Chester handed me a glass of lemon juice and gave me that look, half apologetic, half distracted. "I'm gonna go over some documents before the meeting this afternoon," he said. "Might get caught up with a few other things too. You okay being on your own till tonight?"
"Thanks," I muttered, taking the glass. I headed toward the elevator, aiming for the fifth floor, our workspace. "Yeah, it's fine."
Honestly? Lemon juice was about the only thing I could stomach lately. That, and maybe two or three bland meals a week. Everything else felt like hell. I couldn't even drink beer after work anymore. No wine, no whiskey, no nothing. And with all the stress and nonstop chaos lately, going without alcohol felt like torture.
I hadn't been back to my flat in days. Couldn't take suppressants either. Because of the baby. Yeah. That damn baby.
It's insane. I didn't ask for this. I don't want it. But somehow, I can't bring myself to get rid of it either.
