The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(60)

“Where did you find that?” I whisper.

“It was on TikTok this morning. You’re pregnant?”

I swallow. Dr. Fox and Dr. Joliet don’t seem like the type to go on TikTok much, so what are the odds they’ll see it? Shannon and my dad aren’t even on Facebook so I’m not too worried about them.

And honestly…there are millions of videos out there and this one isn’t even all that interesting. “Can you, uh, not say anything about it just yet? I have to tell Dr. Fox still.”

She glances at the video again. “You look really pregnant though.”

“I don’t look that pregnant,” I argue.

One hour later, a nurse leans her head into my office. “Congratulations!” she cries. “I suspected but I didn’t want to say anything.”

I’d almost forgotten about that fucking video, but it comes back to me in a rush. “Congratulations?” I whisper.

“You delivering that baby is international news.”

When she leaves, I look it up. The video has garnered six million views. I scroll through the comments—a third of them are disgusting, and a fair number insist that I’m definitely not a doctor. A handful claim my Birkin is fake, and those are the only ones I reply to because fuck that. I did not get my hands on that bag to have some twenty-year-old manicurist claiming it’s fake because her aunt has a real one and she knows.

But a lot of them are…impressed. Just like Graham was. They like that I spoke Spanish to Graciela. They like that I remained calm and in control while the men in the kitchen looking on were—literally—losing it.

Regardless of which way public opinion is swaying, though, it’s clear that the jig is up. I start typing an email to Fox and Joliet, telling them I’m pregnant, but I’m not finished before Dr. Fox is barking at me over the intercom. “My office. Now.”

I rise from my desk with a heavy sigh. As someone who’s never not gotten told off by her principal, dean, or chief resident, the position I’m in is a familiar one. Today, however, I’m annoyed at the same time. I haven’t done anything that wrong. There was nothing in my contract stating I needed to provide them three months’ warning before I had a baby. There was, however, plenty in my contract referencing California’s labor laws, which they’ve definitely been violating.

And Dr. Fox needs me every bit as much as I need this job, so fuck it. I’m done being scared of this woman. I’m done acting like I’m in the wrong when she’s the one consistently doing a hundred things she shouldn’t.

She turns her phone toward me as I walk in. The article’s headline is Stunning Pregnant Doctor Delivers Baby in Restaurant.

“Care to explain this?” she asks.

“I don’t know that I would have gone with the word stunning,” I reply. “In New York, maybe, but in LA? I’m a seven. Maybe an eight with makeup.”

She stares at me, incredulous. “Are you under the impression that being a smart ass is going to save your job? I was obviously referring to the fact that you are pregnant.”

“I did not know I was pregnant when I accepted this job. It wasn’t planned, and it is what it is.”

“‘It is what it is’?” she demands. “Have you forgotten you’re still on probation?”

I clench my hands in the pockets of my lab coat. She’s been skating off every day for hair appointments and shopping while making a pregnant woman skip lunch to cover for her, but she’s too fucking self-centered to see past the handful of weeks I’d need for maternity leave.

The handful of weeks she’d have to work as hard as I’ve had to lately, covering for her.

“If you’re going to fire me, go ahead and do it.” I pull my hands from my pockets and place them on her desk as I lean toward her. “But I should mention to you that my best friend is one of the leading workplace discrimination lawyers in the country—look up Lawson versus Fiducia and see for yourself—and getting fired when my pregnancy becomes public knowledge sounds like a fucking slam dunk to me.”

I sound like Gemma right now, in the best possible way. But I have no idea if what I said is true…and Kathleen Fox doesn’t look all that scared.





The only person I want to discuss it with as I drive home is Graham. Yes, he’s been on me for a while to tell them the truth, but I also know he’ll have my back.

I park in the garage and skip my normal chat with Paul, Mark, and Jacobson to get upstairs faster, coming to a stop just inside the door to the apartment when I find Graham in jeans and a black button-down, clearly on his way out.

And he looks good.

He looks really, really good.

I’d forgotten he had some bachelor thing for Colin tonight. Apparently, there’s tension over the fact that Mandy won’t set a date, and they’re trying to cheer Colin up. I’d like to suggest that cheering Colin up with lap dances and girls jumping out of a cake isn’t going to help the situation, but I guess I’d sound a little jealous.

“I didn’t realize you were leaving so early,” I tell him. There’s a plaintive note to my voice, one I wish wasn’t there.

He glances at the clock. “It’s seven-thirty, Keeley, and we’re meeting for dinner. It’s not that early.”