The Baby Bump

by Tara Wylde

  Lucy’s brow furrows. “I’m not really sure. I guess it depends on who you ask, but I think I heard the wedding planner ripped up the contract and told Suzie that she was the worst bride she’s ever encountered.”

  Now I’m the one who shudders. “Coming from a wedding planner, that’s really saying something.”

  “Mmm,” Lucy hums. She looks up at a large overhead sign that has a list of different departments found on the floor and arrows pointing the way to each one. “Where are we going?”

  I stop and tug the cell phone out of my back pocket and open up my text message app. I scroll through the various messages until I find the one I’m looking for.

  “The eighth floor, room 821.”

  Lucy finds a small elevator bank and pushes the call button. When the doors open, they reveal, not the empty elevator I’d hoped for, but that the elevator was already occupied by a small, curvy teenager leaning against a janitorial cart as she stares at her smartphone.

  I eye the phone she’s holding. If there’s one thing I’ve discovered over the course of my career, it’s that teenagers are faster at sharing celebrity news than the paparazzi. Tabloid journalists take time to make sure they get the most scandalous shot and have to create a great story. Teens don’t care about any of that – they just want the picture.

  Deciding that she was a great practice audience for the pseudo relationship, I take Lucy’s hand in my own and lace our fingers together.

  Lucy shoots the teen a self-conscious glance but doesn’t say anything as I lead her into the confined space. My pulse pounds against the side of my throat as I try not to dwell on the feel of her hand in mine. I’ve held lots of women’s hands, both those who I’ve been in relationships with and those who starred with me in various romantic scenes, but none of those hands felt as natural as Lucy’s does, almost like hers was made just for mine.

  It’s a scary thought.

  The teen’s eyes meet mine but there’s not so much as a flicker of recognition. Talk about humiliating. Here I am, in my home town, standing directly in front of a person who is part of the very demographic I most want to appeal to, and she doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash. Much more of this, and I might start thinking about starting a new career.

  “Which floor?” she mumbles around a wad of chewing gum.

  “The eighth.”

  She nods and hits the button with a large eight printed on it before her attention returns to her phone.

  As the elevator starts to move, I notice that the only other button that’s lit up is the fourth floor. Which means I don’t have much time to figure out how to convince this girl of who I am so she’ll tell her friends.

  I stare at her cart and an idea springs forth.

  “Work here long?”

  She blows out a heavy sigh at the interruption but doesn’t look up from her phone. “’Bout seven months.”

  “Mmm. Like the work?”

  This time she does look up, just long enough to roll her eyes. “I mop up puke and haul dirty sheets to the laundry room. What do you think?”

  “I worked as a janitor.” That got Lucy’s attention, but didn’t seem to have any impact on the teen. “Not at a hospital, thought that would have been cool. But at a hotel.”

  It’s a blatant lie. I've worked some pretty crummy jobs, including some that would have made doing custodial work at a hospital seem like a walk in the park. “The work was hard, but I met a ton of interesting people and man, the things some people do in their hotel room. I think I worked there three, maybe four months before I finally landed my first commercial role.”

  As I suspected, the word commercial got the teen’s attention. “You were in a commercial?”

  I nod and flash my trademark smile. The one that is renowned for charming the panties off both fans and journalists. On more than one occasion, my agent has told me it’s my greatest asset. “Guilty as charged.”

  “That’s so cool.” The girl pushes her hair behind her ear and her angular face softens into a wide grin. “I want to be an actress.”

  “It’s a noble profession.”

  The elevator starts slowing as it passes the fifth floor. “Was it hard to get started? Did it take you a few years? Did you get to work right away, or did you spend years and years working odd jobs until something came along?”

  “There were some ups and downs. I think I spent about five years auditioning before I landed my first acting gig.” And there was no way I’m going to tell her it took another two and half years before I got a role that actually paid more than peanuts.

  The elevator bumps to a halt and the doors glide open. The girl backs up half a step and hovers there. She grips her phone so tight, her knuckles glow white.

  “Um, would it be all right if, like, you and I take a picture together?” Her eyes glow with hope. Even though she still doesn’t know who I am, there’s no doubt in my mind that having a photo snapped with a celebrity, even one who might have only appeared in a few commercials, will be the highlight of her year.

  “Of course.” This is exactly what I wanted from the beginning. She’ll post the photo to her favorite social media sites, and at least one of her friends will recognize me and word that I’m in town and escorting a pretty woman around will spread like wildfire.

  It probably won't make it as far as the studio execs who don’t think I have a stable enough lifestyle, but it’s a good start.

  I take the phone from her and pass it to Lucy, who has watched the entire conversation with a perplexed expression.

  “Honey—” I lower my voice a bit, the way I’ve been taught to do whenever I’m playing a character who’s interested in a woman. Not only is it supposed to be a subtle sign of sexual interest, but my acting coach also said it makes female fans swoon. “Would you do the honors?”

  “I guess,” she says, her attention shifting to the phone.

  “Thanks.” I place a whisper soft kiss on the center of her scar.

  I feel the teen’s eyes boring into us and suspect she’s secretly wishing it was her cheek I was kissing.

  After a few seconds of debate, we decide that the best light is coming from a nearby window. I drop my arm casually around the teen’s shoulder and turn my trademark grin in Lucy’s direction.

  Instead of staring into the camera, like I should be, I look just above it, at Lucy’s face. Her eyes are locked on the view screen, a small crease mars her brow and her lips form a thin line of intense concentration. I think she looks adorable.

  “Ready?” she calls out.

  “Yep,” the teen responds and snuggles more deeply into my side. I have a few actor friends who grit their teeth when this happens, but not me. I’m just glad she doesn’t attempt to grab my ass like a few fans have been known to do.

  The camera flashes and Lucy frowns at the image in the LCD screen. “That one’s a little blurry. Let me try again.” Another flash and this time when she looks at the screen, Lucy’s expression softens.

  “That’s better.” She walks toward us and hands the teen the phone.

  “Do you have a pen and a piece of paper?” I ask the girl.

  Her eyes narrow. “Why? You're not going to make me sign some sort of confidentiality agreement, are you?”

  “Of course not,” I say easily. “I was just going to give you my autograph.”

  “Oh!” The teen stares blankly at her maintenance cart. “I don’t know that I have anything.”

  “Here.” Lucy pulls a small spiral notebook and pen out of her coat pocket.

  “Thanks.” Smiling, I take it from her and quickly flip through the notebook. It’s full of notes and sketches. I resist my curiosity and don’t study any of it as I keep flipping until I find a blank page. “What’s your name?”

  “Tracy,” the teen responds.

  “To Tracy,” I sound out each word as I write it. “Wishing you a future that’s full of stars, Love, Ryan Jakes.” With a small flourish, I rip the piece of paper from the notebook and pass i
t to Tracy.

  “Wait… You’re Ryan Jakes?” she whispers.

  Grinning at Tracy, I return Lucy’s pen and notebook, waiting until she tucks them back into her pocket before I take her hand. “The one and only.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” she says, awestruck. “But I never thought I’d get to meet you. You never come to town.”

  “I’m here now.” I want to use Tracy for publicity. I don’t want to engage in a long discussion about my career, or worse, my personal life and I why I ran away in the first place, and that’s exactly what will happen if I stick around much longer. “I hate to sign and dash,” I tell Tracy before she can ask another question. “We’re late for a meeting.”

  I nudge Lucy back in the direction of the elevator banks even as I feel my phone spring to life in my pocket. I don’t have to look at it to know the caller is my agent – and that she’s angry that I’m officially late for a meeting that required her to fly all the way from Los Angeles to the Midwest, something she’ll never let me live down.

  Lucy

  The elegant blonde pushes away from her desk and stomps across the room. Each time a foot strikes the ground, several lines of frost fan out in a delicate spiderweb pattern. Her mouth forms a thin line as she rubs her hands together.

  “What do you mean there’s another overly muscled jackass running around in a ridiculous get-up and saving people?” She directs her attention to the blonde who is currently edging toward the door.

  Sue swallows and gauges how quickly she can slide out the door. “I don’t know who he is or where he came from, but it was him, not Dillion who was there in the park. He’s the one who saved Maxie from the runaway hot dog stand.”

  “What did this new guy look like?” the Frost Queen demands.

  Sue shrugs. “I don’t know. He was dressed up in the typical superhero costume. You know, tight leather and spandex, long cape. The outfit was black and silver with little orange flames on it.”

  “Heat Flare.” The Frost Queen spits out the word. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  The Frost Queen turns to Sue and raises a single brow. She reaches up and twists a lock of curly blond hair around her forefinger, the movement shaking a hundred tiny bits of frost free from the strands. They float down around her shoulder, catching the light so that they look like tiny pieces of glitter. “Maxie Reynolds? She was there?”

  Sue nods vigorously. “Yeah. She’s always there. Dillion is usually the guy who shows up to save her from whatever crisis she’s dealing with, but this time it was a different guy.”

  “Interesting.” The Frost Queen chews on her thumbnail and studies Sue’s expression. “Both Dillion and this newcomer are interested in Maxie. How fortuitous for me.”

  Sue frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Maxie Reynolds is the key to bringing down two superheroes with a single stone.” Smirking, the Frost Queen crosses her arms and leans against the wall. A thin sheet of ice coats the plasterboard. “Bring her to me.”

  When I started writing a superhero romance, it was partly because I love the genre and partly because I needed a way to cope with Suzie’s increasingly ridiculous demands.

  Sue, the character based on Suzie, was going to be the thing that kept Maxie and Dillion from consummating their love, but as I wrote the story, it became apparent that she wasn’t a strong enough character to serve as a main villain. She was more…a minion.

  That realization led to the creation of the Frost Queen, a woman with a frosty personality who can lower the temperature with just the flick of her fingers. A cross between Narnia’s White Witch and Superman’s Lex Luthor.

  The problem was that while Suzie served as inspiration for Sue, I wasn’t able to find anyone that made a good prototype for my Frost Queen, and as a result, I’d been unable to write any scenes with her. That problem immediately changes as the elevator doors open, and reveal the real life face of a perfect frost queen.

  It’s the first thing I see as the elevator doors slide open on the eighth-floor landing.

  She’s leaning against the hallway wall, her arms crossed over her chest, and her long, perfectly manicured, French-tipped nails tap an impatient rhythm against her upper arm.

  “Ryan, so nice of you to show up,” she says by way of greeting. She glances at the delicate gold Rolex strapped to her wrist. “And you’ve only kept me waiting for twenty-five minutes.”

  Ryan rolls his eyes and chuckles as he steps out of the elevator. “Lucy, this is my brilliant manager, Margo Sharpiro. She’s one in a million. She always has this strange spooky habit of knowing exactly when I’m going to walk through a door and is always waiting for me. Sometimes I think she’s bugged my phone, and other times I think she just has some scary good psychic skills. She refuses to admit to either.”

  Margo ignores him as her gaze rakes up and down my body. “Oh good, you’ve brought a friend along.” She transfers her gaze to Ryan and floats a brow. “Another old friend from school?”

  A door a short distance down the hallway bangs open and another woman, one with the same head of wildly curly blond hair as Margo, steps into view and lets the door bang closed behind her.

  “No.” Ryan loops an arm around my shoulders and draws me in close to his side. I don’t think I like how good it feels. “This is Lucy. My new girlfriend.”

  “What?” The blonde who just stepped into the hallway squeals and hurries toward us. “You’ve got a girlfriend and never said anything? Bastard!” She hurls the last word at Ryan even as she wraps her arms around him.

  “Hey, Jenna.” He kisses the curls on the top of her head before his eyes meet mine. “Luce, this is Jenna. Margo’s little sister and one of my best friends.”

  She springs out of his arms and I realize that, despite her youthfully slender body, she’s older than me, probably Ryan’s age, making her a few years younger than Margo. “Hi.” She digs her elbow into Ryan’s gut. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell us about you before now.” She glares up at him. “I didn’t think we kept secrets from one another.”

  “I didn’t tell you about her,” Ryan says, his voice calm, “because until about an hour ago, I hadn’t met her.”

  Jenna lets out a low whistle. “Damn, you move fast.”

  Margo’s eyes narrow and the toe of her burgundy pump taps against the floor. “An hour, Ryan, seriously? You’ve been in the business long enough to know that you can’t trust everyone you meet on the street. She could be taking advantage of you.”

  Ryan shakes his head. “Nope. The only one taking advantage is me. And I’m just doing exactly what you told me to do.” He glances up and down the long hallway, making sure there’s no one around, and lowers his voice until it’s barely a whisper. “Lucy agreed to play my pseudo girlfriend for as long as I’m in town.”

  Both Margo and Jenna open their mouthes to protest, but before they can get any words out, Ryan quickly fills them in on our plan to pretend to be a couple while he’s in town as he leads them to the room where the meeting is supposed to take place.

  He times it so that Margo doesn’t have time to respond to his story before he steps into the room.

  A large man who looks like he should be playing professional football rather than working in a hospital looks up and grins at Ryan.

  “Ryan, you old dog. Still can’t get anywhere on time.”

  For the first time since I’ve met him, Ryan’s wide smile actually lights up his stunning blue eyes. It’s an image that almost takes my breath away. I have to shake my head to rid the sight from my mind – lest everyone see my gawping face.

  “Christian.” He hurries across the room and wraps the man in a bear hug. “It’s been way too long.”

  Christian slaps Ryan on the back. “Could be because you keep pretending this place doesn’t exist.”

  Ryan chuckles and pulls away from the manly embrace. “Possibly.” He reaches behind him and finds my hand, pulling me front and center. “I want you to meet Lucy.
My new girlfriend.”

  Surprise brightens Christian’s face. “The two of you know one another? You’re dating?”

  Ryan rocks back on his heels and his gaze racks over both of us. His elbow brushes against the side of my breast and a charge of sudden, breathtaking electricity ricochets through me, so powerful I gasp.

  Stunned, my gaze flies upward, landing on his gorgeous face, looking for the smallest sign that he experienced the same jolt, but his eyes are looking past me, his mind firmly focused on my relationship with Christian.

  “You know each other?”

  “Yeah,” Christian says. “She manages Doc Collin’s office, and I’ve referred several patients to him. She’s done an amazing job bringing that place into the twenty-first century.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you know Christian?” Ryan asks.

  “You didn’t ask,” I point out. “Or tell me who you were meeting. It never occurred to me that you’d know each other.” Though I should have expected that I knew the person he was supposed to meet. Before Suzie got engaged and I somehow became her personal wedding minion, I spent the bulk of my time running a medical facility. I’ve met with most of the Fletcher nurses and doctors.

  “What are the two of you meeting about, anyway?” I ask.

  When Ryan said he had an appointment at the hospital, I’d assumed that he was doing some sort of promo thing, a concept that the presence of his agent seemed to drive home. But Christian’s a transplant surgeon, not the kind of doctor that’s typically involved with promotions. And if they were just a pair of friends getting together, they wouldn’t be meeting at a hospital.

  “The number of people donating organs and other types of tissues keeps decreasing, which is costing lives. It took some finagling, but I managed to talk the hospital board into doing some local promotional work to increase awareness of how important donated organs are, and after some fast talking, I managed to convince Ryan to become the face of the campaign. I can’t think of anyone better qualified, can you?”