“Are you sure?”
“Max, please!” She snaps. Turning her back to him, she tries to shut her eyes but his presence in the room distracts her. She'll say anything to get him away from her. “I saw Charlotte while I was out.” She regrets the words the second they leave her lips.
Max freezes, his shoulders stiff. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” She sets her purse down. “She's pregnant, Max.”
Max feels the whole world shake around him, a sudden wave of fear threatening to conquer him. His knees give out and he collapses, doubled over, with a gurgle. Poppy turns to look at him, examining him, his behavior confirming her fears. “Is it yours?”
He's rocking back and forth. “Probably.”
“Probably?! Jesus, Max, don't you think you could keep it in your pants? What was I, sloppy seconds?”
Max winces. “Poppy, I'm sorry!”
Poppy slides off of the bed and stomps up to him, nudging him with her foot until he stands up. “You're sorry? Get the fuck out of my apartment! You're not welcome here anymore!”
“Wait-” The panic on his face only makes Poppy angrier.
“No!” She pushes him out of her bedroom, slamming the door shut. “Get out!”
Max stares at the door for a second, clutching his chest. He thought it was scary enough to be the father of one child–now he might have two on the way?
Then again, maybe Charlotte dumped him because he had some other man. Max grabs his keys and leaves Poppy's apartment, heading towards Charlotte's house. He needs answers.
Mr. Spencer is outside pulling weeds in his rose bed when he sees Max's Lamborghini pull up in the street. He sighs, wiping his dirt covered hands on his sweat pants and throwing his straw hat onto the ground.
“You need to leave!” He says, pointing to Max as he gets out of his car. The boy looks terrified and stressed, a look Mr. Spencer has never seen on his face before. He's too angry to look for an explanation.
Max stands a good foot taller than the Indian man. Mr. Spencer always has had an issue with Max, and since he and Charlotte broke up it's been even worse. It's hard to believe that Max once convinced his own father to help Mr. Spencer pay for a trip to India after his business fell to pieces during the recession.
“I need to talk to Charlotte.” Max's voice is deep and gruff. He sounds angry, even dangerous. Mr. Spencer's hesitation tells him he won't be stopped; he pushes past the shorter man and up the long driveway.
On the porch, Charlotte's dog Fifi starts yapping away at him. She's been trained to stay within 15 feet of the house so she watches him, her buggy Chihuahua eyes glaring a warning to him.
“Fifi, shut up!” Charlotte's voice calls from inside the house. She comes out, wearing a white sun dress and flip flops, holding gardening clippers in one hand and an iced tea in the other. Her hair is braided down her back, the loose twists falling out and sticking to her. When she sees Max at her door, she stops dead in her tracks. “Oh.”
Mr. Spencer is stomping up the driveway now. “Go home, Max! Leave my daughter alone, you've done enough damage!”
Max turns and puffs out his chest. “I need to talk to her! I need to figure this out!” So her parents knew before he did. Why does Charlotte always have to push him away?
“Max, please,” Charlotte says, her voice strained. “I don't want anything to do with you. Please just go away and leave my family alone.”
Moving onto the steps, Max shoos Fifi away as she growls at him. “No. You told Poppy you were pregnant. We need to talk about this.”
Charlotte looks at Max's face, his manly jaw clenched tight and his eyes red and watery. Then she looks at her father, who is unsure what to do. Her shoulders slump and she sets the clippers down on the porch, against the house. “It's okay, Daddy. Come on, Max, let me get you some iced tea.”
“I don't need something to drink.”
“Oh, for God's sake, Max, let me be hospitable.” Walking through the parlor and into the kitchen, Max notices that the rooms are full of boxes and suit cases. Charlotte stands on her toes to get to the glasses in her cupboard and then pulls a big jug of iced tea from the stainless steel fridge. “Poppy says she's pregnant, too. She says that the baby is yours.”
Max sits down at the counter and lightly presses his hands against his eyes. “Yeah, it probably is. I mean, she says I'm her first.”
“Seriously?” Charlotte hands the glass of amber liquid to him. Max takes a sip, nodding. “What are you going to do?”
Max thinks for a second. “I don't know. Should you and I get married? I mean, I'd prefer to be with you–”
“God, Max, no!” Charlotte says, slamming her glass down. Her long nose is scrunched up, her eyes shut as she shakes her head. “I'm not interested!”
“Why not? We're going to be having a baby, aren't we?!” Max hates how he feels, the way his heart is pounding against his chest and torturing him. “I want to be the father! I want to play a role in its life!”
“You're so clueless. I don't need someone as irresponsible as you anywhere near my child, and Poppy needs your help!”
“But, I love you, Charlotte!”
Charlotte's face goes bright red, her mouth open as if she wants to say something but no words are coming to her. She turns around and pours herself another glass of tea. “Look. I have everything I could ever need, Max. Poppy doesn't. You need to help her.”
There's a constricting feeling around Max's throat, like a noose tightening. Why can't Charlotte just realize they were meant to be together?
“Max, I don't love you. I might have once, but when you cheated on me, that feeling died. We're done. Completely done. I'm sorry.” Charlotte says, pressing a hand against his shoulder. He looks at her petite hand, the small fingers shaking a bit against him.
“I know you don't mean that.”
The mask of compassion on Charlotte's face breaks, and is replaced with an angry snarl. “No, Max, I do mean it! You need to leave now.” When he doesn't move right away, she kicks his chair. “Now! Before I call my dad in!”
Max stands up and finishes off his iced tea before walking out of Charlotte's house, throwing a nasty glare to Mr. Spencer before he gets back into his car.
When Max left, Poppy spent a good portion of her night napping. She wakes up half past eight and turns on the TV while she eats dinner. The nausea hasn't been too bad the past few days, so she's been keeping food down better.
She thinks for a moment about the thing growing inside of her, and whether or not she will let it go to term. Poppy realizes she doesn't even know if it's a boy or a girl yet. She holds her hand against her stomach, watching it for any movement even though she's not nearly far enough along for that yet. Something inside of her says that the being within her is a girl.
For some reason that thought terrifies her. Boys are so much easier to raise. There are fewer fears–less chance of rape, less chance of having to deal with an unexpected pregnancy. She hopes that the baby inside of her is a boy, but she can't shake the feeling that it's a girl.
The show on TV is about a woman who abused her daughter and now wants rights to visit her grandchildren. Poppy wonders if her mom will try to pull off a stunt like that. She wasn't always a bad parent; some days, she was even fun.
Still, growing up in such an environment makes Poppy scared to raise a child of her own. The thought of being just as bad a mother as her own almost makes Poppy too sick to eat.
She only gets into her third bite before she hears someone pounding at her door. At first she's scared, until she hears him shout.
“Poppy!” The voice wails. “Poppy, please let me in! I'm sorry!”
Max pounds against her door harder now. She really doesn't want to answer the door, but if she lets this go on any longer, her neighbors will complain. She sets her food down on the table and moves to the door.
“Go away, Max!”
“Let me be a good dad! I can prove it to you, I can be great! I'll pay for everything, and I'
ll spend time with the baby! Just please don't shut me out!”
He's sobbing against her door. She wants to let him in, but at the same time she knows how bad an idea that is. “No, Max. Go away, or I'll call the police.”
Save for a few sniffles, Max is quiet. Then he says, “Fine. I'll leave. Text me tomorrow or something.”
He shuffles off, choking on a few sobs as he goes. Poppy knows she isn't going to text him tomorrow.
Max is just outside of Poppy's apartment building when his phone chimes with a text message. Elated with the thought that she might be asking him back up, he fumbles with his phone, dropping it on the ground and almost cracking the screen in the process. “Shit,” he mumbles, making sure it still works. He thumbs the phone on, but instead of a message from Poppy, there's one from Charlotte's dad.
“Leave my daughter alone. Don't come back or we'll get a restraining order.”
Short, succinct, and like a bullet in Max's mouth. He slumps against his car, trying to contain his tears and failing miserably. His phone chimes again, another message from Mr. Spencer.
“Charlotte is coming with me to India until she has her baby. Do not try to contact us.”
Max grabs at his chest, hyperventilating as he reads the text. India? A whole ocean away? She really is keeping him from his child!
He tries to breathe deeply but fails miserably, his breaths only becoming more shallow. What am I going to do? Can I sue them to keep them in the country? Can I get a court order? Maybe my dad can help!
Thinking about telling his dad about this only makes the pain in Max's chest worse. He looks at his phone again, then up at the light in Poppy's window, flickering with the picture on her TV screen. He dials her number and prays that she'll answer the phone.
She doesn't the first time. Or the second time. The third time's the charm though, because she finally picks up.
“Max! Stop calling me!”
“Poppy, please listen to me! I'm so sorry for how I've treated you, and for acting like you're less important to me than Charlotte. You're giving birth to my child, too, and hopefully you don't despise me yet. Please, let me do this. I know that, with your help, I can be a good father.”
There's a sigh from the other end. “Are you alright?”
Max sniffles, wiping his nose with his arm. “Charlotte's going to India to get away from me. One of my kids is slipping away from me and I don't know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
Max considers this question, more fat tears falling from his eyes. Poppy waits patiently for him to answer. “I really want to be able to help you out. I can't guarantee more than that, but I have money. I can make sure that you get the best doctors, anything.”
Poppy opens the window and looks down at the boy she's loved for so many years. His face is red and splotchy as he looks up at her, his mouth open with a sob.
“I just want to be left alone tonight, okay? You can come back tomorrow. We can work this out.”
The worry and utter pain on Max's face lifts, his hand pressing against his chest. “Thank you, Poppy. You've always been such a good friend.”
Looking down at Max, Poppy doesn't feel like a good friend. I should tell him about the abortion, but it will just break his heart more. I can't do that to him yet. The secretary said I have a few weeks before I need to decide.
He waves up at her with a weak smile before getting back into his car. Poppy can just barely see him through the windshield, but she watches him lay his head on the wheel for a few moments before the cabin light goes dark.
9
Max walks into a small room off the West hallway of his large house to find Alexander Cooper is sitting at his desk, his retro black phone pressed against his ear. The old man tries to wave his son off, but Max doesn't budge.
“Yeah. Okay. Tell them I'll be in Israel in a week to meet with them. Great.” Glaring at his son, Alexander frowns. “Listen, Marjorie, we'll need to finish this up later. Max is here. Of course I'll tell him to come by and see you.”
He hangs up the phone and pulls the large glasses off his face. The older man hates wearing them, but they really help him feel in control when he needs to get down to business.
“You know not to bother me when I'm working. What's this about?”
Max shuffles his feet, his arms behind his back. He looks almost exactly the same as his father had, years ago. Dark hair, green eyes swirling with emotion and confusion. Alexander is not used to seeing his son act so unsure of himself.
“Well, speak up son, I don't have all day!” Alexander opens up the second right drawer of his desk and pulls out a glass. Into it he pours expensive whiskey bought while he was in England.
“I think I need your help. I got myself into a mess.”
Alexander's eyebrows shoot up. The last time he heard those words, his son was handcuffed and begging for a lawyer. “What did you do?”
Max watches his father's face for any troubling emotions, anything that could warn Max to run. Alexander is rarely violent, only having spanked Max three times in his life. Still, the older man has a sore temper.
“So, you know how Charlotte and I broke up?”
“Of course I do, I work with her father. Though to be honest, I never thought she was a good fit for you, or for the family.”
“Well, do you also remember when I asked you how to get Poppy to stop having a crush on me?”
Alexander leans back in his chair. “What, in middle school?”
“Yeah. Well, she never did get over me. And about a month ago, I was at Charlotte's house. We had a sort of... complicated relationship.”
“Do I really need to hear this?” Alexander laughs, standing to push his son out of the office.
Max stands his ground. “You do. After that, she kicked me out, and said she was done with me. I got really upset and Poppy helped me with that.”
“So you fucked her, and now Charlotte is jealous?”
“No, Dad, just listen to me!” Max's shoulders are tense, his hands balled into fists. “I got them both pregnant, Dad, and now I need help! I need to support Poppy, so I need a job!”
Alexander sits back down, his glass hitting the table hard. “You did what?!”
“I–”
“You did what?!” Alexander repeats. His eyes are wide, a vein on his jaw bulging. “You were whoring around, and now you come to me asking for a favor? I raised you better than this, Max!”
“I know I fucked up, Dad! I'm trying to make it right!”
“How about you make it right by growing up and figuring it out for yourself?” Alexander stands back up and grabs Max by his shirt collar, spinning him and forcibly walking his son out of his office. “Get out of here! I don't want you back in this house, not ever again!”
Deep into the night, Poppy drags herself out of bed. Her stomach hurts again, and she knows in a few minutes she'll be sick. Instead of risking having to clean up after herself for the second time that day, she goes into her bathroom and sits on the edge of her tub to wait.
Before her nausea can win over, her phone suddenly starts screaming an old rock song. It's the song her dad used to use to teach her to dance when she was still standing on his toes. Running back into her bedroom, she picks the phone up. “Dad? Are you okay?”
“Of course, dear, I just wanted to chat with you. It's been so long!”
Poppy's dad is a native Irishman, and since divorcing her mother has moved back to the country. He's living with Poppy's grandma, taking care of her and the farm.
“Dad, do you know that it's 4 in the morning here?” Poppy says, rubbing a bit of crust from her eye.
“Oh, hell, it didn't even occur to me. Sorry about that, my love! You don't sound like you were sleeping, though. Were you out partying?”
Poppy sits on her bed. She didn't expect to tell her father about the pregnancy. “No, I felt sick.”
“Oh no! Are you alright? You hardly ever get sick, you usually just pretend to get out o
f doing work!” He chuckles, and his bright attitude is infectious.
“Actually, I'm pregnant.”
An immediate, loud whoop crackles on the other end. “No way! That's great! When are you due?”
“In August.”
“Ach, a summer pregnancy. That was hell for your mum. I'll have to plan my flight!”
Poppy pauses, her happiness fading. Why did she tell him, if she plans on aborting it? “I'm not sure if you should. I don't know... I don't know if I can keep it, Dad.”
“Hmm,” her father says. She imagines him rubbing the bit of orange stubble on his chin. “Well if you think that's best, I support you. It goes against the Church but I know you aren't religious so I won't bother with that.”
“Thanks.”
“But Poppy, I think you would be a wonderful mum. Don't do anything without really considering it. I know yer own mum wasn't so great to you, and I'm partially to blame for letting you stay there. You take after me, though, in your temperament. You're kinder than she is.” He stops, and then laughs. “Plus, you loved babysitting the neighbors!”
He's right. She smiles as she remembers playing board games and chasing those kids around the house. Still, babysitting is different from being a parent. “I don't know what I'm going to do. What should I do, Dad?”
“I couldn't possibly make that choice for you, but you let me know what you decide and I will support you all the way. If you don't have a baby now, I hope you will one day. Oh, shit-” He pulls the phone away from his face and yells something in Irish. Poppy never learned the language, but she's guessing he's yelling at the chickens to get back in the yard; they try to escape every morning. “Sorry, the chickens are off down the road again. I have to go, but I'll call you soon!”
“Okay! I love you!”
“I love you too! Be strong.”
There's a soft silence on the other end. Poppy's confusion is plain on her face. If her dad thinks she can be a good mother, she has to believe him. But is now the right time?
Billionaire Heir (Erotic Romance Bundle) Page 6
