Knocked Up

by Nikki Chase

  But first, there’s another thing I need take care of.

  “Hello,” Jeff answers his phone.

  “Jeff, come to my office now.” I was in a good mood before, but as soon as hear this motherfucker’s voice, I want to punch something.

  “There’s no update from the legal department today,” he says.

  “It’s not about that. I need to see you about something else. Now.” I hang up.

  I stew in my chair as I wait for Jeff to reach my office.

  How much time does it take to take the elevator and go two floors up? My fists itch to meet his face. But violence has never been my style. It causes more problems than it’s worth.

  No, I’m going to hit Jeff where it really hurts: his bank account.

  “Heath, you wanted to see me?” Jeff says as he cracks the door open.

  “That’s what I said.”

  He looks nervous. He twitches more than he usually does, and his face is even paler than usual—more green than white. Maybe he knows something is up.

  Or maybe he’s finally realizing how deep the fucking hole he’s dug for himself is. Because I’m going to kick him in there screaming, “This is Sparta!” like Leonidas in 300.

  I throw the magazine on my desk. It slides over the smooth wooden surface until it stops right in front of Jeff. He gulps, almost audibly.

  Yeah, you know you’ve fucked up.

  “Does that look familiar?” I ask him.

  Sure, it does. Hell, it looks fucking familiar to me.

  The garish pink “Celebs” across the top of the cover. The big, yellow headlines. The pictures of trashy people in heavy makeup. And then, there’s me—and Kat.

  This is just one of the many magazines that display our pictures on their loud, gaudy pages. But the pictures are the same. They were taken at the airport.

  Many people saw us zooming past them on the caddy that day, but these were apparently taken with a professional zoom lens from a staff-only area of the airport. In other words, these were taken by paparazzi, who had expected us at exactly that spot at that particular time.

  Someone must’ve leaked the details about my flight to the media. After some sleuthing, I learned that it was Jeff.

  “If that magazine doesn’t jog your memory, maybe this will help.” I turn my computer monitor to face Jeff so he can see the pictures he’s taken of Kat, in and around the office. “You’re a fucking creep, Jeff.”

  At my words, his gaze snaps from my monitor to my face. Good. He’s been silent for long enough. I want to hear what he has to say. This should be good.

  “Yeah? I’m the creep?” Jeff asks. “You’re the one who’s got a fucked up contract with her.”

  The fucking nerve on this guy.

  “Everything between Kat and me is consensual. She entered the contract out of her own free will,” I say calmly, keeping my simmering anger under the lid.

  Jeff shakes his head slowly. “Kat wouldn’t do that to me. You must’ve made her.”

  She wouldn’t do that to him? What the fuck…?

  “Get help, man. You don’t even know her,” I say. “And what you did, taking her pictures without her knowledge, could be considered workplace harassment. And you know we don’t tolerate that.”

  “Fuck harassment. What about how you lured her into your trap?” Jeff asks.

  Okay, something is seriously wrong with this guy.

  “You’re delusional.” I wish I saw that before I asked him to draft the contract between Kat and me. “I was going to ask you some questions, but I know everything I need to know now. Obviously, there’s some mental issue you need to see a professional about.”

  “You need to let her go,” Jeff says.

  “I’m not keeping her against her will,” I say. “Now, Rita is waiting for you at HR. I suggest you—”

  “You need to let her go,” Jeff repeats, louder this time.

  “What part of ‘consensual’ don’t you understand?”

  “You’re going to pay for this, for what you’re doing to her,” he says.

  Jesus, it’s like he doesn’t even hear me.

  “If you care so much about her, why did you let the paparazzi take her pictures? At the very least, you could've taken the pictures yourself and put fucking black bars over her face before you send them to the media. But you don't have the balls,” I say, unable to hold myself back any longer. “She was really upset about her anonymity being compromised.”

  “Bullshit!” Jeff screams, becoming completely unhinged now. “If people don’t see her face, how are they going to be able to rescue her? You’re just afraid that she’s going to gather up the courage to leave you.”

  Fuck, he’s just not listening to me, and his narrative is sounding stranger by the second.

  I’m starting to feel sorry for the man. He seems to genuinely think that Kat’s in danger.

  But at the same time, he’s becoming agitated and I’m worried he could become violent. I press the hidden button on the underside of my desk to call security personnel.

  “I’m telling you, Jeff, things are not how you think they are,” I say calmly as I clasp my hands together under the desk.

  “Of course you’d say that, you fucking asshole!” Jeff yells.

  “Look, I’m sorry I have to do this, but you need to leave, okay? I’m not sure you’re in any condition to stay any longer. Skip the trip to HR and go straight home. Once you’re there, I suggest you call a shrink and make an appointment. You need help.”

  As two burly security guys in all-black uniform appear in the doorway, Jeff twists to glance at them. He then stares me in the eye and says, “I swear I’m going to make you pay for this.”

  “Please take him away,” I say to the security guys, ignoring Jeff’s threat. What’s he going to do? Tell the paparazzi to take even more pictures of me?

  Once he’s gone, I call HR to let them know what’s happened. They’ll remove Jeff’s name from the list of active employees and put him on a blacklist. He won’t find another job at a company of this caliber ever again.

  I’m sure I’ve done the right thing, but it bothers me.

  I’m sorry to see Jeff go. He used to be a brilliant lawyer. I don’t know what’s happened to him. Maybe he’s always been unstable, but he used to be good at hiding it, until Kat apparently triggered something within him.

  I can’t blame a guy for going crazy over her, though. She’s something else.

  And I can’t blame anyone for wanting to protect that strong beauty who seems perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

  I know that doesn’t seem to make sense at first glance, but the very fact that she’s so independent makes me want her to rely on me, to share some of her burden with me. That would feel like such a privilege. She wouldn’t trust just any man with that kind of responsibility.

  Hell, that girl can make a bad habit look good. I used to hate it when she bit her cheek. But now, every time she does that, usually while she's concentrating on writing her novel… I just die. It's like my heart crumbles and my lungs collapse for a second.

  ...

  Ah, fuck.

  Now I’ve gone and done it. The very thing I said I wouldn’t do.

  It just took me a long time to realize it, so long that even Bob saw it first.

  Kat

  “I love this latest installment of your story. Things are really heating up between Sarah and Mr. Jones. Rawr! <3”

  I smile to myself as I read the e-mail from Laura Love, my favorite romance author. She’s been on the New York Times bestsellers list so many times nobody's keeping track anymore. And she's been nice enough to critique my manuscript.

  I still can’t quite believe that we’re friends now. Ever since we went on that first coffee date that Heath arranged, we’ve been staying in touch. She even lets me read her unfinished, unpublished manuscript!

  The romance fan inside me is still freaking out, while the author in me is trying her best to keep her cool so I can at l
east glean some knowledge from her.

  Laura told me that Bob, the CEO of Core Publishing, had sent her an email one day, asking her to read my manuscript if she had the time.

  She gets multiple such emails every week, mostly from her fans. But since this was from the CEO, even though she didn’t have to read the manuscript, her curiosity was piqued.

  At first Laura intended to hate-read it because, in her own words, “If the CEO recommended you, you were probably some spoiled brat who’d graduated college with an English degree and thought that meant you could write. I expected it to be bad. But then suddenly I’d finished the first chapter and I hadn’t seen anything bad. So I read another chapter, and then another, and then before I knew it, I’d stayed up the whole night to finish it.”

  Those words are some of the best things my ears have had the pleasure of hearing.

  Laura’s given me a lot of great feedback about plotting and pacing. I’ve read a lot of books on fiction writing, so I get the general idea. But it’s so much better to have a professional analyze my work and point out my weak points.

  Now I see where I’ve been going wrong and why I’ve been getting rejected. Going forward, I’m confident I’ll hear back from some publishers, even if I didn’t have Heath’s connections—not that I want to forgo them. I’ve had disadvantages thrown in my path my whole life. It’s about time I get to be the one enjoying some unfair competitive advantage.

  But in a way, Laura counts as one of Heath’s connections too, doesn’t she?

  Really, I owe my progress to Heath.

  He gives me the time and freedom I need to write. He introduces me to a kick-ass mentor.

  He does filthy things to me that I write into my sex scenes, which are now a thousand degrees hotter than they used to be.

  But it’s not just about career progression and hot sex.

  He takes note of the brands of toiletries that I use and when they’re running low, he always remembers to stock up before I run out. This has saved me mid-lather a couple of times.

  I know it’s a stupid little thing, but when I was living with Vera, I had to be the one keeping track of everything in the house or we’d have to go without.

  I was expected to always keep some essentials in stock, even though Vera never gave me any money for the soaps, the milk, the eggs, or any of the other things I had to purchase. I had to use the money I’d earned from my shitty, minimum-wage waitressing job at a run-down diner.

  And as if that's not enough, Heath also fired Jeff as soon as he found out who had been responsible for the media leak. I guess he partly did it for himself because he was in those pictures with me, too.

  But the way he talked about it, it felt like he’d done it for my sake, because Jeff had risked my anonymity. No one had ever defended me like that before.

  And when he got to the point of the story where the IT team found a hidden folder in his computer containing pictures of me, I could swear he sounded jealous.

  It feels like things have been different since last week, when Heath came home after firing Jeff.

  I like the new Heath. He’s more attentive and more affectionate.

  But that also makes it hard for me to separate my emotions from this arrangement.

  Whenever I leave the apartment—always separately from Heath to avoid the cameras—it’s like there’s an elastic rope tugging at me, trying to snap me back home, and the further away I go, the stronger it tries to pull me back.

  I think about Heath constantly. When I’m writing, I imagine him as the hero in my story. And then as I think about the story throughout the day, I ponder Heath’s personality traits, his strengths and weaknesses, how he would react in certain fictional situations…

  Heath is the air I breathe. At first I thought it was just because we had been spending a lot of time together. But now, I realize it’s probably also because something of him has become embedded within me, and it’s growing inside me. What I’m saying is, maybe I’m feeling this way because my pregnancy hormones are masquerading as genuine emotions.

  “What is it?” Heath’s voice yanks me back to the living room, where he’s just joined me on the couch after changing into his comfortable sweatpants and faded, old T-shirt.

  “Huh?” I ask, still half-dazed.

  “You said you wanted to tell me something.”

  “Right.” I give Heath a smile, while internally freaking out. Do I already have pregnancy brain?

  “Did you just want me close? Because you could’ve just said that.” Heath grins as he scoots closer on the couch until his arm is slung around my shoulders. He pecks me on the cheek.

  Sweatpants. Lame jokes. Chaste pecks. Chilling on the couch on a quiet night together.

  We’re acting more like an old couple than two people in a strictly-business arrangement.

  “Heath, I’m pregnant,” I blurt out before I overthink things.

  Heath’s grin disappears. His blue eyes widen and his jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

  “Is that such a surprise? This is exactly what we’ve been trying to accomplish. You really shouldn’t be surprised.” I nudge him gently with a smile. “I wouldn’t joke about this. I’m really preggo.”

  Heath stares at me with a flat expression I can’t read.

  “Heath,” I say, “you haven’t changed your mind or anything, right?”

  “No, of course not,” Heath says quickly. “I’m just… I didn’t think it would happen so soon, and so easily.”

  “Well, apparently we’re both pretty fertile.” I shrug.

  Heath grimaces. “It’s weird to use the word ‘fertile’ to describe people, but I’m going to let that slide for now. How did you find out?”

  “I used the test stick and it came out positive. Then I tried three more sticks to be sure—” I pause to enjoy the suspense “—and they were all positive.”

  “Oh, wow. Oh my God. Fuck.” Heath lets out a string of random words containing curses and appeals to the divine. “I’m going to be a father!”

  “Yeah.” I give him a wry smile.

  That’s right. He’s going to be a father. I won’t be in the picture at all. Thanks for reminding me, Heath.

  This pregnancy just means that the date for me to move out is drawing closer. I’ll live here for nine months, then I’ll give birth to the baby, and then I’ll breastfeed it, and then… I’ll leave.

  I’ll have given birth to a baby—my baby—and I’ll probably have fallen in love with him or her, just like I’ve fallen for his or her father.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Heath asks with concern in his eyes. Gone is the big grin that was on his gorgeous face, only moments ago.

  “Huh?” It’s hard to speak. It’s like my lips have been glued together, and my throat has been blocked.

  “Are you okay, kitten?” Heath puts his hand on my cheek and rubs his thumb on my skin.

  As dampness streams down my face, I realize I’m crying.

  “Why are you crying? We’re going to be parents,” he says in a soothing voice.

  “No, you’re going to be a father,” I say, forcing my voice through the lump in my throat. I can’t keep this bottled up inside me any longer. “I’m going to be a stranger—to both the baby and to you.”

  “No, kitten. Please don’t cry. Like I told you before, everything can be renegotiated,” Heath says as he brushes stray hair off my face and caresses my damp cheek.

  “Is this… something you want to renegotiate?” I ask in a voice interrupted by sobs. I think about the terms of the contract. “What are we talking about? Like, your consent to let me and the kid email each other, some kind of a visitation schedule, or what?”

  “Maybe renegotiation is the wrong word for it.”

  I look at Heath expectantly as my shoulders continue to shake. I want to hear this. If there’s some way to stay in the kid’s life—and in Heath’s life—I want it. I don’t even care if the kid will know how we’re related. He can call me Aunt Kat for all I care
.

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a few days, kitten. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I wanted to be sure.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “I knew you were troubled, but I held back. It’s just that… You didn’t do anything wrong. But I’ve been burned before and I just wanted to be sure, because this is something I’d sworn I was never going to do even again in my life.”

  “What are you talking about?” I repeat, my heart thumping loudly in my chest.

  “I guess I’m just going to say it.” Heath takes a long breath and stares deep into my eyes. “I love you, Kat. I don’t want a fucking business arrangement. I thought that was what I needed, but I was wrong.”

  I just stare at him with my jaw slack and my mouth open.

  “I want the whole package with you. I want a relationship. I want a family. Maybe even a wedding, if you want one. Anything you want, I’ll do. For you.”

  For a few intense seconds, neither one of us says anything. We just watch each other, studying each other, searching for truth.

  “Are you sure?” I ask when I finally find my voice. My tears have stopped falling down my face. I can’t quite believe what Heath has just said, but hope starts to take root in my heart. “This is all so sudden, Heath. Are you sure you’re not just saying that to stop my crying?” I huff a small laugh. “Look, I’m not crying anymore. Just give it to me straight.”

  “I mean it,” Heath says, sincerity in his eyes. There’s no doubt about it—he’s telling the truth. “I love you,” he says.

  “Are you sure it’s not just you sensing my pregnancy hormones?” I bite the inside of my cheek as I consider the situation.

  “I don’t know what it is. But I fall for you every time you do that little cheek-biting thing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a bad habit you need to stop, but I just find you so damn adorable when you do that. My heart just squeezes and I want to kiss you.”

  “So kiss me.”

  “Give me an answer first. I love you, kitten. What do you have to say to that?” Heath asks, his voice soft and vulnerable. His eyes fixate on my face as he observes every little micro-expression I make.