"What do you want in your omelet?" Giovanni asks, peering at me over his shoulder, a master in the kitchen. I pull on my sneaker, lowering the bottom of the pajama pants I arrived in and stand from the couch.

"I'll eat anything you make. You know that."

He turns back to the stove with a smirk, and begins pulling out items from the fridge. Since I offered my help and he turned me down flat, I begin to set the table. It's before dawn; the sun is still under the horizon. There's no counter space, decorated with the countless blossoming roses. I appraise them, wishing I could take every single one with me.

When the table is set, I head to the bedroom to take my antibiotics. Every room in this place is loaded with memories now, intense ones. When I enter the bathroom, taking one look at the shower Giovanni held me in while I was sick, I force myself to look away, reaching for the pills. I place the dosages into my palm and screw the caps shut, preparing to scoop them up to throw them in my purse.

I take each, gulping them down with a sip of water from the faucet.

"Do you really need to take so many?"

I turn at the sound of his voice. "The valium is only for the anxiety."

"Have you ever taken that before?"

"No."

The pause before he answers me speaks volumes. "It is addictive, Scarlett."

"I have no intention on relying on it, Giovanni," I counter, stuffing the bottles into my purse. He follows me into the bedroom and out into the living room. I'm tense, which means the air has thickened, the space around us is full of the unsaid questions we still haven't discussed. And it's about to come out now.

"Scarlett."

I spin to face him, crossing my arms. "Giovanni, I know that I'm pregnant. I know I won't allow myself to rely on these pills...but they help me. They help me when I'm unable to think clearly."

I hear his swallow, from across the room. Finding that he's already put out the breakfast, I head for the table. My movements are fumbling as I reach for the silver wear, due to his unrelenting gaze from the same place he was before. I'm reaching for the squeezed orange juice when he finally breaks from his stone-like stance and approaches the table. I meet his gaze, my arm extended over the table, with the intent on asking him if he wants juice as well. He nods, his index finger rubbing against his bottom lip in frustration.

After I pour the juice, I set down the carton, and exhale. "Gio, I'm sorry." He stares at me, not saying a word. My tongue darts onto my dry lips, sucking in the skin under his scrutiny. I continue, hating his silence. "I'm trying. I swear, I am trying."

"I know you are."

"I know what it's like to grow up with an addict. You know I wouldn't be taking this if I didn't need it. I'm trying to handle this all by myself. I thought I'd have Monica to help. I thought he'd still be okay for a while longer, but he's not. The work never ends, and somehow I still have to find time to be there for Norman, all the while constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for Dixon to show up."

"He hasn't even spoken to you since the police station, Scarlett. Maybe he's not watching—"

His chin tilts, his eyes slanting at the flash of uncertainty I cannot hide from him. I have a hard time uttering the next words, knowing I just fucked up royally in letting that look slip.

"He's found me once, and left me a note in Norman's mailbox."

His eyes harden, his pupils dominating any color in them. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

I stare at the table. "No."

"Why didn't you—"

"Because what good would it have done, Giovanni! Honestly, what would you have been able to do?" He surges to his feet, and the chair screeches back. I watch him turn his back to me, running his hands through his hair. "We're in a shit situation, and I didn't want to worry you. He didn't hurt me. He didn't—"

"When was this?" He spins at my silence, his torso ridged. "When?"

I don't want to tell him, but I know I have no choice.

"Right after the meeting at NWPR, right before I went to the doctor's."

He blinks. "You mean he came to you while I was still in New York, and you didn't tell me?"

"Goddammit, Giovanni," I stand up now, "You're not even listening to me. You know what's at stake here! Even my telling you to come here yesterday was dangerous! I didn't want to tell you about the baby, because I knew you'd act like this!"

"You forget, I arrived here yesterday to find you hallucinating on the porch, in fever, with a new goddamn prescription in your bag to numb your senses. You couldn't even keep yourself standing, Scarlett! Don't tell me I'm overreacting!"

I walk to the kitchen, bracing myself against the counter. The roses intoxicate the air surrounding me.

"I've been sick for weeks now. It's the after-effects of the virus I had before. I sat in wet clothes for too long, and that is why I had a fever when you saw me. I haven't been like that for a week, Giovanni. I'm not that fucked up. I'm not that weak."

But, you feel like it.

"You had a panic attack, Scarlett. Don't fucking lie to me. I know you better than that. I've seen you handle the worst shit imaginable without so much as a falter to your step. You're a victim of abuse, who lost the only person who cared about you, and you handled that without therapy or medication. And yet, this, this shit is throwing you over the edge, and I refuse to stand by and watch it happen!"

He's speaking only truths, which is why my blood is curling beneath my skin.

"There's nothing you can do." I shrug, chuckling under my breath. "This fight is fucking pointless."

Without a doubt, our breakfast is ice cold now. I walk around the table, heading for my bag. My chest is heavy with defensiveness, hating how right he is. Hating that I've put him through this, bringing him here to show him my most vulnerable self, to have him judge me this way.

He's making me feel weak, and I hate it. I snatch up my purse, and storm for the door. I'm past the steps, my feet crunching into fallen leaves, when my name crackles through the air behind me. I tense at his hostility, stopping in my tracks.

I pivot, as he bounds down the steps with bare feet. His cheeks are dusted with red heat, anger simmering within him. His eyes, still dark as ever, are alive and full of determination.

"You and I are far from done with this conversation," he says, sharply, towering over me. I don't crack under his intimidating height; instead, I meet his glare with just as much ice.

"What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do?" I exclaim, wide-eyed. "You want me to stop taking the pills? Fucking fine. I'll stop. You want me to tell you every goddamn thing that pops into my head or happens in my life? Fine. I will. But, I refuse to stand here and feel your judgment. You have no goddamn clue what my life has been like lately. You couldn't possibly understand!"

"Judgment? Judgment?"

"Yes!"

"This isn't judgment, Scarlett. It's concern! And it's something you seem incapable of letting me experience!" He shakes his head. "You don't like to admit it, but I do know you pretty fucking well. I know how stubborn, how independent, and strong you are. It's what made me fall in love with you in the first place! I can tell from the second you open your eyes in the morning whether you've had a nightmare or not, because this crease appears between your brows, and you can't stop blinking. I know how to tell when you see something you enjoy looking at, like a child with a mother, despite the efforts you make to keep it hidden. I know you get chills on your arms whenever you cross a bridge, every single time. I've checked."

He steps closer, out of breath. "I know all of this because I care. I care more than anyone else in this fucking world, and I'm not ashamed to say it bluntly for you. I care for you. I care for this baby, even if you don't want to."

I visibly shrink, turning my face from him when he grabs my cheeks with both hands, refusing to let him see what his words are doing to me.

"Even though I know you want to be a mother," he whispers, inches away from my face. "I know you want it, just as bad as I do. Maybe even more."

"Giovanni, stop," I breathe, eyes squeezing closed.

"I won't," he responds. "I won't. I refuse to let you think that you are alone in this world. Or that I don't care enough to risk it all."

Risk? My eyes lift with reluctance to his.

"What?"

He stares at me so long, my heart threatens to break through my chest.

"I can't do this anymore, stay away from you. I thought I could do it—"

"Are you crazy?" I breathe, paling.

"Maybe," he admits, "Maybe. Yes."

"Giovanni, no."

He closes his eyes, now tilting away from me as I'm suddenly full of desperation. I clasp his face, caressing his smooth, perfect features.

"I love you. I love you for everything you just said. I love that you refuse to hold back for my sake." He shakes his head, already knowing what I'm going to say. "But, the price of what you'd lose would be too great. You'd be losing everything, when there's a chance that if we stick this out longer, we'll find a solution and everything will go back to normal. We hate being apart, I know that, and I know I scared you yesterday, but I will not let you destroy yourself like this. Your family is going through enough with Tony's sentence. I can get through this, I promise."

"I know you can," he breathes, opening his eyes slowly. "I don't know that I can."

I smile, despite the pain, stretching onto my toes, wrapping myself around him. My arms squeeze his shoulders, my nose nuzzling his warm throat. His hands move over my back, until he's clasping the nape of my neck. We both inhale, just holding our breaths, too overwhelmed to release them.

...

I walk into the apartment, finding the nurse standing in the living room, one hand on her hip, one hand holding a phone to her ear. The moment she sees me in the doorway, disheveled and all, she sighs, hanging up.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you."

My eyes widen with fear, darting toward the bedroom door. "What's happened? Is he okay?"

I drop my purse, and begin to hurry down the steps, en route.

"Miss Bardot, he's not in there."

I freeze, turning to her. "Where is he?"

"He went to the firm. I told him he was too sick to go, but he's stubborn. He slipped out while I was making his meal."

Immensely relieved it's not something worse; I cover my face, trying to slow my heartbeat. I nod to her. "I'll bring him back. You may go home, Lucy. We'll be fine until the night shift arrives."

She swallows. "I'm sorry. I really did try to convince him."

I shake my head, hands on my hips. "He's had things his way his entire life. He won't listen to anyone."

"He listens to you," she murmurs, before she embarks on the search for her things.

...

"You are in so much trouble," I say as soon as I turn the corner into my office, finding Norman sitting on the loveseat, watching the television on the wall. There is a book in his lap, and I'm amazed to see he's gotten himself into a suit. He's still wearing his coat, and I instantly notice perspiration on his face.

He smirks, tearing his eyes from the golf tournament on the screen. "I had to utilize the rare moment you weren't watching over me."

"You aren't well enough to be here," I snap, setting my bag onto the desk. Rebecca walks into the room, holding a tray of take-out and my scowl deepens.

"Chinese, Norman? Are you serious?"

He chuckles, taking it from her. "I'm going to die any day now, Scarlett. I might as well eat what I want."

Breathe, just breathe. My eyes reopen, and flash a look of apology to Rebecca, who seems disturbed by his nonchalance on the subject but manages to smile at me before leaving us alone.

"How long have you been here? Have you taken your medication? How did you get here?"

"So many questions," he says, in an oddly good mood. I glare at him and he rolls his eyes. "I've been here an hour and fifteen minutes. I took my medication, yes. And I got here by taxi, since you hid the keys to the car."

The phone rings, and I snatch it off the receiver. "Yes?"

"You sound so commanding, damn. I'm not used to it."

Carlos's voice makes me smile. "It's been a crazy morning. Norman found his own way here this morning, without me knowing."

"Ooh, damn. I'll come up in a bit, say hi to him. I got those photos edited how you wanted for the billboard."

"Perfect. I'll see you in a bit."

Rebecca enters again, just as I'm stuffing my bag into a drawer. She sets down contracts, ledgers, unopened mail—piles of work.

"I don't miss that," Norman says, breaking his chopsticks.

"Yes, you do," I reply.

He laughs. "Yes, I do."

I sit down, with a heavy sigh.

"How are you feeling? Giovanni sounded pretty worried when we spoke. For him to stay an extra day..."

I begin to tear through the seal of the mail with my index finger. "I had a pretty bad fever, but he got it down. I'm good."

"Good?"

"Good enough to come to work, and as soon as you are done with that food, I'm calling Adam to bring the car around so he can take you home."

"You sound just like your mother. Her voice would get that low when she would be really pissed at me."

I don't comment on that, so, he changes the subject.

"You look right in here."

I glance around me at all of the new furniture, still able to picture exactly where all of his things used to be. I'm sure he remembers too. "It doesn't feel right yet."

"It will. You own this place. You have command over all of it. Every hallway, every room, every stapler is yours. It won't take long for you to realize that."

It seems like a stretch, but I smile anyway, and open my computer. He listens to me make phone calls, watches me talk over final decisions with the departments, and I let him, wanting him to see that I have his company in my best interest, that I won't fail him.

Carlos comes up and sits with him, talking and joking around with him as if he weren't his former boss. I watch Norman truly tire the moment Carlos leaves, and send a text to Adam, to tell him to come.

There's a knock on the door, and I look up from my phone as Jerry strides through the door.

"Can I have a word?" he asks, glancing to Norman en route to my desk. I nod.

"Sure."

He takes a seat across from me, holding out sheets. I take them, scanning the paragraphs.

"This is my client list, he says, as if I can't read.

"And? What about it?"

"It's a shit list. Ever since the beginning of this year, I've gotten shit deals. Low-grade actors, up and coming food chains. I've represented Oscar winners before, Scarlett. I'm the best guy you've got here."

"Your manager assigns your deals. You get the clients you work for, and lately Jerry, your client's numbers are down."

"Well, the manager has something against me! I have twice as much experience as her; I have twice as much talent and—"

"And you treat her like crap, spewing your egotistical righteousness onto her day in and day out. She has been very vocal with me on your failings, not only as an employee, but as a gentleman."

When he glances to Norman, as if that will somehow make a difference, as if that will get him what he wants, my mouth sets, thankfully, Norman regards him with disinterest, turning back to the television.

"Don't look at him, Jerry. I'm your boss."

He chuckles, looking down at his watch and my brows soar.

"What's funny?"

"What's funny is that you only have this job because he favored you from the start. I've actually gone to school. I've been in this industry twice as long as you have and I should be sitting in that damn seat."

I begin to flick my pen into the desk. "Is that so?"

"Yes. You nearly destroyed this company with your infatuation, yet he gives you the big office. God, things always come easier for you wom—"

My pen stops moving. As if I hadn't already been done with this conversation before, he's really just done it.

"Were you going to say, women?"

"No, I mean—" He rubs the back of his head, his mouth twisting with frustration. "I wasn't—"

"Exactly," I snap, and I catch Norman watching me on the couch. "You take back those words. Be smart. Because whether you like it or not, the person sitting across from you is a goddamn woman, and your job is in her hands."

"Look, Scarlett—"

"Ms. Bardot," I correct, sitting up, enjoying his squirming.

It seems to kill him, not being able to snap back.

"Miss Bardot, I didn't mean to offend you. I just believe that I deserve more from this company."

"Let me tell you something, Jerry." I stand, walking around the desk. His eyes fail to hide his discontentment with this situation; so naturally, I plant myself right in front of him, sitting on the edge of the desk. My arms cross as I peer down at him. "If this had been my business a year ago, you would have already been gone. You think you're the only decent PR agent in New York, yet, you fail to back up your statements with the proof needed to make you as invincible as you seem to think you are. You speak over every woman who tries to do her job in your presence, because you believe our place is behind a switchboard. And to top it all off, you actually truly think you're an asset to this company. For years, I've sat by and watched you walk, run, and trample over people to get what you want. For years, I've wondered what I would do if I had an employee such as you, and finally, I have my answer."

His eyes round into wide circles, his mouth falling open. "You're not firing me...?"

I regard with him disgust and straighten onto my heels, flicking my head toward the door. "Get the fuck out of my office."

I hear him sputtering to my back, so full of outrage he cannot form coherent words. I swing my chair out, glancing up at him, now on his feet. Norman appears to be a statue on the couch.

"You have five seconds to pick up these papers and walk out of this office, before I call security and have you escorted out of here."

I wait for his insults, which are surely flying around in his brain at an unhealthy speed. But it only takes him two seconds to snatch the papers he brought from my desk and only takes four for him to disappear from the entrance.

I breathe in, tearing my eyes from the double doors, hearing Jerry shouting to anyone who will listen about how I resent him because he's a man, and look at Norman.

His brows are high on his damp forehead. I lower into my seat, shrugging my shoulders with finality.

"It's my company."

I hear the smile in his voice. "That it is."

...

"Scarlett?"

At the sound of Rebecca's voice, meek and full of hesitance, I lift my face from my forearm with dread. She's discovered me on the floor of the bathroom, head over the toilet. It's early morning; no one's supposed to be in yet.

"Are you okay?"

I clear my throat, reaching up to flush the toilet and then I scramble up onto my stilettos, wiping my mouth as I stare at the door of the stall, my face heating up in a rush.

"I'm okay, yeah." I open the door, and head to the sink, aware of her eyes following me. "You're in early."

"Yeah, thought I'd prepare the paperwork for the meeting at nine."

"Good idea." I grab my toothbrush, which I have handy on me always now, since my morning sickness has spiked considerably over the last two days. I squeeze a hearty amount of minty paste onto the bristles, still catching my breath. "Did you call the vending company about the coffee machine yesterday? It wasn't working when I left."

"I did. They came by an hour ago."

I smile, brushing. "Always one step ahead."

"Got to be, with that big raise you just gave me."

I spit out the amount that's gathered in my mouth, and then continue to brush.

"Are you pregnant?"

I freeze at the words. My gaze meets hers in the mirror. And I can't bring myself to lie to her.

"Yes," I whisper.

She gasps, grinning. "Oh my god. You are?"

I nod, and bend to rinse out my mouth with water. When I come up, she strangles me in a hug before I've even wiped the water from my face. Pulling back, she hands me a paper towel.

"Giovanni's?"

I pat down my lips and throw the paper in the waste bin. "Mhm."

"Does he know? I mean, is it awkward?"

"He does."

She grins, biting down on her bottom lip. She's jumping in her flats. "You just got flowers. They're in your office. They're probably from him!"

I gather my things, and walk out. She's close behind.

"How far along?"

I glance around, warily, and then turn back to her. "Bec, no one can know about this. You can't tell a soul."

"Um, excuse me. I've kept every damn secret you've ever told me."

I roll my eyes at the attitude in her tone and that makes her smile even larger.

"Two months," I say, when we're both in my office.

"What did he say? About the baby?"

My eyes catch sight of the red roses on my desk. I'm so distracted by them that I forget she's asked a question.

"Scar?"

"He was...um, shocked. We're both still processing it."

"So, there's no getting back together?"

I shake my head, grabbing the note attached. "Not right now."

When my eyes meet hers, she gets the gist. I only open pull the card from the envelope when she's out of the room.

Everything will be alright, I promise.
I love you.

I smile, pressing the card to my chest, as it thumps unsteadily. It's been two days away from him, and I can't take it. Resisting the urge to grab my purse and head for the airport, I grab my portfolio instead, and leave for the conference room.

...

"Have a good night, Jimmy," I say, stepping from the car, onto the sidewalk. "And have a good weekend with your girl. I'm sure she'll win the game."

Jimmy chuckles, from the front seat. "I don't doubt it for a second. Give Norman my best, okay?"

I nod, and shut the door, turning. I begin to climb the steps, looking for the mail keys, while my eyes also search the entrance to the building, scanning the few people around me, a constant habit now. My eyes land upon a cop car at the curb, and the man leaning on it.

The second Dixon knows I've seen him, he walks the few steps it takes to get to me.

I back up instinctively, glancing to the entranceway and then back to him.

"You've got a lot of balls showing up here," I snap. "I find it hard to believe you don't have better things to do than wait for me to get home."

He purses his lips, oddly quiet, which sends chills up my forearms, all over my legs.

"Well, if you have nothing to say..." I breathe, turning. He catches my arm and my head snaps to him, eyes ablaze.

"I'll scream."

He lets go immediately, but smirks. "I could slam you into the ground, and arrest you but I don't think it needs to resort to that."

"What the hell do you want?"

"You were gone, for almost two days."

I hope he doesn't notice my cheeks setting fire.

"I-I was gone for one day, and it was to visit Monica on her book tour," I tell him, lying through my teeth. I try to remember the exact dates of her schedule that she drilled into my brain before she left. "She had a reading in, um, Boston."

He inches closer, crossing his arms in an effort to intimidate me. He's close enough that I smell the alcohol on his breath. My eyes widen, slowly in realization, but I say nothing.

"Boston? Really? I thought maybe you'd left, flown to see Giovanni but I checked flights and you didn't book one."

"I told you that was over. That was our deal, the deal you made. So, why don't you leave me the fuck alone?"

"Because you know what I want...what I really want."

My eyes close, squeezing shut in anger before I look at him again. And here it is.

The inevitable more—the demands that never stop coming.

"That's not happening."

"I think it will."

"No."

His blonde hair tumbles onto his forehead as he hardens, tensing. "You want me to release what I know? You want me to strip him of everything he owns? Really?"

I want to throw up. I smell the alcohol. I see a flash of my father—of him and close my eyes again to try and shake the images.

"I will never be with you," I growl, piercing him with a steady gaze. "Ever. I fucking hate you."

I move around him, and I nearly make it to the first step but he pulls me back, clasping the back of my neck with a firm grip. Every bone, every muscle in my body tense, I stare at him, hearing only silence around me, knowing he wouldn't grab me like this if anyone were nearby to notice.

My eyes flicker up, searching for the camera. I find none. I do see the attendant at the door, a woman, but she turns and walks away and my hope is gone.

"Looking for a camera?"

I shove at his chest, but he pulls me back with enough force that I grunt, feeling the sharp pain radiate through my throat at his pressure.

"I think you're still seeing him," he whispers, inches away from my mouth. I twist my face from his breath, and squirm out of his grip, rolling my shoulders to get away. He lets me go. "I think you're lying to me."

"Why would I lie? Why?"

"I know you, Scarlett. Better than you think."

I keep trying to get around him, but he's fast, always slamming his foot down in front of me. I begin to feel panic, consuming panic. I didn't take the valium today, or any day since the argument with Giovanni and right now, I feel it all.

"You don't know jack shit about me, Dixon," I seethe, relieved when a car pulls up to the curb and an older couple get out. I move up into his face, showing him only hatred. "Not a damn thing. I never loved you. I went through the motions with you. You were my attempt at safety. You were safe and that is why I chose you."

He looks down at me, his pupils dilated in anger. "You see this uniform, Scarlett? It means I'm law. It means that you are a citizen and I am an officer. It means that you have no power here. None whatsoever. You've failed at every turn to win...what makes you think that your insults will do anything for you now?"

I stand my ground, chest heaving when I hear the door shut behind the couple, leaving us alone again. He's got my forearm in his grip, holding me close.

"I fucked a woman last night who looked like you," he whispers, and I can't breathe. "She didn't feel like you, or smell like you." He leans in, inhaling my hair. "You always smell so good."

My eyes are swarmed with tears, my teeth locked together but I still manage to say, "Let me go."

His voice is menacing. "If you don't say yes, Scarlett, I will not hesitate to ruin him."

I meet his gaze, stunned to silence.

The door slams shut, and Dixon tears his eyes from mine, looking to the doorway.

I watch his eyes extend in disbelief...in sheer rage. I watch his mouth curl, a gust of air leave his lips in a rush.

And that's when I turn my head enough to see what has captured his attention.

That's when I look.

Giovanni is standing at the top of the carpeted stairs to Norman's building, looking down upon us.