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Not For Sale

Page 3

by Tasha Fawkes


  She reached into her purse and retrieved one of those pee pregnancy sticks and tossed it onto my desk. I glanced down at it, thankful that had it landed right side up because no way in hell was I going to touch it. I saw the blue plus sign with the word Positive emblazoned in the viewer space. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not one who usually shirks from responsibility, but this was a first for me, and I wasn’t going to jump in feet first.

  “That could be anybody’s pee stick, Kristin, and you know it.”

  “You need to do the right thing, Scott.”

  Did she expect me to pay for an abortion? Pay her off? “And what do you mean by that?” I finally asked.

  “You need to marry me.”

  Her reply stunned me, and that’s an understatement. I was stupefied, speechless, shocked to the core. I sat forward in my chair, elbows on the blotter, and leaned toward her, anger burgeoning. “Kristin, you can’t be serious. We don’t even know each other—”

  “You knew me enough to fuck my brains out three weeks ago, didn’t you?”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. So many emotions racing through my mind prevented me from landing on more than one thought for a millisecond before jumping to something else. My heart pounded. My mouth felt dry. I tried to cover my shock as best as possible, tried to keep emotion from my voice, but it was difficult.

  “Before I do anything, Kristin, I want official documentation, from an obstetrician.”

  She made a pouty face as I stared at her. She met my gaze, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to marry anybody, and especially not her. Based on what? Not only that, but I needed some time to think this over, to process. What I really needed was a stiff drink.

  “I knew you were going to say that.” She reached into her purse again and pulled out a sheet of paper.

  She handed it to me and I took it, albeit reluctantly. Slowly, I opened the letter, scanned it, and felt my stomach somersault. It looked official. Confirming a positive pregnancy test.

  “What about a paternity test?”

  Her mouth dropped open, eyes wide with surprise. “Are you calling me a liar, Scott?” Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re the only guy I’ve been with in months! You have to believe me!”

  I tried to keep my emotions in check. Tears? Really? And why did I have to believe her? As I remembered it, she came on to me, although I guess it didn’t really matter the outcome. I mentally kicked myself, acknowledging that I had used extremely poor judgment.

  “I’m not interested in marriage, Kristin,” I said. “If you take a paternity test and it is determined that the baby is mine, I will help provide for its care, but that’s it. You know very well that we were both drunk—”

  “I wasn’t drunk, Scott. And I’m not going to go through this alone. I mean it.”

  I sighed. “This is a lot to take in,” I said, speaking softly so she couldn’t hear the desperation in my voice. “Give me a couple of days, all right? Let me figure this out. We can discuss options—”

  “Options? If you’re even considering asking me to have an abortion, the answer is no. This is my baby! Our baby, and I’m going to keep it.”

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. Kristin, at just over twenty-two years of age, shouldn’t be having a baby. She could barely take care of herself on her own. If it wasn’t for her parents’ money, she probably couldn’t. Still, if the baby proved to be mine, I would do the right thing—up to a point. But marriage was off the table.

  “I have a meeting to get to in about five minutes,” I lied. “I need to process this. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  She softened, only slightly. “You promise?”

  I nodded. “Yes.” I stood and walked toward the door, opening it. She sat in the chair for several more moments, then reached forward and grabbed the pee stick and the letter, shoving them both back into her purse as she stood. Then, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, she strode past me, casting a dark glare at my receptionist as she did so. Moments later, I heard the ding of the elevator, the doors swish open, and then she was gone.

  I turned to my receptionist. “Melanie, I need to take an hour or so. Reschedule my three o’clock and come up with the appropriate excuse, will you?”

  She nodded and returned her attention to her computer. I didn’t even bother going back into my office. I took the stairs down to the lobby and at the bottom, before I exited the stairwell, called Craig. After several rings, he answered.

  “Hey, Scott, how’s it hanging?”

  “Not too good,” I sighed. “I know it’s only two-thirty in the afternoon, but can you meet me for a drink at Flanagan’s? It’s kind of an emergency.”

  Craig was a freelance writer, so pretty much worked on his own schedule. I usually didn’t bother him during normal workday hours, but like I said, this was an emergency. After only a brief hesitation, he answered.

  “Give me about twenty minutes and I’ll meet you there, okay?”

  “Thanks, Craig.”

  ***

  “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

  The first words to leave Craig’s mouth after I told him. I nodded. He let out a low whistle and then lifted his hand, gesturing for the bartender to come over to our table with another set of shots. “That’s not the worst part.” Craig stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “What’s worse than learning that you knocked her up?”

  I cringed and then shook my head as the bartender set the two shot glasses down in front of us. We each grabbed one and downed it in one gulp. I focused on the sensation of heat burning its way down my throat, down to the pit of my stomach, which once again did an uncertain flip-flop. “She mentioned the m word.”

  “Oh God,” Craig said, dropping his head into his hands. He stayed that way for several moments.

  I think I was still in shock too. Finally, he lifted his head, eyes wide, disbelieving.

  “You do, it will be your funeral. You do remember how high maintenance she is—”

  “Believe me, it’s all coming back to me in vivid technicolor.” We had both known Kristin for years, mainly because we all went to the same private high school. I hadn’t seen much of her during my college years, but she existed on the periphery of my existence, mainly due to our fathers’ business relationship. We both knew she was spoiled rotten, subject to pouting and making everyone’s lives miserable if she didn’t get her own way. Why had I allowed myself to be ensnared? Why the hell had I agreed to sleep with her? Drunken idiotic fool.

  “Stand up to her, Scott. If you don’t, you’ll be in for a lifetime of pain.”

  “I know, Craig. But at the same time, I do have to take responsibility if the kid is mine.”

  “I get that,” he nodded. “And you should. But marriage? A little extreme, don’t you think?”

  I nodded, my head pounding and my stomach churning. As if things couldn’t get more difficult. I already felt that I’d sold out by accepting the job as CEO for my dad’s company, but all along I’d convinced myself that it was a sacrifice I had to make in order to establish myself in property management. It was only temporary. A necessary evil. One of these days, with enough experience under my belt, I was going to strike out on my own, leave my dad and his company behind to start my life, my business.

  “I’m sorry, Scott, but I have to get back to work. Deadlines, you know.” Craig fingered the empty shot glass and twirled it. “Want to get together later, maybe around eight o’clock? Talk some more?”

  “I should be getting back to work too,” I sighed. “And yes, that sounds like a plan. I just can’t believe this.”

  Craig nodded, no more words to say, and left. I sat in the booth in a dark corner of Flanagan’s, one of my favorite spots to come and relax, but relaxation eluded me. So did peace of mind. I was pissed off. Mostly at myself, but at Kristin too. Both of us should’ve been using protection. Should have... famous last words. I was certain I had used a condom. Why wouldn’t I? I always carried two
of them in my wallet. At all times, just in case. I hissed, trying to force myself to remember, but I couldn’t. Dammit!

  I left money on the table, waved goodbye to Kevin, the bartender, and exited from the cool darkness of the bar and into the harsh late afternoon sun. The property company was only a few blocks away, and I walked back to my office in a daze, my headache growing worse with every step.

  By the time I got back to my office, Melanie was gone. I used the key to let myself into my office and shut the door quietly behind me, staring at the richly appointed space, my usual haven; a place where I usually found some sense of solitude and comfort. Before she had left, Melanie had drawn the blinds, curving them upward so the setting sun didn’t shine directly onto my desk. I sat down in my chair, staring at the paperwork that I had abandoned, my heart thudding dully in my chest. The landline phone on the corner of my desk rang, a low, subdued ring, and I groaned as I reached for it. I knew it was my dad. He was the only one who used landlines anymore, at least in this building. Or it seemed like that to me. In so many ways he was a dinosaur, sticking to traditions of the past. Whatever.

  I picked it up. “Hello, Dad, what can I do for—”

  “I need to see you in my office. Two minutes ago.”

  The call disconnected. I swore. What now? I wanted to scream my outrage, to throw a temper tantrum of my own, my hands balled into fists as I rose, trying to calm my pounding heart, my frustration, and my anger. It had started out as such an ordinary day…

  I left my office, waited in front of the elevator for a car, and then took it up to the top floor. My dad’s office took up nearly a quarter of the top floor, corner of course, with views to the west and south. As I rapped once on the door and entered, I saw him standing in front of the south-facing window.

  My dad was an imposing guy. Mike Holbrook was Irish, through and through. My hair was a dirty, dull blonde, while my dad’s was dark brown, almost black, with a hint of red when sunlight hit it directly. He had a large, round face, ruddy cheeks, and heavy, dark eyebrows that were typically pulled down in a frown. Always clean-shaven, always dressed impeccably. He was several inches shorter than me, but had a stocky build. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he’d been a boxer. He looked like one.

  I saw his hands clasped behind his back, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Great. I knew that gesture, one of intense aggravation. What the hell did I do now? Before he could even say a word, barely before the door shut behind me, he turned around.

  “Is it true? You got Kristin pregnant?”

  My heart skipped a beat. How the hell—

  Dammit! Kristin had called my dad, tattled on me? Told him that I was the father of her—I thought about that, tilted my head and thought she was a conniving bitch, and then fought back a surge of reluctant admiration. She was smarter than I gave her credit for. Calling my dad, she knew, would force my hand. She had always liked me, had always chased me, but I hadn’t realized until this afternoon how desperate she was to latch onto me, and apparently she was willing to do just about anything to achieve that.

  “That’s what she says,” I replied, striving for nonchalance.

  “Don’t you get flippant with me, boy!”

  I was familiar with my dad’s temper. His face red now, he stared at me with an expression I couldn’t quite define. Shock? Disgust? I couldn’t—

  “My business partner’s daughter? You’ve known her since you were both teenagers! What the hell, Scott? What the hell were you thinking?”

  Before I could answer, he spoke again, dropping the second bombshell of the day.

  “You have a choice to make, Scott.”

  He didn’t even hesitate.

  “One is that you take her in and marry her before that baby is born.”

  My mouth dropped open. Fuck that. I wasn’t going to marry Kristin Bruno if my life depended on it. “Or else?” My question triggered a black scowl.

  “Or else you forfeit your fucking inheritance and give up your position as CEO of this company!”

  Chapter Four

  Megan

  I was so tired I couldn’t remember what day it was. I sat at the kitchen table, my laptop open in front of me, staring at it, my eyes blurry and sleepy. I blinked several times and forced myself to focus. It’d been a long day. I spent most of the morning typing up some dictation notes for a paralegal friend of mine that I had met at the farmers’ market about a year ago. Crystal was an independent contractor, doing paralegal work for a couple of free legal aid businesses; one in Orange county, one in San Diego County. She often overbooked herself, typical with freelancers, I supposed.

  We had gotten talking one time and she told me that she was inundated with dictation for court documents. I told her I’d be more than happy to help. After signing a confidentiality and non-disclosure agreement, she had hired me to take her overflow. I had been expecting MP3 files or something, but she actually gave me a microcassette recorder and a baggie full of micro cassettes. I transcribed off that. It was slow, laborious work, but the hundred dollars she paid me for each transcription was certainly welcome.

  Sometimes I felt guilty taking the money from her, as some of the tapes were relatively short, but it all balanced out because some of them were extraordinarily long.

  After lunch, I had done a babysitting job for another woman I met at the farmers’ market. Both my mother and I had gotten to know Britney Slocomb well over the past year. She lived in a home a few miles from our apartment and made a good living as a real estate agent. She had some type of seminar conference or something up in San Francisco. Just an overnight thing, and though her sister would be coming over to stay with her two children that night, she had needed me for a few hours this afternoon after the kids got out of school and before her sister could leave work. The kids were well behaved, so I didn’t mind hanging out with them, playing games or watching television, then I fixed them spaghetti and meatballs for supper. Then her sister had arrived and relieved me.

  By the time I got home at seven o’clock, I was dead tired, but I still had some job hunting to do. I couldn’t keep doing this. These pickup jobs were just not going to cut it. They helped a little bit, but I needed something steadier. I logged onto Craigslist and began glancing through the job ads. I kept coming back to one that caught my eye. A well-paying assistant position. I wasn’t quite sure what the position involved, as the description was rather vague.

  The job was listed for a six months duration and paid well. Assistant. Assistant to what, or to whom? I followed the link and was directed to an application. I scrolled through it. A pretty basic application, and they also wanted my curriculum vitae. I snorted. I had plenty of work history. The problem was that none of it was long-term. I doubted that would go over well with whomever would be reading the applications and the resumes on the other end, but then again, what did I have to lose?

  The job paid five grand a month. Six months at five grand each was more money than my mother and I were barely able to scrape together in a year, both of us working as many hours as we could. How could I turn it down?

  Before I allowed myself to chicken out, to tell myself that I wasn’t qualified, I went ahead and filled out the application. I knew some of the jobs on Craigslist were scams, but I would refuse to go to any interviews that I wasn’t able to verify in regard to their legitimacy. I never put in my social security number. Usually, I could type in all x’s and in a space for notes specify that I would fork over the social if I was invited to do an interview. And if I did get a reply, I’d be able to Google the person to find out if they were on the up and up. And, if I was still hesitant, I could always pay for one of those background checks.

  I had just finished the application and pressed send when I got the notification that my application had been submitted. My eyes widened and I gasped when I saw the hiring company. Holbrook Property Corporation.

  Oh my God. My thoughts immediately went to Scott Holbrook. Memories flooded in. We’d gone to hig
h school together and had dated briefly. That was before everything in my life turned upside down. Back then, I had lived with my parents in a large home and attended a private school in Irvine. Scott and I had met when we were in the eighth grade. We became good friends, and as we had gone through junior high school, and then to the same high school, I had begun to develop deeper feelings for him. I didn’t think they were reciprocated, especially since he always seemed to have a new girlfriend hanging off his arm every other week. So I had kept my feelings to myself, too chicken to even consider acting on them.

  After my dad died, we had to sell the house, unable to pay the monthly mortgage payments. Yes, my dad had an insurance policy, but it didn’t have a suicide clause in it, so the company had refused to pay out. Of course, Scott knew about my dad’s death, but too embarrassed and ashamed to admit that he had left us literally penniless, I didn’t tell him why I suddenly had to drop out of private school, nor why the house was put up for sale.

  So, Holbrook Property Corporation? Was Scott working there? He always figured that he would. He didn’t want to, I knew that. Even back then, he and his dad had butted heads a lot. He deeply resented his father, who apparently was a father in name only. What was his name? Michael. Mike Holbrook. He was out of town a lot working on property deals.

  Despite my trepidation, I couldn’t help the tingle of excitement that ran through my veins. Scott’s family was rich. Filthy rich. While his dad had kind of a snooty, better-than-you attitude, Scott never had. After the tragedy, he had been compassionate, caring, and kind. and I knew he had been worried about me, but I didn’t need anybody’s pity. I didn’t want him feeling sorry for me. I had left my last day at the private school acting as if everything was the same. I didn’t tell him that that day was going to be my last. I hadn’t gone back to public school either, but talking it over with my mom, graduated with a GED. I had taken some night classes after that, in the hopes of attending junior college, but even those credits and the costs were more than we could manage at the time.

 

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