That was an uneasy admission. Especially because she was literally in his arms, in his bed, and he was so sexually gratified he ought to be catatonic, but there was a nagging sense of tenuousness keeping him awake.

Every relationship ran its course, whether it was a friendship or someone he hired or a liaison with a woman. He was always aware the association would end, even in the earliest stages of meeting someone new. He could see it as clearly as he saw the person he was meeting.

With Fliss, he hadn’t seen the end. He hadn’t had time in that initial flurry of lovemaking. Then he’d tried to force the ending, which had sat crooked inside him until he’d seen her again. He still couldn’t see the day when they would part for good.

Because of the baby, obviously. Their child would keep her in his life forever, no matter what happened between them.

That was a strange, new concept. The only lifetime relationships he had were with his parents, and those were thorny as hell.

Was that why he always foresaw an end point? Because he liked walking away from people when things got difficult?

It was better than the alternative—sticking it out to stick it to the other person. Wasn’t it?

Saint was still thinking about that the following day, when he left Fliss in Willow’s capable hands at his New York penthouse and entered the boardroom. He was using a tablet to bring the remote board members into the meeting when his father arrived.

“You’re on time at least,” Ted Montgomery muttered. “Why are you doing that? Where’s your assistant?”

“Good God, Dad. If I’m not capable of connecting a video chat, I have no business working here, do I?” He said into the microphone, “Can everyone hear me? Shall I start the presentation?”

“We’ve all seen the slides,” his father dismissed. “I’m more interested in why you hared off to London. It wasn’t in your schedule two days ago.”

“I was rearranging some things so we can have dinner with Mother tonight.”

“We?”

“It’s been added to your calendar.”

His father’s cheek ticked. “What does she want?”

“I called it. One way or another, we’ll need to debrief on what happens today.” Saint was being deliberately cryptic as he held his father’s challenging gaze.

On their way out of London, Saint had had a private nurse take samples for a lab. The paternity results ought to be available by the time he sat down with his parents tonight. Before he shared that news, he wanted to know where he stood at Grayscale.

“Shall we get to the vote?” he asked.

His father made an impatient noise and sat, then flicked his hand at the CFO to speak.

“Order champagne tonight,” the CFO said with her warmest smile. “We wouldn’t have asked you to the meeting if we weren’t prepared to back you. We’re particularly pleased to see how you have shifted the conversation around your personal life. This gives us the confidence that when the time comes, you’ll lead Grayscale well into the future.” She cut a careful glance toward Ted. “Until that time, we see the value in this new direction you’re taking. I move that we support Saint’s proposal.”

“Second,” someone murmured.

The vote was carried and the approval minuted.

“Excellent. No backsies, right?” Saint directed that to his father.

“I’ll have Xanthe draft a press release,” the CFO assured him. “It will go out this afternoon.”

“Thank you.” Satisfaction and a rush of pure adrenaline for the challenge washed through him. Saint had done so much preliminary work in anticipation of this, he only needed to open the gates and let the horses loose.

His usual single-mindedness was fractured, though. Weirdly, his first instinct was to call Fliss and tell her I did it, even though he’d only given her the bare bones of what he’d hoped to accomplish this morning. He had never been one to brag, having learned as a child that there was no point. His father took an attitude that excellence was the bare minimum. He had never been proud of anything his son had done.

Ted would be livid tonight, which was why Saint deliberately kept any mention of Fliss and her new place in his life to himself. It was dirty pool, but once the board’s support of his project was publicized, it would be a lot harder for them to reverse course.

It would be hard for his father to reverse course once he learned about the baby, but even if it all went to hell in a handbasket...

Saint would hate that. He really would, but Fliss and the baby were his priority now—which was such a lurching departure from his usual way of thinking, he didn’t know how to feel about it.

He shook hands with each of the board members, accepting their congratulations as he left them to finish their quarterly meeting.

His father only gave him a curt nod, saying dismissively, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Fliss couldn’t decide if she was Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella.

She’d been half-asleep when they had landed and driven into the city last night. Saint had shown her around his cavernous penthouse before they’d gone back to bed, but she hadn’t fully appreciated his home until she’d woken to the sunshine pouring in on her.

Situated eighty floors into the sky, it was two stories wrapped in an arc of glass offering panoramic views of the Hudson River, New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty. She descended what looked like a glass staircase to the main floor, where a color scheme of slate and midnight blue and quiet cream welcomed her. All of his furniture was modern with rounded corners and long, flowing lines. The floors were marble and hardwood, and the area rugs were so exquisite they had to be handloomed. The contemporary abstracts on the walls were by names she didn’t recognize but would look up later.

She and Saint hadn’t spoken much. It had still been early, so they’d made love, eaten breakfast, showered, and then he’d dressed in a suit, telling her he had an important meeting with the board this morning. It was a special project that had been derailed by the bad publicity after their initial affair.

Fliss had grown uneasy, deducing that her presence, and pregnancy, could impact his aspirations again.

“There’s still time to...not do this,” she’d reminded him.

He had turned from the mirror, his tie still dangling loosely from his upturned collar, the top button of his shirt not yet closed. She’d been barefoot in her cotton pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt without a bra.

“Do you want to not do this?” His gaze had flicked to the bed they’d used with enthusiasm.

“I want to do this.” She’d pointed at the floor. “Be in this room and never leave. I don’t want to do that.” She’d waved at the windows. “Be out there as a thing that strangers can judge.”

“Good news. Your wish is granted.” He’d come across to drop a kiss onto her lips that had been seductive enough that she’d leaned into it, encouraging him to linger. He’d drawn back with reluctance. “For the day, anyway. We’ll have dinner with my parents tonight, but it’s best if you stay inside until then. Do you mind?” He’d finished buttoning his shirt and expertly tied his tie without looking.

“Dinner? Tonight?” she’d cried. “Where? Here? Am I supposed to cook? What do I wear?”

“Wow. This is not an actual emergency. Take a breath. I’ve asked Willow—Ah. They’re here.” He’d pointed toward a muted ping that had sounded from a hidden speaker.

“Who’s here? Who’s Willow?”

“My executive assistant. Their pronouns are they/them. I’ll introduce you, then I have to go. Do you mind getting dressed?” His gaze had dropped to her chest. “I like seeing your nipples through your shirt, but I’m getting possessive about who else does.”

Her nipples had tightened in a responsive sting that had made her blush. He’d smirked.

She’d hurried to change while Saint had shrugged into his jacket and put on his shoes, then he’d led her down the stairs, saying, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” the well-dressed twenty-something had responded. They’d worn a very smart pinstriped suit and boots with a heel. They hadn’t batted an eyelash at Fliss, even though they’d known who she was because they’d said, “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Corning. I’m Willow.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Fliss had shaken their hand, smiling uncertainly because even in jeans and a fresh T-shirt, with a bra, she’d felt very underdressed. “Please call me Fliss.”

“I’ll go to the office alone,” Saint had said to Willow. “I need you to stay and help Fliss get settled. First order of business is to find her an obstetrician.”