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Mrs. Zoric. I liked the sound of that.

“I’m just bringing him lunch and then I’ll be on my way. Is he in his office?” I asked.

She handed me a clipboard so I could sign in and then looked at her computer. “I believe so,” she said, pointing toward one end of the hallway.

I thanked her and headed in that direction.

The KZ Modeling offices were absolutely stunning. There were modern, black and chrome details everywhere, but the colorful, blown-up photographs on the walls kept everything from feeling too cold and stark. I wondered if Emzee had shot them.

As I passed offices with frosted glass doors, and conference rooms with more glass, I started to get nervous. What if I couldn’t find his office? What if he was in a meeting? Maybe this had been a mistake. I walked faster down the hall, reading name plaques, peeking into open doors, and letting my gaze skim the faces in the conference rooms.

Most of them were occupied by men in suits, though some of the smaller offices had models inside, chattering excitedly as they perched on chairs.

At the end of the hallway, I finally found Stefan’s office. It was across from his father’s and both of them looked like they had incredible corner office views. Konstantin’s door was closed, and I wondered if the elder Zoric was inside. I hadn’t seen him since the night of the Zoric family dinner, and I was hoping to keep it that way.

I ducked into Stefan’s office, a huge smile on my face. He wasn’t there.

Dismayed, I set the bag down on his desk. Maybe the receptionist had been mistaken. Maybe she’d read the schedule wrong. At least the food would be here for him when he returned, I reasoned.

As I came out of Stefan’s office, the door to Konstantin’s was opening. I immediately recognized Stefan, but he wasn’t alone. He had his arm around a woman in her early 20s—a KZM model, by the looks of her—and he was saying something to her in a low, soothing tone.

It was the same tone he’d used with me after my father’s heart attack, on the private plane back to the States. It was his comforting voice.

I felt a twinge of jealousy until I realized the woman was crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked distraught. Even so, she was striking. With her pale skin and red, curly hair that looked like a halo of flames, I pegged her for an Eastern European redhead, not Irish. She had a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth, almost giving her a redheaded Marilyn Monroe look.

Stefan’s whispers stopped abruptly when he looked up and saw me standing there.

“Just go home, try to relax,” he told the young woman, who was sniffling into a tissue. “We’ll reach out soon.”

He gestured for her to head down the hallway toward the elevators. She nodded and did as she was told. The moment she was out of sight, Stefan had his hand around my arm and was pulling me into his office.

It was exactly as I had imagined.

Only right now, he was angry, not turned on.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as soon as the office door was closed.

“I—I brought you lunch. I just came to see—”

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was so harsh, I stepped back involuntarily.

I couldn’t believe he was talking to me like this. Especially after the way he’d behaved at my event. My feelings had changed, but it was clear that his hadn’t.

I couldn’t help but think it had something to do with the woman he’d been comforting. Had I walked in on something he didn’t want me to see?

“Why was that woman crying?” I asked. “Did somebody—assault her?”

“That’s none of your business,” he snapped. “Stay out of it.”

I flinched. It was clear he was hiding something. “Is she…do you have a relationship with her?”

His eyes softened, and I saw a hint of the man I’d seen the other night. A hint of the man who, only moments ago, had been comforting a woman in distress.

“Of course not,” he said, some of the edge gone from his voice. “But she’s pregnant, and it’s…come as a surprise.”

Relief flooded me.

Then I realized the situation. “I guess her career’s going to be on hold for a while.”