“Oh?” She gives me a knowing smile.

“No, nothing like that.” I guess I need to preface my statement; otherwise, people are likely to think I was burning up the sheets with my blushing bride. We are newlyweds, after all. “I slept on the couch last night.”

Her expression instantly falls. Frowning, she gives my cheek a pat. Then she lowers herself into the chair across from me. “Tell Mama Rosie all about it.”

“Things between me and Olivia are good . . . they’re just kind of complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Rosita raises her eyebrows.

“How did you know you wanted kids?”

From her surprised expression, that’s clearly not the topic she was expecting. “I don’t know. I guess I always just knew from the time I was small that I wanted to be a mother.”

I nod. Makes sense. I think women just know. They have that maternal instinct, that ticking biological clock. Only I don’t know if Olivia feels that way.

“Do you want children? Is that what this is about?” Rosita asks in her calm, yet confident voice.

I have always wanted at least one kid, hopefully two. But this situation isn’t about what either of us want. Our know-it-all, matchmaking fathers thought it best that we start a family in order to take over their massive corporation, and now I’m feeling the pressure of putting a bun in Olivia’s oven ASAP.

Does Rosita really need all that background information, though?

Deciding to keep this conversation as simple as possible, I just answer, “Yeah. But I don’t know how Olivia feels.”

Rosita smiles warmly at me and rises to pat the back of my hand. “You have plenty of time. The ink is barely dry on your marriage certificate. Enjoy life with just the two of you for a few years first. Once kids come, you can never go back. This time is precious.”

The sour feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifies. Great . . . yet another reason why everything in my life is fucked. Not what I need to hear right now. But Rosita doesn’t know that, so I nod and force a smile at her, as if her wise advice perfectly hit the spot.

“Thanks for the talk, Rosie. I better get back to work.”

“Anytime,” she calls after me.

Now I just have to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

Chapter Eight

Olivia

What the hell happened last night? I worked so hard to psych myself up for sex, and Noah was the one who got cold feet? Unbelievable. The man can never stop flirting with me or bragging about how amazing he is in bed, but when the time came to put his money where his mouth was . . . actually, his mouth didn’t go anywhere either.

And I can’t even ask Noah about it, because I can’t find him. I woke up to an empty bed, with no sign of my husband anywhere in the apartment. He wasn’t in his office when I arrived at work either.

All damn day, I’ve been trying to catch him alone. He won’t answer any of my calls or texts or e-mails, and his secretary keeps saying “oh, bad luck, you just missed him” every time I stop by her desk.

Is it really bad luck, though? Is his jam-packed schedule today just an annoying coincidence? Or . . . is he avoiding me on purpose?

I stomp down the little voice in the back of my head that whispers, He’s changed his mind about you. He finally came to his senses, realized what a huge mistake this relationship is. He regrets everything. He doesn’t want to touch you or even talk to you. That poisonous hiss sounds an awful lot like Brad, and I’m done with him for good.

But God, I’m still so confused and frustrated. I was all set to confront my sexual hang-ups, and then our showdown was canceled at the last possible second.

Dammit, I refuse to let my emotional effort go to waste. I’m going to be brave and get laid if it’s the last thing I do. But first, I’m going to find out why Noah suddenly abandoned ship last night. And if I can’t track down the slippery SOB at work, I’ll just corner him tonight. He has to come home sometime, right?

• • •

Just as I’m folding a sheet of office paper into a voodoo doll and preparing to repeatedly stab it in the crotch, Camryn swings by my office.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask as she slides into the chair in front of my desk.

“Not much.” She shrugs. “I wanted to see if you wanted to grab an early lunch.”

I glance at the clock and see it’s only half past eleven, but yes, getting out of this building and escaping the rejection burning through my veins is exactly what I need. “I would eat dog shit right now if I meant I got an hour’s worth of girl time with you.”

Camryn’s cheery expression falls. “Well, I’m not real keen on eating dog shit, so why don’t you tell me what happened, sweetie?”

I huff out a sigh and rise to my feet. “I’ll tell you all about it over lunch.”

And I do. Over chicken strips and fries (nothing says comfort food like deep-fried anything dipped in generous amounts of ranch dressing), I lay it all out on the table. All my baggage. All the pain and hurt and doubt Noah caused me last night.

“He had me convinced that he wanted me, wooed me, was on his best, most charming behavior, and then bam! Nothing.” I lick the grease from my fingers and take a big gulp of soda to wash down my lunch.

“What a twat,” she grumbles, nodding to encourage me along.

“He slept on the couch and was gone before I got up this morning, so obviously he’s avoiding me like he knows he did something wrong.” I freeze, my straw halfway to my lips.