by Mia Pride
A minute passed as I let Charlie back inside and continued to bite my nails and spin in circles, wondering how two minutes could feel like an eternity. The timer on my phone went off, and my heart dropped. I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to know. I was psyching myself out. There was no possibility I was pregnant. So what if I’ve been vomiting all day, having hot flashes, my breasts hurt like hell, and it had been five weeks since Chris and I had unprotected sex. “I’m a moron!” I shouted and stomped toward the bathroom. Charlie followed at my feet as he always did.
“It’s nothing, Char. I’m fine. Nothing to worry about,” I assured my pug as he stared up at me and tilted his head with every new word I said. Taking a breath and straightening my spine, I convinced myself I was overreacting and carefully stepped into the bathroom, peeking my head around the corner as if I was looking for a thief inside my home. But, there was a thief, was there not? Those little pee sticks could easily steal away my entire future with just one word. “I’m just late. I’m just nauseous. I’m just...” Looking down at my swollen breasts, I cringed. “I’m just growing boobs like I’m thirteen again.”
Stepping into the bathroom, I steeled my nerves and looked at both tests, lying side by side on the bathroom’s cold gray marble counters. Pregnant. Pregnant.
“No.” It wasn’t possible, but clearly, it was. Hands shaking, I looked down at Charlie and tried to control my breathing. He looked at me as if nothing in the world was wrong as long as he was by my side, but his entire world, as well as mine, was going to change in about eight months... and I was unemployed.
“Shit!” picking up my phone, I pushed the icon on my phone with Crystal’s smiling face and tried to steady my hands as I held the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Crystal... you need to get over here right now.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I mean, nobody is dying. It’s kind of the exact opposite of death...”
“That makes no sense.”
“It will,” I said. “Please, just get over here. I need you.”
“On my way.” The line died, and I walked over to my bed in a daze as Charlie jumped up beside me and licked my arm.
Petting him, I closed my eyes and did my best to swallow my panic, but there was no hope. Something was growing inside of me—something I was not prepared for. And no matter what I did now, that thing had to come out, one way or another.
“I’m so fucked.”
Chris
“MISTER FARRINGTON, your table is ready.” Nodding, I looked at my date for the evening and followed the hostess escorting us to my usual table in the corner, as far from the kitchens and the bathroom as possible. A Michelin star restaurant, their seafood was the best in the city, and I was here more for the meal than the woman I would share it with.
Samantha was a lovely woman, and it wasn’t her fault our mothers persistently pushed us together, but it was my fault that I finally succumbed, needing the distraction. Growing up in the lap of luxury, Samantha was everything my parents hoped I would marry. Well-bred, educated, wealthy, and familiar with the ins and outs of high society, she would make an excellent addition to the Farrington family—and would surely give me high-browed children. None of that appealed to me in the slightest. Why was I here, then? Because she had blonde hair and blue eyes, the exact opposite of the woman consuming my every thought for the past five weeks.
Maybe Sylvia was right. I was by no means ready to get married and have children, but perhaps it was time for me to seek something more than short-term flings with women I knew could never become more. And while Samantha was never going to be my wife, that didn’t mean I couldn’t seek some companionship in a woman I was actually “allowed” to be involved with. Monica was off-limits, and I must have told myself that ten-thousand times in the past five weeks, leading me to this moment: sitting across the table from a fellow elite member of society who seemed to take that term more seriously than I did.
“This is certainly lovely,” Samantha said as she picked up the silverware and scrutinized the fork before wiping it on her crisp, white linen napkin. Her words said she was impressed, but the grimace on her face said something else entirely.
“It is. The food is wonderful. I hope you will enjoy it,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Oh, I do hope so.” My smile faltered, wondering if I was in for a rough night. Reaching across the table, Samantha took my hand and flashed me a grin. “I’m sure it will be delicious. I’m sorry if I seem out of sorts. My father has been pushing me toward you for months.” Samantha rolled her eyes and giggled. “However, for once, he may well be right about something.”
Relaxing a little bit, I gave her a grunt of amusement and gently moved my hand from beneath hers and picked up the menu, not that I needed it. There were only four options on the menu and nothing less than a hundred bucks a plate, but holding her hand made me uncomfortable. She was gorgeous with her perfectly symmetrical features, plump lips, large eyes, and slim build. She came from money, and it showed. Maybe two months ago, she was just the sort I would date for a few months just to say I gave it a try so my mother would give me a break. Still, as I stared at the menu without even reading it, I wondered what Monica was doing right now. Was she working at her restaurant? Perhaps I should have brought a date there to see her reaction. Would she be jealous?
I wasn’t one for games. I didn’t get jealous, nor did I like women who did. Still, I wanted to know what Monica really thought about me. She didn’t care that I was rich or owned my own business. She only wanted one night of fun. While that was perfectly fine with me in most cases, it chafed with her. No, I couldn’t date her, but it would be nice to know that she thought about me from time to time, as well.
“My father is usually right about everything,” I finally replied, simply because the silence was awkward as hell. I was out on a date with one woman and wholly consumed by thoughts of another.
The finely dressed waiter arrived at our table, and I asked for a bottle of their best wine, which seemed to make Samantha quite pleased as she ordered the most expensive item on the menu directly after. I didn’t mind. Money wasn’t an issue. I just always found it interesting that certain women had no problem spending someone else’s money without qualms. Although, picking her up in a Maserati probably set the tone for an expensive evening.
“I will have the same,” I said to the waiter and handed him both menus. With a nod, he left our table, and I lifted my wine glass in the air. “To being pestered into a date by our parents,” I said.
Samantha smiled and raised her glass. “To our parents being right for once.” Inside, I cringed, hoping Samantha didn’t want more from me than I was willing to give. Outwardly, I smiled and clinked my glass with her and took a sip of the $300 pinot I had ordered.
Looking to my right, I nearly spit out my wine, choking as I pushed it down my throat when I saw the brunette who haunted my every thought walking toward my table. Our eyes locked, and hers grew wide as she came to a stop, then slowly walked forward once more. Just as her eyes looked away and she began to walk past our table, I found myself unable to pretend she was not there. “Monica?”
Stopping, she slowly turned to look at me, clearly unpleased to have run into me. Her face appeared ashen, and she wore a crisp white blouse with a black pencil skirt. Great for an interview, but not so much for dinner. Who was she here with?
“H-hey, Chris.” Monica gave me an awkward wave and then looked at Samantha, barely moving her lips to give a subtle smile. “Hello,” Monica said to Samantha.
In response, Samantha raised a brow and scanned Monica with her blue eyes, a move that made me immediately skeptical of the woman’s opinions or taste. Monica looked sexy as hell even when she wasn’t trying to, and I knew Samantha knew as much, resenting her for it.
“Who is this, Chris?” Samantha asked, putting her hand back on mine atop the table.
Monica’s eyes followed our hands, and as badly as
I wished to jerk my hand away, I did not want to insult my date. Besides, Monica had no interest in me, and I couldn’t date her even if she did. So, why did I feel guilty being here with another woman?
“Samantha, this is my business partner’s sister, Monica.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Monica said, but Samantha just gave a grunt and picked up her wine glass to take a sip, completely ignoring Monica.
“So, what are you doing here?” I asked, embarrassed Monica found me on a date and even more embarrassed by my date’s behavior.
“I have an interview,” she murmured, looking toward the back of the restaurant toward the kitchen.
“You are a waitress?” Samantha scoffed. “Dressed like that?”
Monica raised a brow and opened her mouth, but I decided to intervene, knowing Monica well enough to know that anything she had to say to Samantha was not going to be pleasant. “Monica is a chef, actually. One of the best in the city... or so her brother tells me.” I looked at Monica and smiled, wondering what happened to her previous job as head chef at Chez Pierre’s, but it wasn’t my business, and I was certain Monica was anxious to start her interview. “Good luck on the interview, Mon, though I am sure you won’t need any.”
“Thanks,” she replied briskly and walked away, ignoring Samantha completely.
“Mon?” Samantha queried casually with a raised brow. “That’s very... familiar.”
“I’ve known her for several years,” I quipped. My mood turned sour, not only from running into Monica and wishing she was the woman sitting across from me, but I did not like how Samantha treated her at all. This was the issue with high society. They were quick to judge and felt as if they were immediately better than anyone else. I hated my own people.
“I see...” Samantha took a sip of her wine and eyed me over the brim. I swallowed my glass of pinot in one gulp and immediately poured myself another drink. I needed it if I was going to survive this date.
“Do you see?” I asked sarcastically, leaning back in my chair. My body language had changed, and Samantha noticed my hands now rested in my lap and my eyes focused on my glass.
Clearing her throat, Samantha smiled and fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. “So, your father told mine that you enjoy skiing. Maybe next winter we can plan a trip to our resort with the families.”
Swallowing, I looked up at Samantha and felt dread trickle down my neck like a bucket of ice water. Was she seriously trying to make plans for a year from now? Alarm bells went off in my head. I had to shake this woman. It was already a no-go from the start. I was only here to satisfy my parents and share a delicious meal with a beautiful woman, and nothing more. I was never going to sleep with her. Maybe a second date would have occurred simply to make it appear that I tried, but after the way she treated Monica, I would gladly walk away from this table and leave her here if I was any less of a gentleman.
“I’m sure we can discuss that if and when the time comes,” I said cryptically. Samantha’s lips set into a line, and I knew she struggled to tread water with me, but all I could offer were polite deflections at this point. I wanted to get this meal over with and get this woman out of my life.
Her treatment of Monica would have bothered me regardless, as I had no patience for those who treated people poorly simply because they saw themselves as everyone’s “betters.” But the level of disgust I felt was disturbing. I wanted to rant about how wonderful Monica was, how funny and lively and spontaneous and exciting... and so fucking good in bed that I’ve dreamed of making love to her every night since. Making love?
I shook my head and took a deep breath. I was so screwed. My intimate relationships with women were generally disconnected, routine, and short-lived by design. Never had I so eagerly laid with a woman, especially in a reckless situation where her brother was practically in the other room. I smiled as I remembered watching her shoot those tequilas, how her panties and sweet ass cheeks flashed every time she leaned over the bed to grab another drink from the minibar. She was real. And I was really in danger of falling for someone I couldn’t be with—who didn’t even want to be with me in the first place.
Several minutes passed as I listened and nodded while Samantha told me everything about herself, nothing of substance, but most of these women had little of that. Raised with every convenience, they never knew true hardship, loss, or hard work. Everything was handed to them, and I had no respect for that. I may be in her same social class and bear one of the most influential surnames in the country, but I worked hard for what I had. I created and ran my own enterprise, refusing to ride my father’s coattails. Oh, I stood to inherit his businesses, real estate, investments—the entire fortune. Nothing I could do about that. But for now, I could stand tall, knowing I did not sit back on my heels awaiting his death, living like a primped modern-day fop.
“Your meals,” the waiter said, trying to sound more sophisticated than necessary. Samantha stopped talking, and I nodded to the man, grateful for the food that may finally shut her up. Looking at the plate, I was impressed by how thinly sliced the prime rib was, how perfectly cooked and well plated it was, almost like a flower with swirls of sauce and the vegetables arranged to look like petals. Even the perfectly fluffy mashed sweet potatoes in the middle formed the center of the flower. I came to this restaurant often and never saw such an artistic display.
“It looks wonderful!” Samantha exclaimed, showing more exuberance than I expected her capable of.
“It really does. Thank you, sir,” I said with a nod to the waiter, who refilled our wine, bowed, and walked away.
Waiting for Samantha to take the first bite, as a man should, I saw her eyes light up when she ate something as simple as a roasted carrot. “Good Lord, this is delicious,” she said, and I took my first bite of meat, flavor bursting in my mouth as it essentially melted like butter.
“Best I have ever had. Good choice,” I said, glad to have at least one reason to compliment her.
Placing another careful bite into her mouth, Samantha murmured her approval and nodded, raising her hand to flag the waiter down as he passed.
“Is everything all right over here?” he asked with concern in his eyes. Clearly, she appeared to be the typical customer they received, uptight and hard to please.
“Oh yes. More than all right. This meal is simply divine, and I would love to pay my compliments to the chef.”
I took a deep breath and did my best not to roll my eyes. So, she was one of those people. The meal was indeed divine; I would give her that. Still, I was paying $100 a plate for what was, in the end, a small amount of food. It had better be divine. I preferred to eat my meals in peace and tip well at the end, letting my server know how much I enjoyed it without the pretentious display.
“Very well, Miss. I shall let the chef know, and she will be right out.”
As he walked away, I saw her brows rise with approval. “A female chef. I knew only a woman could create such a masterpiece,” she preened. Funny, she didn’t seem that impressed when she heard Monica was a chef.
A few moments later, Monica reappeared from the kitchens, walking toward our table once more. I saw Samantha roll her eyes and sip her wine, and I knew then and there she was jealous of Monica. It didn’t take much to see how naturally and effortlessly beautiful she was, and Samantha, who spent too much time and money on her appearance, only looked half as good.
When Monica stopped in front of our table, I smiled, unable to help my reaction to her now rosy cheeks and slightly mussed hair. Her interview must have frazzled her.
“What do you want?” Samantha snapped, looking Monica over once more. “Shouldn’t you be interviewing for your waitress job?”
Raising a brow, Monica shook her head. “My interview is done. I was told you wanted to pay your compliments to the chef.”
“And...?” Samantha said sarcastically.
“And... here I am. I am the chef.”
With a chuckle, I leaned back in my chair and crosse
d my arms, both impressed with Monica and amused by Samantha’s pouting lips and burning cheeks.
“It was fabulous, Mon. Well done. They put you to work already?”
Shrugging, she nodded. “Only one way to find out if a person can cook.”
“Very true,” I said with a smile. “Samantha here was raving over the meal, called it ‘divine’, and insisted on complimenting you. Didn’t you, Samantha?” I cocked a brow and tilted my head, enjoying myself immensely.
“It was... acceptable,” she murmured and looked away, sipping her wine.
“Thank you. That is appreciated.” Monica looked at me and took a step back. “My interview is over, and I’m heading home. I’m sure I will see you around, Mister Farrington.”
Monica walked away, and my smile faded. Mister Farrington? What the hell was that?
“I am ready to go,” Samantha snapped, her ego clearly as bruised as a peach fallen from a tree before rolling down a hill.
“As am I,” I responded, flagging down the waiter so I could pay for our meal, which was worth every penny and then some. I left him an extra tip to make up for Samantha’s behavior and quickly left with her on my arm, her perfume’s sweet scent mocking the true beast within the woman.
I drove her home like a bat out of hell, anxious to be away from her and absolutely unwilling to see her ever again.
Pulling up to her gated community at the top of the hill, I put in the code and went through, dropping her off in front of the doorman in his fancy suit.
“Do you... wish to come up?” she slowly asked. “We can jump in the jacuzzi and maybe... have some dessert?” Samantha licked her large, inflated lips, and I shook my head.
“No thanks.”
Her brow lowered, and she pouted. “Is it something I said?”
“Yes, and did. I do not appreciate your treatment of my partner’s sister. She is virtually family to me and is a very classy woman. Your judgment of her has shown how poor your own character is.”
