavior smacked of guilt. “What’s going on?”

Hugging her arms around her waist, she shivered. “Can we walk a minute?”

He tucked her under his arm, guiding her around the Friday-night pedestrian traffic. As he slowed his stride to match hers his mind ran through the little he knew. She’d been fine when he spoke to her the other night. Laughing and easy. No halting exchanges or strained silence. But that had been three days ago and he hadn’t spoken to her since. He should have called again, checked in, but he’d gotten busy, caught up in the workings of a new deal—And he’d wanted the space. The distance.