Chapter 16

Friday evening I'm alone at home. Alone if you don't consider the droid currently exploring the depths of my apartment—as if something significant might've changed from last weekend—and softly beeping in the background.

Tonight, I didn't even try to go out with my usual crowd of friends. I'm just not in the right head space. What would've been the point? Go to bars I've already been to a million times? See the same faces I see every time? Talk about the same inconsequential stuff? Being hit on by women who don't have eyes of the clearest amber brown, a tumble of dark locks that end in pink tips, and a brain so amazingly sharp no one can keep up?

Been there, done that. I'm over it.

As I sit on the couch in front of the dark TV screen, I flip Reese's last note through my fingers over and over again. I stare at the barely legible words crafted in the worst handwriting I've ever seen. Cursive letters curl in on themselves in jagged, too-compressed lines that are barely interpretable—both literally and figuratively. She's told me not to flirt and then she's giving me waivers to do it?

What's your idea of fun? Do you need a special waiver to elaborate? Have a nice weekend, Mercer.

How do I reply? Waiver or not, I can't give her any of the answers I'm itching to pen. I compose a million opening lines in my head and scratch each one as potentially inappropriate, crass, or downright obscene.

When I can't bear it any longer, I stand up, wish K-2P a good night, and go to my bedroom. I stick the note on the door of my closet together with the others, so they're the first thing I see in the morning when I get dressed. No matter the demanding challenges of upping my robotics savviness, going to work has never felt less of a chore.

It's the weekends that suck.

Once in bed, I take forever to get to sleep, and even when I do, it's a disturbed rest. So much so that I sleepwalk through all of Saturday. Partly because I'm tired, and partly because I don't know what to do with myself.

When Sunday morning comes, I'm even grateful for having to go to my parents' for brunch. At least I'll kill a couple of hours there.

But when I arrive at my parents' penthouse, I'm utterly flabbergasted when I find Gabriel already there, holding Blake's hand as they sit on the couch. The couch that is usually reserved for me.

This is unprecedented. My brother has never, ever brought a woman to a family event. And I can count the ones he introduced to my parents on the fingers of one hand. But Blake is different, she has been from the start.

"Thomas." Mom stands up to greet me with a crushing hug, then she pulls back, studying my face. "How's the new job? Is the new position stressing you out?"

I flash her a smile. "To the contrary, I feel revitalized."

"Happy to hear, son." My dad stands, too, and pats me on the shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Are you finding the RD department stimulating?"

Gabriel coughs from the couch, getting up and pulling Blake along. "Bet he's plenty stimulated."

He's giving me shit about admitting I like the department head, so I discreetly flip him behind my father's back. In response, he scratches his eyebrow with his middle finger. Blake smiles while simultaneously rolling her eyes.

"It's challenging but rewarding," I tell my dad.

I'm not proud that my enthusiasm for the new job is not strictly professionally driven, but I couldn't have found a better incentive than wanting to impress Reese to up my game. Not that my average mind could ever make an impression on her. But I sure want to show her I care about her work, that she won't have to regret Emmet Proctor retiring, and that I can be a great CEO as well.

Mom steers us toward the dining room, and we sit at our usual positions except this time, Blake and Gabriel share the long side of the table opposite mine.

Dad brings around a bottle of champagne and uncorks it with a loud pop. The cork flies to the chandelier, making the crystals tingle before landing in a corner while Dad pours the bubbly liquid into high-stemmed glasses and passes them around.

Blake tries to refuse hers. "I shouldn't drink; I have a ballet class to teach in a few hours."

"Just a sip," my mom encourages, and Blake reluctantly accepts the glass.

"A toast," Dad says once everyone has a glass, raising his. "Blake, welcome to the family. We thought we'd never see this one settled down and we couldn't be more honored to have you here with us today."

Blake blushes, and Gabriel gives her hand a reassuring squeeze above the table.

"To Blake," my mom chimes in. "May you have a long and happy relationship with our son."

"To Blake," I echo, lifting my glass. "May you survive being saddled with the family grump." I tilt my flute toward Gabriel.

Everyone laughs, while my brother, true to his reputation, scowls.

We all take a sip of champagne, but I notice how Blake discreetly spits hers right back into her glass. I raise my eyebrows and look up at my brother. He's watching me watching her, and his eyes simmer with a silent threat—don't you dare say a word. My jaw slacks open.

Blake is pregnant?

And then, just because I'm an ass, I decide to rock my brother's boat a little.

I wait for our maid to serve the salads and for everyone to have gotten a few forkfuls down before I say, "Blake, welcome to the family again. Do you plan on having a big one?"

"A big what?" she asks, an innocent little lamb taking the bait.

"A big family," I say, smirking. "Gabriel has always wanted many kids."

"Is it true, Gabriel?" My mom frowns. "Why is this the first I hear of this, sweetheart?"

Gabriel's nostrils flare. "Because he's just being a smartass."

In the meantime, Blake has lost the ability to speak and her cheeks match the shade of the tomatoes in our salad. I wink at her and go back to eating the food on my plate.

But now that I've poked the bear, Gabriel won't just let me sit quietly and enjoy my lunch.

"So, Thomas," Gabriel says, all fake politeness. "What's the best part of the new position? Met anyone interesting?"

"I was pleasantly surprised; RD is totally not what I knocked it up to be."

"Why? Has robotics seduced you?"

"It sure is a field gravid with opportunities."

At this point, Blake grabs her glass of water and downs it in a few long gulps.

"What about your co-workers?" Gabriel goes for the throat. "Anyone in particular you fraternized with?"

Dad frowns. "Boys, what's going on?"

With matching innocent grins, we turn toward our dad, saying in unison, "Nothing, Dad."

He rolls his eyes, while my mom reaches over the table to squeeze Blake's hand. "At least now I'm not alone in having to deal with their shenanigans."

Blake chuckles in response. "I don't know how you managed with these two when they were little terrors."

My mom winks. "We have an air horn for emergencies."

The entire table laughs, and after that, the meal proceeds with no further covert taunting between me and my brother.

Gabriel, Blake, and I leave the house together and pause to say goodbye on the curb.

I drag them a safe distance from the doorman, who's a notorious gossip, and say, "Guess congratulations are in order?"

Blake flushes. "You can't tell anyone. We literally found out only yesterday. Before we tell people, we want to make sure everything is okay because a lot of pregnancies?—"

"Relax," I interrupt the nervous rant. "Your secret is safe with me." I pull her into a hug and pat her shoulders in mock pity. "But I'm sorry you're going to be stuck with the family grump for all of eternity and a minion replica, too."

Blake's smile is radiant as she pulls back. "Oh, I can live with that."

I squeeze my brother's shoulder next. "Congratulations, old man."

He gives me a nod and a somewhat appreciative grunt in reply.

"How's it going with your super smart lady?" Blake asks next.

I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips. "She's started responding to my notes."

"You finally discussed them?"

Hands shoved in my pockets, I roll on the balls of my feet. "No, she's sending secret notes in response, but we never acknowledge them other than in writing."

"Oh, that's so romantic. Is she flirty in the responses?"

I keep smiling like an idiot. "Yeah, definitely."

Blake smiles, then scowls. "But you're keeping your messages strictly friendly, right? Remember, she has to make the first move."

I think of the million inappropriate responses I want to give to Reese's last message and sigh. "Yeah, I'm keeping it friendly. Totally PG-13." Then with a wink, I add, "Except for when she gives me waivers."

"She does?"

"Yep."

Blake's eyes flit to Gabriel and back to me, her face positively glowing with love and affection for my brother. "I'm sure she'll come around; the Mercer men have a way of being irresistible."

She ruffles my brother's hair and I'm shocked by the look of pure adoration on his face as he grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles.

That's what I want. That's what I'll fight to get.

Sunday night, as I'm sitting in front of the coffee table surrounded by crumpled Post-it notes, K-2P wheels into the room and asks, "Can I talk to you about my Halloween costume?"

I lift my gaze to the little robot. "You're dressing up?"

"Yeah, you have to as well. It's a longstanding tradition at the office to go in full costume on the thirty-first."

"Really?"

Condescending beep. "Of course, don't tell me you didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know?"

"Fair enough. Anyway, my costume. I was thinking of keeping it simple and just getting cat ears, whiskers, and perhaps a tail. What do you think?"

"Seems like an excellent idea. You know what Reese is dressing up as?"

"She hasn't told me, but from her breaktime Google searches I have a pretty good idea."

I lift a finger. "Hold that thought, we're going to discuss it in a second. But first, there's something I need to finish."

I grab a fresh Post-it note, suddenly very inspired on what to write.