by Holly Rayner
The limousine grumbled to a halt in front of her apartment block. Mia blinked at it sadly, wishing it were more impressive, instead of all she could afford after paying her student loans that year. Several students lived in the apartment building, as well. Sports team flags whipped in the wind. She bit her lip, shrugging. “This is it, boys.”
“Looks like a nice place,” James said, his voice chipper. He bounced out to her side of the car and opened the door, giving John a brief look.
“What?” John asked, rolling down his window.
“You’re texting. You’re supposed to open the door for us. It’s literally in your contract.”
“You don’t have hands?”
James offered Mia his hand, and she accepted it gratefully. He lifted her from her lounging position in the back of the vehicle, and she found herself on the sidewalk, thanking John for the ride.
“Maybe next time, he’ll even help you get out,” James said, winking.
“Don’t bet on it,” John said. “Right now, I’m trying to train James here to be a good father. I think it’s going to take some work.” And with that, the limo glided back onto the road and whizzed away, leaving the pair of them alone on the sidewalk.
“He doesn’t even know how long I’ll be here,” James laughed. “He just bails like that. And he knows I won’t fire him. I like him too much.”
Mia wanted to laugh, but her body crumpled toward the entrance. She leafed for her keys and jangled them out, opening the door. “This is it, James; don’t be surprised if it’s kind of a dump.”
For the first time, Mia saw her apartment through her billionaire boss’s eyes, and she felt vaguely horrified. The couch was slanted, green, with a small red wine stain on the side from a particular raucous girls’ night with Theresa about a year before. A blanket was still there from her Sunday nap. Why hadn’t she bothered to fold it?
But she knew the situation would only grow worse. She wound them back, toward the kitchen, and found plates and forks still swimming in the sink water. “Sorry about the mess,” she murmured. She leaned against the counter, suddenly seeing black spots, a signifier of her dizzy spells. “I think I need to sit down.”
“Sure,” James said, concerned, wrapping his arm around her. He wound her toward the couch and they collapsed upon it together. Mia knew he was searching for the right words. “I think it’s a really wonderful little place you have here. Very cozy.”
“It’s silly, really, that you’re only just seeing this, now that I’m carrying your baby.” Mia flipped her feet up on the coffee table, dropping her shoes to the floor. “We’re going to be parents together, and yet, you hardly know me. You didn’t even know my address.”
“549 West Prospect,” James said quickly. He tapped his forehead. “It’s up there, now.”
“You’re a journalist. You’re required to memorize.” Mia scoffed, but in a friendly way. Her heart felt warm that he’d remembered. “Anyway. I should really rest up and then get back to the station. We had five other segments to record today, and I should really release Jeff from that call of duty. If I don’t, he’ll rant and rave about it for years. More dramatic than a teenager, that one.”
James shook his head, a small wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “You’re not going anywhere today, Mia. You’ve been to the hospital. You’re not going back to the station.”
Mia bowed her head, feeling foolish. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“And don’t apologize.” James brought his finger to her ear and pushed a piece of hair behind it, tucking it into the others with a tender touch. “Let me take care of you today. How about I stay here and cook something for you? Do you have any food in?”
Mia traced her memory back to the last time she’d gone grocery shopping, which was a remarkable ten days previous. “I haven’t been hungry,” she offered.
“Well. That just won’t do,” he said, laughing.
But Mia felt her insides bursting. Perhaps this really was too much, too fast. She couldn’t tell if he wanted to stay with her only for the child, or if he also wanted to spend time with her, and the question, the dichotomy between the two answers, was making her go crazy.
“Actually,” Mia began, her voice weak. “I really need to get some rest. Why don’t you head back? You’ve done so much for me today, and it’s only your first real day of parenthood.” She stretched her toes, trying to find comfort in this painful conversation. “You’ve done more than enough. I’m fine, really.”
James gazed out the window, watching the traffic sweep past. Mia wanted to nuzzle into his shoulder and never let him go. But she couldn’t read his eyes; she couldn’t read why his mouth curved downwards, why he seemed so far away sometimes. There was still so much she didn’t understand.
Where did they stand with each other? Her mind raced. In the ambulance, she’d heard the words he’d said to her: that he was going to be by her side. She’d felt his embrace. She’d understood that he wanted to help her raise the baby.
But what did that mean, really? Did he mean that he wanted to be her boyfriend? And if so, shouldn’t he have asked her, or wooed her, or something? Or did he just want to co-parent with her? She yearned to ask these questions, but she also knew the terror of asking for “too much, too soon.” Men could be jittery. They could run at the first sign that you wanted commitment. She swallowed.
“I shouldn’t leave you like this,” James retorted.
“It’s really okay,” Mia whispered, assuming he wanted to flee. She was giving him an out. “You have work to do. And I get that. I won’t be a needy pregnant woman. I promise.”
James stood from the couch, then, and assessed her, looking her up and down. “I should at least help you to bed.”
So he did want to leave.
“No, no,” Mia said. “I can do it myself. Trust me. I’ve been alone far more than you could know.” Inwardly, she was shuddering, tinged with preemptive loneliness. She still remembered what the bunkbeds smelled like, back in the children's home. It was the stench of loneliness and of decade-old drool. Somehow, as James prepared to leave her now, she could smell that scent again.
James wrapped his suit jacket around his shoulders, directing his feet toward the door. Mia curled up smaller into a ball, wrapping the blanket around her. She imagined she’d call her usual delivery boys and inhale an entire pizza, just to prove she could.
But James was taking far too long to leave. His eyes connected with hers. She considered asking him if he really wanted to stay with her, if he wanted to split the other half of her 14-inch. But she didn’t want the wrong answer.
Finally, James clapped his hands together and began to spin toward the door. “All right. I’ll call you tonight, then,” he said, throwing a wrench into her heart. “I’ll update you on the happenings of Jeff in the newscaster seat. I’m sure it’s been a sheer delight for the rest of the crew.”
“If he isn’t yelling at everyone right now,” Mia retorted, falling deeper into the cushions. She felt her eyelids begin to close. The world grew dimmer, softer.
Moments before slipping off to sleep, she heard footfalls come back toward the couch. She blinked her eyes open and found James before her, smiling. Between his right hand’s thumb and forefinger, he held the mistletoe she’d positioned in his office on that fateful April day. She’d forgotten she’d taken it and placed it as decoration in the hallway, right next to the door.
She brought her fingers to her mouth tentatively, testing the waters, not wanting to speak first. Perhaps he thought she was insane.
“Is this what I think it is?” James finally asked her. His voice was filled with emotion. He studied her and the mistletoe with faraway eyes.
“It’s from April, yes,” Mia whispered. “I remember when I woke up that morning, you were so distant, James. It seemed as if nothing had happened the night before, like you had never even known me. I hated that. I hate losing people. And so, I took the mistletoe from your off
ice as a memento of our time together.” She looked down at her stomach, then, giggling slightly. “I didn’t quite realize I had taken an even greater memento with me, as well.”
James didn’t speak for a moment, and silence grew between them. The mistletoe still dangled in his fingers. “I had never taken mistletoe seriously before,” he said. “I had always thought it was such a silly tradition. I had never been a romantic man, of course. Which is maybe why I wasn’t watching out for you the morning after. I wasn’t thinking about your feelings, and I’m sorry about that. It’s certainly not in the spirit of Christmas.”
Mia sat demurely, waiting. She couldn’t decide if the words he spoke were only some kind of strained apology. She didn’t want to raise her hopes, only to have him leave her once more.
She closed her eyes. Tears formed once more and she waved her fingers, her voice breaking. “These damn hormones. I just can’t stop crying. I’m sorry. Really, you should go.” In her chest, her heart felt broken. She was on the edge of completely and utterly falling for him. That was the most painful feeling of all.
But suddenly, James sat beside her on the couch, slipping beneath the blanket alongside her. He raised the mistletoe above their heads. “Mia,” he whispered. “Look.”
Mia’s eyes swam with ecstatic joy. She opened her mouth and managed just one word: “Really?”
But James broke her words with a simple kiss beneath the Christmas mistletoe. The touch of his lips felt like it had been missing for all too long. She wrapped her arms around his neck, inhaling his scent, taking kisses quickly, easily.
After several passionate moments, James leaned his head back, stroking her hair.
“You know,” Mia said breathlessly, “Despite all those years without practice, I really think you’re getting the hang of this mistletoe business.”
“Yeah?” James asked. He allowed his head to drop back with laughter. “You really think I have a chance in this world?”
“Everyone has a chance when it comes to mistletoe. It’s made of magic,” she whispered then.
She fell back into a kiss with him, gliding her fingers beneath his shirt to feel his abdomen muscles, his pectorals. She kissed him with such passion, such zeal, that he soon leaned back and took her over him. She hoped he didn’t sense how very un-billionaire the apartment was. But she supposed, as he fell into another passionate sigh, that he probably didn’t care at that moment. He probably didn’t care at all.
They spent the night on that couch together, alternately kissing and giggling, falling into each other. At some point, Mia chewed haphazardly at a cracker while James ordered not one, but two large pepperoni pizzas, along with an order of cheese bread.
“I hope that’s not all for me,” Mia exclaimed when he hung up the phone.
“You know I haven’t eaten since yesterday? Sometimes I forget to eat. Too busy,” he told her, rubbing his palms over her shoulder.
“Well you are one of the most important men in the United States,” she teased him, biting at his shirt collar.
“And that is one of the most expensive shirts in the United States you’re currently nibbling on,” he tossed back, winking at her. “But who cares? If my baby’s craving a shirt, then by God, let my baby’s mother eat a shirt. What do you want to watch tonight, anyway? Are you a movie kind of girl or—”
“You know I just like to watch the news,” Mia whispered back, still toying with his shirt. “I just like to know what’s going on around the world and feel safe and warm here on my couch. With you, now.”
“With me,” James agreed.
They ate pizza on the couch, the billionaire and his pregnant employee, and they raced through the various news stations, discussing nerdy news-worthy things, like which anchors they liked the most across the country, and which journalists had inspired them growing up.
Mia found that she and James had even more in common than she’d suspected and that, ultimately, he wasn’t anywhere near as cocky as she’d initially thought. At least, she didn’t think the man who ate an entire pizza slice in one bite, slurping the grease from the pepperoni, was quite so vain. It just didn’t stack up anymore.
People were different underneath than what they presented to the world, she reminded herself. And people wound up on unexpected trajectories, living strange versions of lives. She hadn’t suspected she’d be the perhaps-girlfriend, parent-partner of her billionaire boss, James Chance. But she supposed that since she’d been a little girl, she’d wanted to give fate its opportunity to shine. That fate had led her from the halls of the grimy children’s home and into the loving arms of her adoptive parents. That fate had led her to a college scholarship, to her first big internship, and then to her first news segment (about Barbies, no less) on SNO News.
She’d lived her life with the spirit of Christmas in her heart. And Christmas magic had followed her, all the way to the beginning of May, and positioned her with a lover, a friend, and a family. What more could she want in the world?
FOURTEEN
Three weeks after that fateful trip to the hospital, Mia stood in Theresa’s office, slipping her heels from her feet. “It’s just too much to wear heels when you’re this pregnant,” she complained.
“You’re literally only two months pregnant. If that,” Theresa scoffed. “I’ve seen a six-month pregnant woman rock heels that were taller than that. If you want to wear heels, then I think you should grow up and forget about the pain. Because you have a world of pain coming.” She gave Mia a wink.
“Always with the tough love,” Mia teased. “But you’re right. I’m going to invest in some flats, though.”
“I don’t think you need to ‘invest’ in anything anymore, honey. Your baby daddy is an actual billionaire. Money doesn’t matter for him; you can ask him to buy you one hundred pairs of shoes, and he won’t bat an eye.”
Mia shook her head. “I don’t want to take advantage of him like that. We aren’t even officially dating.”
Theresa dropped a makeup brush into her basket, spinning her fingers in the search for a different one. “How is that going, by the way? You said he wanted to be with you?”
“We’re taking it slow,” Mia responded. “We still have months before the baby’s born, you know. I want to get to know him. And I want to really show him who I am.”
Theresa eyed her sharply. “You haven’t told him about your past, have you?”
Mia shrugged her shoulders, slipping her fingers over her growing belly. “I mean, he hardly knows anything about me.”
“Not about the foster families? About the children’s home?” Theresa’s eyebrows grew high on her forehead. “You haven’t told him what this baby really means to you, have you?”
Mia bowed her head. “I don’t want to scare him away.”
“You’re already pregnant with his baby, Mia. I think it’s time you let him in a little more.”
“Well. Then, he’d have to let me in, as well. If I want to know anything about him, I have to google it. And usually what pops up on Forbes or Business Insider or Wikipedia—whatever—is exactly the same. It seems like he delivers the same message to every single source, meaning that nobody can get a clear look at who he is inside.”
“He’s a private man. We’ve always known that,” Theresa said, combing her fingers through her hair. “I suppose it’s up to you to get to the bottom of it.”
Mia frowned, looking down at her notes for her next segment. Despite being pregnant with the CEO’s baby, the quality of the stories she was being given hadn’t improved a single bit. “Great. This one’s about the plastic duck race down the river.” She shuffled her papers, trying to change the subject. Talking about how she and James were still practically strangers did nothing to ease her anxiety.
“That raises a ton of money for charity,” Theresa replied. She brushed foundation from the pot and instructed Mia to lean back, to look at the ceiling. “Come on, now. Look up.”
Mia did as she was instructed, feeling the
chill of the ointment on her pores. She closed her eyes, falling to a meditative focus that she generally took on during the moments before she went on-air.
“You up for a girls’ night again soon? Jack’s going out east to visit some cousins. We could watch movies and eat too many snacks. I guess wine’s out of the question these days.”
“Probably for the best, given what happened to my poor couch last time,” Mia giggled. “Why not? I think I’m free sometime next week. Want to plan on it?”
“Close your eyes, woman. You know better,” Theresa instructed, brushing mascara over her lashes. “All right. Good to go. Jeff’s giving us the cue. You should get out there.”
