by Leslie North
But now, in the thick of her pregnancy, it was time to let the proverbial cat out of the bag. Her mom and dad still didn’t know. Besides, she just wanted someone to tell her it was going to be okay. That being a single mom wasn’t the worst idea she’d had. That she’d be a good mother, even if this reality intrusion wasn’t the best start.
Her parents were shocked to see Melissa show up on their doorstep that Friday. But as they swept her inside for tiny bologna sandwiches and soda, Melissa’s favorite from childhood, she started to fall hard down memory lane.
“You always had a thing for white bread and bologna,” her mother remarked as Melissa stuffed a fourth triangle into her mouth.
“Yeah, well, it’s good.” She swallowed her bite. “Just don’t let anyone from work see me eating this. They’d probably fire me.”
“Bunch of crunchy organic types, right?” her dad asked.
“Some of the worst.” She sipped at her soda, then sighed. “It’s good to be back here. I’d like to see a show, too.”
“We’ve got one tomorrow, Mel Belle,” her mom cooed, swatting her knee. “And you can even perform, if you’re feeling up to it.”
Melissa snorted. “Definitely not.” She grunted as she sat up straighter. The round belly was beginning to make certain movements harder. “Haven’t you caught on by now? I’m not the type to thrive in the spotlight. I’m the behind-the-scenes person. Besides, I’m not sure I’d be able to in my condition.”
A deep silence emerged. Her father’s pencil-thin mustache curved down slightly as he frowned.
“Is there something you haven’t told us?” her mom asked.
Melissa cleared her throat, fingers twitching with the urge to grab another tiny sandwich. She smoothed her flowy top over her growing belly, showing off the roundness there. “Here’s a clue. This belly isn’t just from bologna sandwiches.”
Mom’s gasp rocketed around the world. “You are not!”
“Mel Belle, are you serious?” Dad’s voice came out an awed whisper.
“Please tell me the father is that handsome man who showed up at your apartment,” Mom added. “Are you seeing him? How long have you been together?”
Melissa thinned her lips. Of course they’d be curious about their single daughter getting knocked up. She wished it were a simpler situation. “It’s…a friend’s. And no, I’m not seeing that man. His name is Donovan, by the way.” Her heart squeezed, and she reached for another sandwich. Screw it all to hell. “Sort of an arrangement we have.”
Mom looked a little disappointed when she didn’t cop to Donovan being the father. “What do you mean an arrangement?”
“It’s not a romance baby, it’s more like a business baby.” As soon as she said that, she knew it was wrong. “I mean, we’re going to both raise the baby but not be together.” Her heart squeezed again, so she took a gulp of soda. Her OB wouldn’t be super pleased about that. “But the baby will be loved. Very loved.”
Dad frowned a little. “That seems pretty progressive.” The way he said it, she knew it wasn’t exactly a compliment.
“What do you mean? People do stuff like this all the time. Since the beginning of time.” Melissa huffed, reaching for anther sandwich, which her mom proffered more eagerly now that the pregnancy was in the air. “Besides, it’s no more progressive than my whack-a-doodle childhood.”
Her mom cocked her head, eyebrows forming a straight line. “What exactly was whack-a-doodle about it?”
“Mom. Come on.” Melissa ripped into another sandwich, chewing as she talked. “We were constantly on the road. I was terrorized by a monkey growing up. All of my friends wore leotards and were home schooled.”
“And you turned out fine, didn’t you?” Mom lifted a brow, smirking like this ended the discussion.
Unfortunately, it sort of did. Melissa hesitated. “Well, yeah. But I’m just saying, I sort of wanted my baby to have a different upbringing. One that was less…on the road.”
“One that involves reality television,” her father summarized.
Melissa groaned. “You had to bring that up.”
“Listen, honey, all we’re saying is that whack-a-doodle isn’t bad,” her mom went on.
“Your kid is going to grow up whack-a-doodle no matter what,” her father said, slicing a hand through the air. “There’s no getting around it. He or she is a Hampton, which means they’re already branded for life.”
Melissa laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But you’re right. Whack-a-doodle is par for the course, I guess.”
“And once he or she is of performing age,” her mom said, leaning in close with a bright, cloying smile on her lips, “we’ll make a spot just for them in the show!”
Melissa and her parents spent the rest of the afternoon catching up, and when their show began the following evening, Melissa made sure she was sitting in the front row. As she watched the twirling batons and the flashing lights of The Mesmerizing Bellinis, preteen girls riding unicycles across the stage, she realized that her parents were right. Whack-a-doodle or not, her childhood had given her unique assets. Even though she’d spent a lifetime wishing for something different, her childhood meant that she’d grown up ambitious and unique and independent. Those traits, at least, were things she wished more than anything for her unborn child.
The whole weekend, she couldn’t stop thinking about Donovan. What he might have added to the conversation with her parents. Imagining his quips, his laughter, his sly come-ons. She hoped that Donovan would give their baby his confidence, the type that just bordered on arrogance but never quite crossed the line. She loved his tender, sentimental side. The side that already had him planning train trips with his baby. And the opportunities this kid would have would be unparalleled with them as parents. Really, Donovan was perfect. He’d be a great father and an excellent coparent.
Regret swarmed her. What was she thinking? Donovan wasn’t just a great person. He was the type of man she might never get over.
He was the type of man she should be falling over herself to snag.
He was the type of man who might not have seemed like her perfect match, but very probably was the man for her.
And maybe now it was too late.
17
Donovan frowned into the sun, shielding his eyes even though he wore sunglasses. He could barely see the ball he’d just launched toward the sixth hole. And if he was perfectly honest, he didn’t even care if it made it in. He was just here for the guy time.
“Missed,” Brian tutted. Donovan was missing all of them, actually. The golf ball lay an embarrassing distance from the hole.
“You are definitely in last place,” Nick mused.
Donovan smirked. “Whatever. I’m not here to win. I’m just here to work on my tan.”
The three of them piled into the golf cart, and Brian drove them to the next hole. The sun shone down, warming Donovan’s shoulders through his precisely tucked white polo shirt. He sighed as they exited the cart at the green.
“So when does your big show air, buddy?” Nick lined up his putt with a few practice swings. “Soon, right? I gotta make sure I record it.”
“Yeah. It’s soon. It premieres next Wednesday.” Donovan frowned into the sun again.
“I thought you’d sound more excited,” Brian commented, his gaze on Nick as he tapped his ball toward the hole. He lifted the pin from the cup. “This is your reality debut.”
“Yeah.” Donovan leaned on his golf club with a palm. “I’m not that excited about the show anymore. But the pre-release buzz is great publicity for my game launching next month. So there’s that.”
Nick’s ball wobbled closer to the cup before dropping in. Nick turned to Donovan, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Well, that was the whole point, right?”
“Yeah. You’re right. That was the point. So it’s all good.”
“Why am I not convinced?” Brian asked.
Donovan sighed. Really, he wanted to take the golf club and be
nd it in half and launch it over toward the tree line. But Brian would be pissed because they were his clubs—and Donovan disliked the sport so much he refused to buy a set. “I don’t know. I thought it would just be fun, you know? And it was. I mean it was going to be. But then Melissa happened.”
“Melissa the producer, right?” Brian asked. Donovan had kept them in the loop somewhat regarding the show. They knew that Donovan had knocked up the producer, but that was about it.
“Baby mama, one and only,” Donovan said, squeezing the handle of the club. “She’s the one I really wanted to be with. But she’s got this thing about being in the spotlight. We sorta had a thing going, but she put a stop to it. I’m supposed to announce the contestant I plan to marry in the next episode, but I don’t fucking think I can. I just can’t.”
“Well, why not? You can always just get divorced after, right?”
Donovan watched as Brian tapped his own ball toward the hole. It clunked inside easily. Donovan raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah. But I don’t want to. I’m thinking more and more that I need to just scrap the show.”
“Because of Melissa?” Nick asked, arching a brow.
“Yeah. I respect her privacy, you know? And part of me thinks there could still be something. Maybe that’s stupid. But there won’t be anything if I go through with the show.”
“But if you bitch out on her show, aren’t you screwing her over, too?”
Donovan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. That’s the crux of the shit show right there.”
“Donovan, I told you this reality show business was a bad idea,” Brian said, clamping him on the shoulder. “Now redeem yourself, please.” He pointed toward the lone golf ball waiting to be played.
“Hey, but he got one good thing out of it,” Nick opined, his golf club tossed over one shoulder. “He’s joining the Daddy Club.”
“The Daddy Club,” Donovan muttered, storming toward his ball.
“He’s right, you now,” Brian said. “It’s very exclusive, members only. And I promise, you’re gonna love it. So maybe that show wasn’t so bad after all.”
Donovan grunted, tapping the ball. He already knew he’d love the Daddy Club. He just wanted the other half of the story. He overshot, and the ball settled a few feet away from the hole. Nick shook his head as he updated the score sheet.
“Seriously, though, brother,” Brian went on. Donovan tapped the ball again and it thankfully fell into the cup. “You’re going to be a great father. Once that baby is born, you’re just going to fall in love.”
“We can have kid dates,” Nick said, dropping his club into his bag.
“And just think of all the birthday parties we’ll have together,” Brian added.
Donovan rubbed at his face. It sounded great. It really did. There was just one thing that was off.
“I’m excited for all of that. But I want the baby mama along with my baby.” He shook his head, studying the tree line. He still wanted to launch the club right into the middle of it. “I fell for Melissa. Hard. I thought I’d be over her by now, but I’m not.”
The three of them got back into the golf cart. Brian drove them to the next hole, which sat behind a small hill. Nobody spoke until Brian eased the cart into park.
Without getting out, Donovan said, “I messed up with her. I should have killed this show sooner.”
“Well?” Nick gestured around them. Behind him, the perfectly clipped green lawns rolled away, the course lined by neatly placed trees. “It sounds like you know what you need to do.”
“Yeah. Go fix your shit,” Brian added.
“We need your baby and your baby mama at the next birthday party,” Nick cracked.
Donovan took a deep breath, feeling invigorated by the conversation. And very ready to do something now. “Okay. But, hey, I need the golf cart.”
“Nuh-uh.” Nick X-ed his hands through the air. “Cart stays with us. We’ve still got four more holes.”
Donovan squinted into the distance, trying to place the club house. It was far, but if he jogged, he’d make it there quickly enough. “Fine. I’m out, boys. I’ll catch you later.”
Donovan bumped fists with his two buddies and started a brisk jog toward the clubhouse. He wasn’t sad to leave the game behind. And more than that, his whole body prickled with anticipation. First stop was his office, where he’d look over the contract carefully from start to finish. He remembered the kill fee, a one-time sum he could pay to kill the whole project. He wanted to double check the specifics, but his mind was already made up.
It didn’t matter how much it was or how pissed Melissa might be at his ruining the show.
This might be the only way to prove to her that he was serious. About them and about their future together as parents. It was his last-ditch effort.
If she didn’t accept him after this, then she never would.
18
“Melissa, we need to talk.” Pamela’s voice sounded more serious than usual. Melissa switched the phone to speaker and set it on her desk as she continued scrolling through the editor’s latest submission for the early episodes. The ones they’d created frankenbites in, to allow for Melissa’s late addition as a full-fledged character.
“Okay. I’m ready.” Melissa’s stomach tightened, and she prayed this wasn’t about to be her last day on the job.
“Donovan called in earlier today. He wants to pay the kill fee.”
Melissa’s mouth fell open as she struggled to make sense of the words. She couldn’t fit them together. She blinked rapidly, turning away from her computer as though that would help her think. “I’m sorry, what?”
“He wants to pay the kill fee.”
Melissa covered her forehead with a hand. The first thing that sprang forth was relief. Thank God. Because she knew it meant Donovan cared. About her and their baby. And maybe about them. But the other reactions followed swiftly. The what the fuck and the how could he?
“Well, what did you tell him?”
“I told him that he can pay it if he wants, but I’m giving him a day to think about it. He insisted he wouldn’t change his mind. I’m sorry for the bad news.”
It wasn’t bad news at all—not even a little bit. Not really. Because it meant so much more than just the demise of her show. It meant the start of something else.
But still, if he wanted to pay the kill fee, that meant she had a lot of logistics to deal with. Her mind raced as she struggled to envision what might happen next. “Did you ask him why?”
“Personal issues. He wouldn’t specify. Were you two having issues recently?”
“No, not at all.” Her hand went to her belly, mouth still gaping. “I’m shocked, to be honest.”
“Yeah. So are we.” Pamela actually sounded disappointed—and she’d been one of the initial skeptics about the show. “I’ll keep you updated. Filming will be on hold until further notice.”
Melissa hung up and stared out the window of her trailer toward Donovan’s house. Strange, he hadn’t mentioned a thing to her. Though why would he? She slumped into her chair a bit. He wasn’t home right now, which meant she couldn’t rush inside and talk to him about this. Texting didn’t seem quite right, but it was the best she had. She grappled for her phone, tugging it out of her purse.
“You’re killing the show???” She sent the text.
Donovan responded a few moments later while she nibbled on her lip. “Yeah. Didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than you have been. Hope that’s okay.”
She blinked a million times, reading and rereading that text. If what he wrote was true, then it only solidified her resolve. This man really was the man of her dreams. And she needed to do anything—and everything—possible to make sure he didn’t get away.
“When are you getting home???” She sent the next text.
Donovan didn’t write back for a while, which allowed Melissa to refocus on her task of combing through all the newly finalized early episodes. The editors had done a grea
t job with the limited footage available. And as she went on to watch the more recent episodes—including the OB visits with Donovan—one thing became overwhelmingly clear.
She and Donovan had been falling in love since the beginning.
She’d been denying it and trying to overlook it, but the cameras had caught it. Even as she fought to act like they’d never be anything other than co-parents and colleagues.
With tears in her eyes, Melissa checked her phone again. Still no response from Donovan. It didn’t matter—he’d find out about her plan soon enough. She grouped all the episodes together into a secure folder in her internet storage and then shared the link to his email. In the message box, she typed, “Will you please allow the final episode to be filmed? I don’t want you to kill what we have.”
She clicked send before she could think better of it. Because this was big. This was agreeing to allow the world to see and consume their love story. Before, she’d still been off to the side. Now, they were going to be front and center. Together.
And they’d never been putting on a show.
They’d just been quietly and slowly falling for each other.
Donovan paced the studio. Frank had called with instructions to be here in formal wear for the grand proposal. The final episode. Part of him couldn’t believe he was actually here, especially after offering to pay the multi-million-dollar kill fee.
But what Melissa wanted, Melissa got.
He had a feeling it was going to be this way for a long time.
Two ring boxes burned holes in his pockets, one box in each pocket. Once he’d read Melissa’s email and looked at all the finalized episodes, he knew exactly what she was getting at. The love that had blossomed between them was real, and it was gorgeous. Some episodes, he’d watched up to three times.
Which meant he had to play his cards right. It was more important now than ever before.
