I Married the President

Chapter 309: Chapter 309: We Will Have a Second Baby

When she got home that evening, Claire Sinclair held her medical report and stared at it for a long time.

Adrian Quincy, thinking she was already asleep, came into the room and saw her staring into space. His heart tightened, and he strode over, taking the report from her hands and setting it aside before pulling her into his arms.

”Claire, don’t overthink this. We’ll have another baby.”

”Will we really?” Claire murmured.

The thought that her own ignorance had cost them their first child sent a sharp, twisting pain through her heart.

It was their first child, and just like that, it was gone.

”It’s all my fault...” She buried her face in his chest, her body trembling slightly with self-blame. The more she thought about it, the sadder she became.

Adrian Quincy knew that women could easily be triggered by their surroundings, especially when faced with the pain of losing a child. He needed to be extra gentle to soothe her—and himself.

”If you want to cry, then cry. When you’re done, we’ll look forward. We still have a long road ahead of us.”

”Mm...” Claire nodded obediently.

Strangely, she couldn’t cry. It was as if her heart had already been healed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of his smooth chest, half-visible through his collar. His alluring pectoral muscles seemed to radiate a seductive, masculine scent, and her face instantly flushed red.

As if possessed, she placed a kiss right over his heart...

Adrian Quincy’s body stiffened slightly. He looked down at the shy face of the little woman in his arms. ”You want it again?”

”No!” Claire scrambled out of his embrace, flustered. ”I’m going to sleep!”

A slight smile touched Adrian Quincy’s lips. He lay down beside her, wrapped his arms around her slender waist, and pulled her into his embrace, their bodies pressed intimately together.

Claire’s whole body went rigid, and her breathing grew heavier. ”I have work tomorrow. I need to get to sleep early.”

”We can sleep after?”

”Okay...”

Absolutely no self-control.

...

The consequence of giving The Great Demon King Quincy a free pass was that Claire Sinclair was gloriously late for work the next day.

When she arrived at the office, it was just past nine-thirty.

On her desk sat a paperback book with a white cover. The title read, *I Really Want to Love You, My Dear*, and the author was listed as ”Smiling Angel.”

It wasn’t just on her desk; all her colleagues had a copy of the novel on theirs as well.

It looked like a romance novel, the artsy kind. Even the title reeked of cringey melodrama.

’It’s probably another autobiography ghostwritten for some nouveau riche boss from a partner company...’

Curious, Claire Sinclair opened it to the first page. As expected, it was a complete mess.

As someone who worked with words for a living, Claire Sinclair had zero tolerance for grammatical errors and awkward sentences. She couldn’t help but roast it a little:

”Which upstart wrote this autobiography now? And this line, ’The autumnal season of fall had arrived’—their language arts teacher would have a heart attack if they knew someone used words that way.”

Hearing this, her other colleagues all had strange expressions on their faces.

Someone glanced at Phoebe Lockwood’s empty seat and joined in the criticism. ”’The autumnal season of fall had arrived’ is nothing. Look at the third line: ’also found a sofa in front of the floor-to-ceiling window that didn’t have anything on it.’ How clunky is that? Do you even know what it means? Because I sure don’t.”

”The funniest part is the eighth line, ’was overwhelmed by favor to my mother.’ HAHAHA, that killed me!”

”Yeah, well I was ’earth-shatteringly to my father!’ That’s not how you use ’overwhelmed by favor’...”

But then again, that ”overwhelmed by favor to my mother” gag sounded a little familiar.

Claire Sinclair remembered a manuscript she had proofread with Hughes before she left to do volunteer work. It had been written by Phoebe Lockwood.