“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” the young woman said. She stood and faced me. “The baby’s heart rate’s been nice and consistent.”

“You’re American,” I said. An admittedly stupid comment. “And you’re not dressed like my nurse.”

“Right on both accounts.”

The young woman’s conservative spectacles glinted green from the monitors next to my bed, her long, blond hair falling out of what was once a chignon at the base of her neck.

“I knew you had to be smart,” she said with a smile.

“And you are?”

“Angelica Gatlin. I work for the record studio.”

My breathing escalated, and I clutched at the sheets covering my chest. Simon must have sent this young woman—to what? Butter me up? No way.

“Please leave. I don’t want you in here.”

She stepped forward into better light. Her skin slid over her cheekbones and to her neck in the smooth elegance of youth, but her eyes held secrets behind the chunky black frames.

“I’m here to help.”

“Seeing as how the record label is part of the reason my life is a complete disaster, I’m not sure there’s one thing you could do to help at this point,” I said, voice tart.

“Asher Smith called my boss. He’s not happy with Simon’s ex-publicist. Neither is my boss. That’s why I’m here.” She smiled again. “I’m here to set right something that never should have happened.”

“Oh?” I replied, eyebrows raised. “What’s that?”

Her lips quirked as she shook her head. “I’d rather not say just yet.”

“Then it’s best for you to leave.” My mind spun with how to control the article sure to come from Angelica’s snooping in my hospital room. My stomach roiled in matching pitch to my throbbing head.

Angelica studied me for a minute. “You look done in.”

“You’ve no idea.”

Angelica smiled—a bright flash of teeth that left my chest hollow. At least someone had something to smile about. “Just so you know, Simon called right after that scene at the festival in Atlanta. He’s a mess.”

I crossed my arms over my belly, needing the reassurance of my bump. “Did you kiss him, too?”

Angelica skittered back a little, eyes opening wider with shock. “Um, no. I don’t—”

“You’re about the same age as that other woman—Monique. Perhaps you’ve decided to share him?” My voice remained level but my tone bit just as I wanted it to. The younger woman flinched.

I don’t trust you.

“Mrs. Dorsey, I’d never do that.”

“Then you’re about the only woman who wouldn’t.”

She stepped in closer, her feet shuffling. “I-I just meant Simon seemed upset after your departure. Like, really torn up.”

“No longer my concern, Angelica. He’ll figure out his way forward.” Without me. Without us. “He always does.”