by Tina Folsom
His mother threw furtive glances around the room. “Don’t talk like that. People can hear you. At least Olivia and her husband are growing their family. That’s more than I can say for you.”
Ah, yes, it had taken his mother less than thirty seconds to get to her favorite subject: his marital status and the fact that he had made no attempt to change said status and join the ranks of married men who made sure their wives bore them an heir—or a little brat like Jonathan, who despite being only three, could manage to wreak havoc without even trying anywhere he showed up. Another reason to avoid his parents’ house during the time his sister visited with her family in tow.
Not that he didn’t like his sister. But Quentin, her husband, was an arrogant prick who neglected her every chance he got, and Paul didn’t much care for him. He’d hoped his sister would make a better match, but she’d settled for Mr. Rich and Successful instead of finding a man who truly loved her as much as she loved him. And now she was bearing him a second child, while Quentin spent more and more time away from home—supposedly on business trips.
Paul shrugged. Not his problem. He’d warned Olivia before she married him, and she hadn’t wanted to listen.
“Champagne?” He addressed his parents, motioning to the waiter, who was approaching with a bottle and three glasses that Paul had ordered earlier, to be served as soon as his parents arrived.
After all, he knew how to pacify his mother. And a glass of pricey champagne would keep her from talking for at least one or two minutes. What he would do for the other fifty-eight minutes this lunch was sure to last, he wasn’t quite sure yet.
As the waiter placed the glasses on the table and proceeded to pop the cork, his father looked at him. “Do we have something to celebrate?”
Paul nodded. “I just closed an important merger earlier this week.”
It was the reason why he’d been working so hard, often deep into the night, and hadn’t taken even a single weekend off in the last two months—not because he didn’t want to have time to be reminded of his night with Holly. Or rather, the morning after.
The night itself he thought of quite frequently. In fact, he dreamed of it often, and every time he woke he found himself with his hand clamped around his iron hard-on. And not once had he been able to stop himself from stroking his hard flesh until the sheets were soaked with his semen and his body was bathed in sweat.
Yeah, that’s how depraved he was: He still lusted after a call girl. For the sake of his own sanity he didn’t call her prostitute anymore. Call girl sounded a lot more sanitized, though he knew there was no difference, except for the fact that Holly didn’t ply her trade on a street corner but received her bookings via an agency.
Damn it, he shouldn’t even be thinking about her anymore.
“Paul?”
He whirled in his mother’s direction and noticed his parents both holding up their glasses.
“Aren’t you going to toast with us?” his mother asked.
“Of course.”
“Congratulations, son,” his father said.
Paul reached for the glass the waiter had filled for him and clinked it first against his mother’s glass, then against his father’s, before taking a big gulp. At least the cold liquid lubricated his throat, a throat that had gone dry at the thought of Holly.
He knew it would get more difficult to keep her out of his thoughts now, because until there was another deal to work on, he had nothing to concentrate on other than his own unquenchable lust for a woman who was completely and utterly wrong for him.
“Well, now that your work is done, I hope you’ll come home and spend the rest of the summer with us,” his mother chirped.
Rest of the summer? Not fucking likely! As if he wanted his parents to remind him daily of the fact that they wanted him to get married and produce babies. “I can’t leave New York for too long.”
His mother pouted. “But you’ll have to come. We’ve planned all these festivities around our wedding anniversary.”
His father nodded in support. “Everybody is coming. Even your great-aunt Mirabelle. It’s going to be a big event.”
Paul groaned internally, but there was no escape. “You know I would never miss your thirty-fifth anniversary. Of course I’ll come. But only for a few days.” At least he would get to see his great-aunt Mirabelle, a woman with a sharp mind despite her advanced age.
“Excellent! You’ll stay at least a week.” His mother’s voice brooked no refusal.
He knew better than to protest.
“And there will be lots of eligible young women from excellent families as well.”
Excellent families was a translation for the rich, well-connected families his mother approved of.
“I’m not interested,” he said, and downed the last of his champagne. None of those rich heiresses had any personality. While some of them were reasonably pretty, none of the ones he’d been introduced to so far had ignited any spark in him. Besides, each was the kind of woman who wanted a ring on her finger before she jumped in the sack. And he wasn’t buying a pig in a poke.
“But you’re not seeing anybody. What’s the harm in going out with a nice young woman from our circle?”
“I’m seeing somebody!” Paul snapped without thinking.
Even his father raised his eyebrows at that, while his mother’s chin dropped. “Who?”
“You don’t know her.”
His mother leaned over the table. “You never mentioned anybody before.”
“I’m mentioning her now.”
His mother raised her chin in the air and sat back. “You’re lying. You’re just making this up because you want to hurt me.”
Paul gritted his teeth. He hated it when his mother played the guilt card. “I’m not lying. I’m in a relationship with somebody.”
Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Really? What’s her name?”
“Holly!” The word was out before he could even think. It was the one female name constantly inhabiting his mind, so it was no surprise that it had slipped out.
“Holly?” Her nose lifted higher, if that was even possible. “That can’t possibly be your girlfriend’s name. You’re making it up.”
Paul rose, pushing his chair back. “Am I? Well, you’ll meet her when I bring her with me for your anniversary party. Satisfied?” He glared into the shocked faces of his parents. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I have a business meeting to get to.”
He turned on his heel, not listening to his father calling him back. Instead, he marched straight to the maitre d’.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Gilbert?”
“You could say that, Carl. However, none of it is your or the restaurant’s fault.” Paul dug into his pocket and pulled his credit card from his wallet. “Would you please charge the champagne and whatever else my parents are ordering to my card?”
The maitre d’ nodded and took the card. “Of course, Mr. Gilbert. It’ll be just a second.” He disappeared into the pantry.
Paul tapped his foot impatiently, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. It was time that he showed his parents that they couldn’t run his life for him. Up until now, he’d pandered to their wishes and played the obedient son. He’d even gone out with some of the eligible bachelorettes from excellent families, hoping his parents would realize that he wasn’t interested in any of them and finally give up their hapless matchmaking. It appeared that his parents needed to be told a little less subtly that he made his own choices when it came to women.
8
“Congratulations, Ms. Foster. You’re pregnant.”
Holly’s heart plummeted into her stomach. “But—but—” She swallowed, her mind racing. “That’s impossible. I always use condoms.”
Dr. Schaffer leaned over her desk and inclined her head so that a strand of her straight brown hair fell forward. “But Ms. Foster, you must know that condoms are not one hundred percent effective. Even if used correctly, there’s still a two percent cha
nce of a pregnancy. And if not used properly, the rate can be as high as eighteen percent.”
“I know how to use a condom properly,” Holly shot back. After all, while she’d been an escort, it had been essential to make sure she was protected at all times.
“Yes, I’m certain you do. And I know you’re a very cautious woman. But when I had to take you off the Pill so we could remove the cyst in your uterus three months ago, I believe I mentioned that there was a higher risk of getting pregnant if you used condoms as your only method of contraception.”
Numbly, Holly clenched her hands.
“You’re only about eight weeks along,” the doctor continued.
Eight weeks. She counted backward, though she didn’t really have to. She knew exactly where she’d been eight weeks ago and with whom. There was only one man who could have gotten her pregnant. Though she had no idea how it had happened.
Paul had used a condom every single time they’d had sex that night. Then again, things had been heated, and it was possible that the condom had slipped and released some of his semen when he’d pulled out of her, without either of them noticing.
She knew that condoms weren’t foolproof. That was why she’d always taken the Pill for additional protection. It was just her bad luck that a few weeks before her friend Sabrina’s wedding, her doctor had discovered a cyst during a routine examination and recommended that it be removed immediately. Upon her urging, Holly had stopped the Pill to reduce any undue risk during and after the procedure and had not resumed taking it by the time of her sexual encounter with Paul.
Apparently that had been a mistake.
“I understand this is a lot to take in. Obviously this wasn’t planned. Maybe after you’ve had some time to think this through, you’ll want to come back and see me. And if you then decide not to—”
“No, I’m keeping it,” Holly said before she knew that she’d even made a decision.
While her physician didn’t know what Holly had previously done for a living, she knew from her medical file that she was single and without a partner. That and her initial shock about the pregnancy had certainly given Dr. Schaffer enough indications that this pregnancy was unwanted.
But how about the child growing inside her? Was it truly unwanted?
Or was this her only chance of having a family? Of having a child, even if that meant she would be a single mother and raise it on her own? Was she strong enough to do this, to raise a child by herself without the support of a partner, or that of her own family? After all, her parents hadn’t talked to her in years, and she had no siblings. The closest to a sister she’d ever get was her best friend Sabrina, who lived clear across the country. If she decided to do this, she would be doing it on her own.
Her hand slipped to her stomach. No bump was visible, and she had perceived no movement. But if she allowed it, in a few months she would be able to feel the life growing inside her. She would have a child to love, and one who loved her back. She wouldn’t be alone anymore. And she could be a good mother. She had all this love inside her that nobody wanted. She could lavish it on her child and make sure it would always know it was loved.
Holly locked eyes with her physician. “I’m keeping my baby,” she repeated, knowing it was the only right decision.
Dr. Schaffer smiled at her. “I’m very pleased to hear that. I’m sure everything will work out fine. Now, let’s schedule some regular appointments so we can monitor you during your pregnancy and make sure you and the baby stay healthy.”
When Holly left the doctor’s office a short while later and stepped out onto the sidewalk, where the early afternoon sun shone into her face, she felt like a new woman. Everything would change now. She would be a mother.
And she knew what it meant: She had responsibilities now. And those included being able to take care of herself and her child financially. Because there was one thing she wouldn’t do: tell Paul about the pregnancy. Therefore, she could not count on child support. She would be the sole provider for her baby.
Holly pulled her cell phone from her handbag and glanced at the clock. She was just in time for her next appointment.
With a spring in her step, she jumped onto a passing cable car as it slowed for a stop sign, and showed her monthly pass to the conductor before taking a seat next to some tourists who were taking pictures.
When the cable car reached a crest on California Street, Holly gazed down the hill. The view was stunning: She could see the San Francisco Bay and Alcatraz, and to both sides of the street, tall office buildings rose in the financial district. Just before she reached the bottom of the hill, Holly pulled on the cable to request the next stop and stepped off the cable car when it came to a stop.
Her bank was located in the middle of the next block. When she reached the door, she took a deep breath. She could do this.
Holly entered and walked to where the personal bankers had their little office areas and read the nametags on the desks. When she found the one belonging to Andrew Keller, she raised her eyes to look at the person sitting behind the desk.
She swallowed hard. The man had the most severe look on his face that she’d ever seen. But that wouldn’t have been the worst. She also recognized him, though she hadn’t known his name until now.
Mr. Keller was one of her former clients. Not a regular by any means, but if she recognized him, he would recognize her too.
With butterflies in her stomach that she couldn’t attribute to her pregnancy, she approached his desk and stopped in front of it.
“Mr. Keller, I’m Holly Foster. I’m your two o’clock appointment.”
He looked up immediately, jumping up from his chair at the same time and stretching his hand toward her in greeting. “Ms. Foster, nice to—” He stopped himself in midsentence and ran his eyes over her, as if he’d just seen her for the first time.
Holly felt all hope inside her being crushed. If he recognized her, this appointment would be over before it began. He would never look at her application in a favorable light.
“Nice to meet you,” he continued, and pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”
Slowly she sat down, watching his face for any sign of recognition. Could she be so lucky that he didn’t remember her?
Mr. Keller pulled a manila folder from a stack of files and opened it. “Your loan application has been passed to me, because there are a few areas where we’re missing some information.”
She instinctively leaned forward. “Oh?”
He looked down at the papers in front of him and reached for a pen. “Yes, here—your educational level is missing.”
“I have a BA in English.”
Mr. Keller jotted something down on the piece of paper. “Excellent.” Then he scanned farther down the sheet. Without looking up, he asked, “Your marital status is still single?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Are you cohabiting with anybody?”
Uncomfortable about the question, she shifted in her seat. “Um, why would the bank need that information?”
He looked up. “Just to know whether you might have any adult who might support you.”
She shook her head. No, there was nobody to support her. Or her child. “I’m on my own.”
“Good, good. As the purpose for this loan, you state here that it is to purchase a business. What kind of business?”
She smiled. “It’s a boutique matchmaking business. Very different from any of these online dating businesses. The current owner is retiring, and I have the chance to buy her business. I’ve submitted information about the business’s turnover and profit and loss over the last couple of years, and since I’ll be buying the business with all its current and former clients, it will ensure continuity. There should really be no change in its financial health. If anything, I plan to improve the services the company provides and make it even more profitable.”
She knew she could do this. She knew people, their wishes, their desi
res. She knew what women were looking for and what men desired in their partners. She would be a great matchmaker.
Mr. Keller scribbled something down. “Very good. Then there’s still the issue of your prior employment.”
Holly stiffened. Misty’s escort service had always paid her above the table, and since Misty had chosen a very inconspicuous legal name for her company, nobody would be able to instantly figure out that she was being paid by an escort agency. “Yes?”
“It says here you worked for Executive Relocation Services for the past four years.”
She nodded.
“But there’s no note in your file about what position you held there.”
“Um, oh, didn’t I fill that in?” She leaned closer and braced her hand on the desk to peek at the piece of paper. She was sure she had written that she’d been a client services manager. She’d come up with the title herself, and despite the fact that Misty was still pissed at her for having quit so abruptly two months earlier, Holly knew her former boss would back her up, if only to cover her own hide and not let on what her company really did.
“You did,” he said, his voice suddenly different. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “But I’m not sure that’s the only position you held there.”
Holly sucked in a breath.
“If I remember correctly, there were all kinds of positions you got into.” His hand slid across the desk and clamped over hers. “And I seem to remember distinctly how versatile those positions were. It would be a shame not to point out on your application how multi-talented you are.” His grip tightened, while his fake smile never faded. “Now, Ms. Foster, the way I see it, it’s up to me to approve or deny your application. I can be swayed either way.”
Keller dropped his gaze to her décolleté, leering at her like a randy dog, and Holly wished she’d donned a high-necked sweater instead of the V-line top that accentuated her ample assets.
Bile rose, and the bitter taste spread in her mouth. She had a choice to make: give in to his advances and do what he expected—and she was only too aware of what he wanted—and get her loan approved, or refuse him and say good-bye to her dream of owning her own business and being independent. She needed this, needed to have a means of making a living so she could take care of her child. But if she gave in to Keller, nothing would change. She would still be a whore. And she didn’t want her baby to have a whore for a mother.
