Before I could answer, he ordered the driver to speed toward the hospital.
On the way, he rambled incoherently—Sophie had suddenly collapsed at home, and the hospital diagnosed her with anemia. She urgently needed a blood transfusion, but her blood type was the rare Rh-negative, and the blood bank was running out.
“The doctor says her baby is affected too—she needs blood immediately!” Daniel’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “I’ve called all my friends—none have the right type. Claire, you’re Rh-negative, aren’t you? Help Sophie… and help her baby!”
My stomach dropped, and I instinctively shielded my belly. “Daniel, I’m seven months pregnant. The doctor said my placenta is low—donating blood could be dangerous for me!”
“It’s just a little! You’ll be fine!” He slammed the brakes, the car screeching to a stop at the hospital entrance. “Sophie’s carrying my child—she’s my only way to get in with the Whitmores! Think about it—if you help her now, once I’ve earned Mr. Whitmore’s favor, in the future we—”
“We?” I looked into his eyes, wide with undisguised urgency, and felt only cold disbelief. “Daniel, what about the baby I’m carrying? Have you even thought about the risk to me?”