In His Bed

Chapter 9:Yvette

Aria

I met Yvette properly on a Thursday, in Stan's office, over a lunch that had apparently been his idea and that I'd agreed to before I'd fully thought through what it meant to sit across a table from the woman who ran the daily architecture of his life.

"I've heard so much about you," Yvette said, and extended a hand with the kind of easy, unhurried warmth that made it immediately, disarmingly hard to dislike her. "Well. Not that much, actually. Stan's famously private. But enough to know you two go back further than most people in his life."

"Fairview," I said, shaking her hand. "A long time ago."

"He mentioned." Yvette's smile stayed easy, but something in her eyes moved fast and precise, cataloging, the way my own did in a deposition. "He doesn't talk about Fairview much. You must have made an impression."

It wasn't quite a question, and I found myself, despite every instinct telling me to be careful, liking the woman across from me. Yvette had the specific competence of someone who'd made herself essential through sheer reliability, quick, warm, unflustered, the kind of person who could run a company's daily operations and still remember to ask how you took your coffee. It was easy to see why Stan trusted her. It was almost easier to see why some part of me, unfairly, wanted not to.

"How long have you worked for him?" I asked, mostly to redirect.

"Six years now." Yvette settled back in her chair, relaxed in a way that suggested she'd earned every inch of comfort in this building. "Started as an assistant, worked my way into operations. He's a good boss, for what it's worth. Demanding, but fair. Doesn't ask anything of you he wouldn't do himself."

"That sounds like him."

"You'd know better than me." Something flickered behind Yvette's expression, gone before I could name it. "Twelve years of history. That's a long time to know someone."

"It is."

"And now this." Yvette's gaze dropped, briefly, deliberately, to the general vicinity of my midsection, still flat, still weeks from showing anything at all, and something about the specificity of the glance made the back of my neck prickle. "Life has a strange sense of timing, doesn't it."

"Strange is one word for it."

Stan arrived a few minutes later, apologizing for the delay, dropping into the seat beside me with an ease that hadn't fully been there a week ago, close enough that his knee brushed mine under the table, deliberate or not I couldn't tell. Yvette watched the small contact with a smile that didn't waver at all, professionally warm, and slid seamlessly into a rundown of his afternoon schedule before he'd even picked up his menu.

"The Hendricks call moved to four. Legal wants five more minutes on the indemnification language, apparently your girlfriend's firm is being thorough." A light, easy laugh, aimed at no one in particular, the kind engineered to defuse instead of wound. "And your father's office called. Twice."

Something tightened, fast and involuntary, at the corner of Stan's mouth. "Tell them I'll call back."

"I told them that yesterday too."

"Then tell them again."

Yvette's expression didn't change, but something in the set of her shoulders acknowledged the closed door without pushing on it. "Understood." She gathered her tablet, rose smoothly, every motion economical and unhurried at once. "It was lovely to finally meet you, Aria. I'm sure I'll be seeing more of you."

"Likewise," I said, and meant it, mostly.

Yvette was almost to the door when she paused, turned back, and something in her posture shifted, subtle enough that I might have missed it if I hadn't spent a career reading rooms for exactly this kind of tell.

"Congratulations, by the way." Yvette's voice stayed warm, easy, pitched perfectly for a passing remark. "On the baby. I know it's not public yet, so I'll keep it that way. But for what it's worth, I think it's wonderful."

The door closed behind her before either of us could respond.

I sat very still. "We haven't told anyone."

"I haven't told her." Stan's voice had gone careful, flat in the specific way it went when something worried him more than he wanted to show. "I haven't told anyone. You, me, and the two of us in that bathroom two days ago are the only people who know."

"Then how does she know?"

"I don't know."

"Stan." My pulse had picked up, quick and cold. "That's not a small thing to not know."

"I'm aware." He was already reaching for his phone, jaw tight, some new and careful stillness settling over him that I recognized, distantly, as the version of him that ran a company, the version that dealt with problems instead of feeling them. "I'll find out."

"How?"

"I don't know yet." He looked up at me, and for a second the careful stillness cracked just enough to let something worried through. "But I will. I promise you that."

I looked at the closed door Yvette had disappeared through, warm and competent and, apparently, unnervingly well informed, and felt something cold settle low in my stomach that had nothing to do with morning sickness at all.

"Six years," I said quietly. "You said she's worked for you six years. You trust her."

"I did." Stan's voice had gone very quiet. "I'm starting to think I need to find out exactly how much."