The Club: Ace

by Jenna Elliot

  “Emme, you don’t have to marry him. He’s got plenty of money. He doesn’t have to be involved. He just has to fulfill his financial obligation. Might be easier that way.”

  “I don’t want his damn money.”

  That’s the pathetic truth. I’d rather have him than his money. Ace. Mr. I-own-a-sex-club Billionaire. “Oh, I have fucked up big-time. Big-time. I can’t believe it. I’ve always been so careful.” And I was careful.

  “This is all Jason’s fault.”

  She’s just trying to make me feel better. “How’s that?”

  “If he didn’t cheat on you, you’d have never gone back to the club. You were engaged, for heaven’s sake. Getting pregnant wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

  This much is true, but it’s not helping me wrap my brain around the reality of my rapidly-changed situation. “Twenty-four hours ago, I had everything in the world to look forward to. I passed my boards. I’ve posted my résumé on all the job search sites. Oh. My. God. Mia, what am I going to do?”

  “Not panic,” she says, sounding like she’s doing just that. “You’ve got time to figure this all out. I’m the only one who knows. You don’t have to say anything to anyone.”

  Anyone meaning Ace. I know that’s what she means. “What about Ethan?”

  “I don’t have to mention it. We’re on our honeymoon.”

  Oh, shit. She is on her honeymoon. And here I am, sucking away her time with my drama. Last week it was a break-in. This week . . . I shudder. “I don’t want to be responsible for you keeping secrets in your marriage. What the hell kind of friend does that?”

  The needy pathetic kind. I had no clue that’s the kind of friend I was. I never was before, was I?

  I can’t bring myself to ask. But I can’t expect her to keep secrets from Ethan, expect Ethan to keep my secret from Ace.

  “I’ll have to tell Ace.” Oh, joy. Unlike Ethan who was delighted with Mia’s pregnancy, I can’t even imagine his reaction.

  “You don’t have to make that decision yet.”

  “God, how could I look myself in the mirror, if I didn’t?” I don’t give Mia a chance to answer. “How could I look my child in the face one day when he or she asks about Daddy? What do I say then—‘Sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mention it to him?’”

  “Jeez. Okay, okay. Don’t panic.”

  Again, she sounds like she’s the one trying not to freak out. I’m the worst friend in the world to be putting her through this the morning after her wedding. Knowing that gives me some strength to pull my head together.

  “No worries, Mia,” I finally say. “You’re right. I don’t have to say anything to anyone just yet. Ace is the sperm donor. I can’t make his choices, but if he wants to be more, that will be up to him.”

  “But, Emme, what if—”

  She breaks off and falls silent. I know Mia. She’s shutting up because she’s thought about something she knows I won’t want to hear.

  “Just spit it out,” I say.

  “You still don’t know if he’s the one who trashed your apartment.”

  “Mia, I hear what you’re saying, but why on earth would Ace trash my apartment?”

  “I don’t think he would, but the police are looking at him and Jason.”

  “Honestly, the police don’t seem to have been doing all that much.” With everything going on in Miami, I don’t think it’s all that realistic to expect my break-in to be high on the priority list. “But if there’s something you know about Ace that you aren’t telling me, spit it out. There won’t be a better time.”

  Unless we could turn back the clock until before I got pregnant, of course.

  “I don’t know anything important. He’s just a loner. He surrounds himself with people, but no one actually knows him. Not even Ethan. Do you know what I mean?”

  I do. That’s exactly the way to describe Ace. Everyone’s acquaintance. Nobody’s friend. I remember his guilt over his sister. His agony that he usually hides. I remember the smiling little boy in the penthouse photo who grew up to be a man who’s nearly impossible to know. Why?

  “I still don’t see Ace trashing my apartment,” I say. “Besides the fact that there isn’t any motive, painting on my walls just doesn’t seem like his style.”

  “No doubt about that.”

  “And he was really annoyed last night when he learned about the break-in, compliments of you and Ethan.”

  “That was Kevin, not me!” Mia says. “I hadn’t even told Ethan yet. Which did not go over big, I can tell you.”

  “I’m so sorry. And on your wedding day, too.”

  She exhales in exasperation. “Don’t apologize for your brother. He was just worried about you. And Ethan understood. We’re cool.”

  But it totally drives home the fact that I need to be equally cool with Mia. Our relationship is changing, reinventing itself to include her husband.

  That makes me sad, too.

  “The only thing I know about Ace is something Jax said once. I got the impression that something bad happened in his past that made him the way he is.”

  Was she talking about his sister’s murder? I can’t ask, not without betraying Ace’s trust, because I sense that he’s told very few people about that. “The way he is?”

  “He doesn’t have friends. Or any family. He’s not attached to anyone or anything. He lives all over the world. Always has a different woman with him. And yet, he’s not shallow. That means he’s hiding something. Something awful. Something dark.”

  “You don’t know that.” But my protest was weak.

  “Ethan rarely has violent nightmares anymore. But I watched him live with tragedy. I see that kind of deep pain in Ace too.”

  Mia can be so insightful. It’s one of the things I love about her. I think that’s exactly what drew her to Ethan. He lost his fiancée in a suicide bombing during the war. It messed him up for a really long time, but Mia could see past the scars to the caring man he is.

  “I can’t make his choices for him,” I say. “If he wants to be a sperm donor, that’s his choice. It’s not as if we slept together looking for a relationship.”

  No matter how much I might have come to wish otherwise. And after spending the night together—the night that I wanted—I really can’t deny the truth anymore. But I’m practical if nothing else, and I never expected Ace to be anyone but who he is. No matter how much I wanted to be special to him.

  The mother of his child.

  I certainly didn’t see that coming. But I’ll handle his decision whatever he wants. I survived walking in on the man I loved fucking another woman. “It’s not fair not to tell him.”

  “You aren’t secretly hoping—”

  “He’ll turn into father of the year?” I sigh. “Um . . . Pretty much zero chance of that.”

  “Oh, Emme. I wish I was there to give you a big hug.”

  “I’m not gonna lie. I could use it.”

  I can’t ever remember needing a hug more.

  28

  Emme

  I STALL AS LONG as I can before heading to my parents’ house to pick up mail. But I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got information coming from headhunters, and I need to widen my net. I didn’t bust my ass in school for so long to continue shift work at Starbucks. I want job security. I need health insurance.

  I’ve spent the week playing out all the possibilities, and reinventing my plans. Eight kids starts with the first one, so not all my plans blew up. Or so I tell myself.

  My mother takes one look at me, hurries across the kitchen and puts her hand on my forehead. “Are you sick?”

  This part I had all worked out. I would wait until the raw edge of surprise had faded, and hopefully some of the hormones, so I wouldn’t be so emotional. Then I would tell my family. By then I should have wrapped my head around a plan, and I could deal with their reactions and reassure them that I had things under control. It was a solid plan.

  But in the face of my mother’s concern, reason dissolves
like cotton candy in the rain. Suddenly, I’m six years old again, and I’m really freaking out. I blurt out everything.

  Through the babble and tears, she pieces together what I’m telling her and gently directs me to the kitchen table, the eventual location of everything momentous that ever happens in my family. Like she did when I was a kid, she uses a wet washcloth to pat away the tears, cooling my forehead at the same time, and making me feel better.

  She doesn’t say anything, just shushes and soothes with reassuring sounds. She knows exactly what to do. She’s a mom.

  How am I ever going to care for a little someone that way?

  “Ace’s?” my mom asks when my hysteria finally calms.

  “What makes you think—?”

  “Oh, please, Emme.” She rolls her eyes, more amused than annoyed. “Really? I have eyes in my head. I was at the wedding. I saw the way you and Ace looked at each other.”

  The only thing I can do is cruelly crush the hope that flares inside me, encouraging the unrealistic wish that there’s any possibility of a future with the father of my child.

  Could I have found the man of my dreams in a sex club?

  Oh, God. What a mess. That’s been my biggest threat this week—hope. The unrealistic part of me that wants to transform level two candidacy into dreams of a lifetime. So, so dangerous.

  But I’m feeling better. I manage to retreat back into practicality. I can thank my mom for that.

  “This was really unexpected, Mom,” I say, sounding matter of fact. “It certainly wasn’t part of my plan. And for the record, I’ve never ever been careless. This was that minute percentage they warn you about.”

  “Precisely why I preached abstinence.”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.

  She frowns some more, then asks, “So, is Ace going to do the right thing?”

  “Well, depends on your interpretation of what’s right. We’re still working out the details.” That’s putting it mildly.

  “Any chance of getting married?”

  “I really don’t think so,” I admit. “It wasn’t like that between us.”

  She frowns, and I know this look. She disapproves big-time, along with a healthy dose of “You weren’t raised this way.” But she can also tell I’m disappointed, and being the wonderful mom she is, she doesn’t ask why. She doesn’t tell me she’s disappointed, too. For me. In me. She just kneels down and folds me in her arms, and lets me rest my head on her shoulder.

  And just knowing she’s there, that she knows what’s going on, reassures me. Maybe raging hormones aren’t my only problem, after all. Maybe I’m just scared to tackle everything alone.

  More emotion. More tears. And she just holds me through it all, stroking my hair the way she always did when I was upset, saying exactly what I need to hear.

  “It’ll all work out exactly like it’s supposed to. It always does,” she whispers, leaning back and fixing me with her serious look. “I want you to remember that.”

  I nod and wipe away the tears.

  She smiles encouragingly and pushes to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go tell your dad he’s finally going to be a grandpa.”

  29

  Emme

  WHEN MIA GETS back from her honeymoon, we get together. She’s all tan and rosy and glowy. I, on the other hand, look like death frozen over. I have dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. My skin is gray where it’s not red from pimples. My hormones are freaking out on me. My boobs are sore. My disposition isn’t great.

  Why wouldn’t it be? I was not meant to spend my life hugging the commode. Yuck.

  “You’re meeting Ace tonight. You can tell him then and make a plan together.” Mia dumps cans of chicken broth and saltine crackers on my kitchen table.

  Just looking at food makes me want to gag. “I don’t want to talk about anything but your trip. Show me your photos.”

  She pulls out a pint of rocky road ice cream instead. Suddenly, I’m starving, and it’s barely breakfast time.

  “That looks good,” I say.

  Removing the lid, she hands me the pint, then goes for a spoon. I test a few bites warily, but the creamy coolness goes down, and stays down.

  “Who knew? My baby likes ice cream.” Way to go, me. “I’m raising a healthy eater.”

  Mia grins. “Dare I mention that you need a shower? Smells like it’s been a rough morning.”

  “It’s a wonder the species repopulates.”

  “The morning sickness will go away when your hormones settle down.” She smoothes out the grocery bags before stuffing them inside the drawer where I keep my stash. “Or after the first trimester, whichever comes first.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “De nada. You’ll feel better after you shower.”

  “Ice cream first.” I eat several more spoonfuls, savoring the icy coolness down a raw throat that never gets enough time to recover. Then I seal the container again and put the pint in the freezer. “Thanks.”

  “I’m not sure there’s any nutrition in that.”

  “Calcium for sure. And it’s the most I’ve had in my belly for days. Let’s see how long it stays.”

  Mia unpacks a second bag. “I brought you some books, too.”

  “Seriously. When I’m not puking, I’m job hunting. I’ve gotten some calls on the résumés I posted. Even had a few headhunters contact me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she says. “But I’m confused. Didn’t you tell me your internship was going to lead to full time?”

  “Apparently they don’t hire single mothers.”

  Sinking down into a chair across from me, she scowls. “That’s discrimination and illegal.”

  “Yeah, well I’d have to prove it. They just said they aren’t hiring anyone right now.”

  “You’ll find something good.” Mia goes the encouragement route. She knows I’m operating on a limited time frame to get my life settled.

  I slide my résumé across the table. “Read this while I shower? I would appreciate your input, but after that, you have to promise me pictures.”

  “I brought you a present, too.”

  “Not Jamaican rum, I hope.”

  She laughs. “No. Something you can actually use.”

  I can see everything Mia isn’t saying. We’ve always had the whole polarized lifestyle thing going on. Things she took for granted were often things my family struggled to provide. She’s worried about me.

  “Listen, I told my folks, and they’re okay,” I tell her. “They’re really good, all things considering. They said if I want to move back home, they’ll convert the attic into an apartment. I’d have to use the second floor bathroom, but it would be kind of like my own place.”

  “I love that about your parents. No bullshit guilt trips because you took a turn they hadn’t mapped out for you.”

  She’s talking about her parents now. I keep my mouth shut. I adopted the don’t-say-anything-unless-you-can-say-something-nice stance a very long time ago when it came to Mia’s folks. Much safer that way for both of us.

  I pat my belly. Hard to believe there’s a bean in there. Except for the skyrocketing hormones, of course. “At least I won’t have to worry about living on the street until I get a decent job. One with benefits.”

  “Like I would let that happen. You can always move in with me and Ethan. You’ll never be homeless, Emme.”

  And I know she means it, which means absolutely everything to me. “And I will do my level best to never have to take you up on that generous offer. You just got married. You and your husband need your space.”

  But I’m smiling as I head into the bathroom before Mia can say anymore. I don’t want her worrying about me. She’s so blissful with her new little family, and she deserves that happiness. Her parents were always stingy with their love and their time. Now Mia’s basking in Ethan’s love, and she’s really happy.

  I’m grateful for my parents’ support. They are always there for me. But I don’t want to r
un home. My future has caught up with me. Not exactly how I’d planned. But with a kid in the oven, I can’t live in the moment. I have to think about our future. Since I’m choosing to have this baby, I need to provide. It’s pretty simple. If I can’t do that, I need to make a different choice.

  As soon as I’m in the shower, my cell phone rings. I pop my head out of the shower to glance at the display. The detective told me he’d check in at the end of the week with an update.

  Not the detective. Jason. I don’t pick up. I have nothing else to say to him. No emotional energy to spare.

  The hot water soothes me. Until I start thinking about tonight. About telling Ace.

  My stomach rolls.

  I’m really not sure what to expect. I just don’t know him well enough. Does anyone really?

  But I’ve been trying out different approaches all week, and finally decided to stick to the facts. Keep emotion out of it as best I can. I didn’t expect this to happen any more than he did. But we have a situation now. We’re two adults who can deal with the unexpected productively.

  The only snag we may hit is if he asks me to terminate the pregnancy. I just can’t. It goes against everything I am. No matter how much the timing sucks, this baby is a part of me.

  I swallow hard. Then the tears start again.

  I tell myself it’s the hormones. And some of it is.

  But it’s hard to think clearly when I feel so horrible. Let alone work. My shifts have just about killed me this week. How am I supposed to get a decent job when I spend most of the morning puking? And new single mothers don’t get a lot of sleep. Lack of sleep leads to mistakes. And I don’t have years of accounting experience behind me. Who’s going to hire me?

  I never realized I had anxiety. It has to be the hormones. God, I hope it’s the hormones.

  Mia knocks on the door. “You okay?”

  I hold back another sob. “Just ducky, thanks.”

  “The résumé looks good.”

  Which isn’t going to mean a damned thing when I stroll in for an interview with a big, pregnant belly.