The car’s dark-tinted window only gave a vague outline of the man inside. Light flickered off the gold frames of his glasses as he glanced her way, and for a split second, Catherine felt like her whole body had turned to stone.
She quickly snapped herself out of it and shifted her weight, trying to look composed.
“Let’s head in,” she said quietly.
She thought back to earlier. She and Ivan must have called Lance around the same time. But Lance hadn’t picked up when she called. His message was clear enough.
Catherine bit the inside of her lip, took a breath, and walked into the building.
On the top floor, just outside the conference room, Catherine arrived at the elevator a moment too late. By the time she walked in, Lance was already seated at the head of the table, legs crossed, hand resting on the edge. The overhead lights caught his watch, sending a glimmer onto his glasses. His eyes were narrowed, dark and unreadable.
“When something goes wrong, Catherine always runs,” Ivan jumped in, his tone sharp. “It’s been hours since this started and you’re only just getting here.”
Catherine walked past Lance, murmured, “Lance,” and took her seat without even glancing at Ivan.
Ivan, looking far too pleased with himself, kept going. “Lance, the PR team dropped the ball with this crisis—that’s a huge problem. But first, let’s deal with Catherine. Did you know she’s pregnant?”
If not even Lance knew, then Catherine must have been hiding it on purpose. One more thing to pin on her.
Lance replied without looking up, his voice casual, “I only found out recently.” He spun his watch strap in lazy circles, clearly not planning to step in for her.
“Then I’m guessing you also don’t know who Catherine’s husband is, right?” Ivan pressed, sounding smug.
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