“I had no idea. I told you—I’ve been buried in this trial. But, Nikki! That’s amazing. Congratulations!”

I draw in a breath, only then realizing how nervous I’ve been about his reaction. I grew up with Ollie, after all, and no one knows the extent of my family issues better than he does. “Thanks. I’m nervous,” I admit. “But mostly, I’m thrilled.”

“You’re going to do great.” His gentle voice belongs to the Ollie of my childhood. The one who was always my champion. The best friend before Damien came along. I feel a little twist in my heart. Everything is fine between us now, but it will never be the same as it was. I don’t regret that, but sometimes I miss it.

“And you’ll be a wonderful uncle,” I say.

“Hell yeah, I will.”

I laugh. “So what did you call to congratulate me for? There’s nothing else going on right now.”

“For landing that contract with Greystone-Branch,” he says, in a tone of voice that suggests I’ve lost my mind.

My heart starts pounding, and I roll the chair back away from the desk. “Say that again.”

“The job with Greystone-Branch. You’d said you were nervous about it. So I thought I’d call to congratulate you.”

“I don’t have the job,” I say. “I mean, I don’t have it yet. And honestly, I’m not sure I’m going to get it. They seemed pretty worried about my ability to get the work done now that I’m pregnant.”

“You did get it,” Ollie says. “The announcement’s in the newsletter they sent out about twenty minutes ago.”

“Wait. What?” I dig in my satchel for my iPad only to realize I left it on the counter back at the apartment. Since I haven’t yet fired up my computer, I switch over to email while keeping the phone on speaker. Sure enough, there’s a newsletter from Greystone-Branch sitting in my inbox.

And three paragraphs in is the announcement of their new software development relationship with the exceptional team at Fairchild Development.

“Holy shit,” I say.

“You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t have a clue. Why wouldn’t they call first? And why the hell are you getting the Greystone-Branch newsletter?”

“Can’t help you with the first,” Ollie says. “But as for the newsletter, I represent one of their competitors, so I subscribed about a year ago.”

“Lucky me,” I say, but I’m frowning. “Actually, this explains a lot,” I say, then tell him about the more-irritating-than-threatening texts I’ve been getting. “My first instinct was that they were from a competitor. But then this last one came in right before you called, and I started to think it was someone jealous about Damien. Or the baby. Anything but the contract, because why bother when I didn’t have the job?”

“But now you’re thinking the person saw the newsletter, too.”

“Maybe. I hope so.” I make a face. “If I’m going to have a text stalker, it would be nice for it to be about my work and not my marriage for once.”

Ollie laughs. “You two do tend to make headlines.”

Sadly, he’s right.

“What does Damien say about the texts?”

“I haven’t told him yet,” I admit.

“Oh, that’s going to go over well.”

I roll my eyes. Ollie and Damien may have settled into a friendly truce, but that doesn’t mean they’re each other’s best champions.

In this case, though, Ollie’s probably right.

“I’m going to tell him right now,” I say. “I was just about to call him when you rang.”

“Then I should let you do that,” Ollie says. “And I also need to go. I need about ten minutes with my witness before I put her on the stand.”

“Break a leg,” I say. “By the way, how long are you in New York?”

“Unless we settle, probably at least another week. Then it’ll depend on how long the jury’s out.”

“We’ll do drinks when you get back,” I say. “Or you’ll drink, and I’ll look longingly at your scotch.”

“Sounds like a plan. Love you.”

“Back at you,” I say, and when I hang up, I see that I have a voicemail from Bijan. I call him back right away, and he apologizes that their PR department sent the newsletter before he’d spoken with me. I assure him it’s not a problem, we schedule a call for Wednesday to go over the specs and set the first round of Dallas meetings, and I manage to control my squeals of joy and delight until after the call ends.

Then, of course, I call Damien—to give him both the good news and the bad.

“He just left the office for a meeting,” Rachel says. “But congratulations!”

“Twitter?”

“Instagram, actually. That picture of you on the lawn of your old house. But the caption was good news, and so I asked Damien and—”

“It’s all good,” I say, cutting her off. “How long do you think he’ll be out of the office?”

“He didn’t say. I’m not even sure who he’s meeting with. He was over in the apartment, and when he came back, he said it had just come up. Do you want me to leave him a message?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll send him a text. He’ll call me when he gets a chance.”

“Sounds good. By the way, what are you wearing to the premiere? I’ve never been to a red carpet thing before.”

“I’m wearing a white dress with black trim on the bodice and a completely unreasonable slit up the thigh. I was excited about it before, but now I’m thrilled. I figure I should take advantage of the occasion since pretty soon I’ll be in maternity clothes. But as for you, you can do a gown or a cocktail dress. Either one’s appropriate.”

“Gown, duh. It’s not like I get the chance that often. Besides, I think Graham Elliott might be there,” she adds, referring to the A-lister she actually met once for about seven seconds. “He and Kirstie Ellen Todd broke up, you know, so maybe I have a shot now.”

“Maybe you do,” I say encouragingly.

“And if not, there’s always Lyle Tarpin.”

“He’ll definitely be there,” I say. “He’s not only starring in the movie, but he’s the incoming celebrity sponsor of the Stark Children’s Foundation.”