I’m hashing out an error on a contract from one of our newer clients when I finally look away from the computer. My desk is completely cleaned off. I stare at it in shock, absolutely mystified at how that happened. When I dart my gaze over to Andie, I can see she’s been hard at work creating color-coded files. I’m so fucking proud of her, I could shout it—that is if I didn’t have this wiseass griping at me on the other end of the line. Her tired gaze meets mine for a brief moment, and I flash her a wide smile followed by a wink. I want to stare at the way her smooth cheeks turn slightly pink, but this prick on the phone wants me to look at the goddamned contract again.
Half an hour later, I finally hang up with that fucker. When I glance back over at Andie, her cheek is on her desk. She’s completely passed out. Leaning back in my chair, I take a moment to stare at her without her noticing or getting angry. Andie doesn’t like when I peel back her outer layers and peek at her soft center. She likes her hardened edges to always be on display. Problem is I want all parts of her. I crave to dig deep inside her and find that person who she so often hides. After I snap another picture of her looking so innocent, I tuck my phone away and rise from my chair. My back aches, and I take a moment to stretch.
I can’t believe she cleaned my desk off. It’s like a damn miracle. I haven’t seen the surface since the moment I sat down behind it for the first time. When my siblings and I bought out Tucker, I just moved all my shit into old man Tucker’s previous office. Stacks of paperwork and all. Now, I look professional. Like the real CEO of a legitimate company.
Thanks to my girl.
I walk over to my closet and root around for my coat. Once I find it, I drape it over the back of Andie’s shoulders. She can’t possibly be comfortable, but something tells me growing a tiny human inside of you will tire you out. I stroke her hair before striding back over to my desk. Now that I’ve caught up on voicemails and shit, I’m going to read up on this whole pregnancy situation. I want to help her, and I don’t even know how.
An hour and an entire notebook filled with notes later, I scratch my jaw as I realize just how unprepared we are for this kid. I make a necessary phone call and am just hanging up when I hear a groan from the corner.
“Oh my God.”
I lift my gaze to see Andie swiping drool from her face. There’s an imprint of her keyboard on her cheek from where she rested her face on her keypad. She looks so fucking cute all disheveled.
“Morning, sunshine,” I tease.
Her eyes dart to mine, guilt shining in them. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. How long was I out for?”
At least an hour.
“Not long. How are you feeling?” I keep my voice calm. I’ve been dying to talk to her, but she keeps getting pissed off. We’ve run in circle after circle.
“Fine. I don’t think that Chinese food we ordered for lunch is agreeing with me, though,” she tells me, her face paling.
I jolt up and remember what I read on the pregnancy website. “Stay put. I’ll get you something to help with that.”
When I return, she’s a little more put together but still looking green around the gills. Her eyes widen in surprise when I set down a can of ginger ale and a sleeve of crackers I’d stolen from the break room cabinet.
“This should make you feel better,” I assure her. And before I can stop myself, I stroke an errant strand of blonde hair out of her eyes.
She offers me a sweet, thankful smile that does amazing things to my ego. My heart thumps with pride. I put that look on her face.
Food is definitely the key to her heart.
“Thank you,” I tell her as I walk around her desk and thumb through the hanging files on top. “You did a great job of organizing all this stuff.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, a defensive look in her eyes. But once she senses I’m being genuine, she relaxes. “It was a mess. Your loft is always so neat. Who knew you were such a slob, Mr. Holloway.”
My dick twitches at the way she says my name. Mr. Holloway. I clear my throat and hope my hard-on will go the fuck away before I do something stupid, like take her again in my office. That was terribly unprofessional, and yet, I can’t stop thinking about it.
“I like your handwriting,” I blurt out, ignoring the widening of her eyes. “It’s pretty. Like you.”
She smirks. “What do you want?”
“You.”
Her smile falls and her brows scrunch together. “Is this us ‘talking’?”
I let out a sigh and kneel next to her chair. “This is us ‘trying’.” When I place my palms on her thighs, she lets out a gasp. “All we can do is try, right?”
She nods and leans slightly forward. Goddamn, those tits are within biting distance. I refrain from mauling her. Instead, I do what I came over here to do. I talk.
“Nothing about this is going to be easy, Andie,” I tell her, my thumbs rubbing circles on her legs through her skirt. “But nothing worth having ever is. I’ve never backed down from a challenge. You’re the most challenging damn woman I’ve ever met, and if anything, it makes me want you even more.”
Her hand tentatively covers mine. “You’re pretty difficult yourself.”
I laugh, and it makes her laugh, too. But then I grow serious as I draw the back of her hand to my lips. “We were careless and wild. But we had fun. We still have fun.”
“This morning was definitely fun,” she agrees with a naughty grin. “You owe me a new pair of panties, though.”
I kiss her hand before placing it back in her lap. Our eyes meet once again. Tender Andie is so fucking rare that I want to prolong this moment for as long as I can. “I’ll buy you plenty more, baby. Don’t you worry.” I grin, but then it falls away when I take a moment to realize how fucking beautiful she is. Her normally blazing blue eyes are wide and shimmering. Fucking hope glitters in them. A girl like Andie looks like she eats hope for breakfast. But not today. Today, she looks as though she wants to wrap herself up inside hope as if it were a warm, fuzzy blanket. I continue, “I want to do this together. I want to try for us and…” I trail off and drop my gaze to her flat stomach. “I want to try for this little one too.”
Her breath hitches when my palm splays on her belly. Then, her fingers slip into my hair and she pulls me against her. I slide my arms around her waist to hug her. We stay locked in the intimate embrace in utter silence for a long while. It’s fucking bliss. Her walls are down and I’m inside. She’s never getting rid of me now.
“Roman,” she chokes out, her voice wobbling with emotion, “I’m scared.”
The vulnerable side of her shines brilliantly like a million rays from the sun. Beautiful and blinding.
“I know,” I mutter and kiss her breast through her clothes. “I know, but I’m not going to let anything happen. You just have to fucking trust me.”
She starts to cry. Hot tears splash the side of my neck. I don’t dare let her go. Not when she has a death grip on my hair and is holding on to me as if she never wants me to leave.
I’m not going anywhere.
Eventually, she composes herself and lets out a ragged sigh. “I don’t know a thing about being pregnant. All I’ve learned so far is that I’m gassy, emotional, and sick.”
I pull away to smile at her. “Which is why tomorrow afternoon, we’re going to see Dr. Patterson. I set up the appointment and—”
“You set up the appointment?” she hisses, all sweetness chased away by her venom. “What are you? My dad?” Her foot kicks out and she narrowly misses my shin with her pointy heels.
Put the claws away, beautiful.
“You were so tired,” I tell her in a calm tone. “Did I mention Dr. Patterson’s office is next door to one of the best Italian restaurants in the city? Mmmm, breadsticks. We could have lunch after the appointment. My treat.”
Food.
Food.
Woo her with food.
My new mantra.
Her anger melts away and she laughs. Fucking laughs. Goddamn she’
s so pretty when she does that. “You’ve really upped your game, Roman Holloway.”
I stand up and then bend over to plant a kiss on her forehead. “The stakes just got a little bit higher, Andie Miller. And I don’t lose.”
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
“NO… NO… FUCK NO… AND NO!” God, how does nothing I own say, Wear me to dinner with your baby daddy’s mother!? I mean, not that sitting and eating goodies while making small talk with no panties on is any more appropriate than what I’m nixing.
Why didn’t I just say no to this? Um, because his mom is like super tiny and the cutest damn thing I have ever seen. She smelled like vanilla and she gave really good hugs.
UGH!
I try on my third pair of jeans and these, just like the other two pairs, are too snug. How is this possible? I stand in front of my full-length mirror while I watch the impossible. Wrestling with the button, I realize there is no way it’s latching. I suck in a deep breath and bounce up and down, wiggling my ass, but nope. “FUCK!” I yell, ripping the jeans off me, catching one leg in the process, causing me to trip and fall. Thankfully, I land in my man-made pile of can’t-wear-these-to-Momma’s-house reject outfits.
With a loud huff, I give up, lie on the floor, stare at the ceiling and let my thoughts drift back to earlier.
Virginia Holloway.
The nicest person on this planet.
Besides Dani… And my mom.
It’s been so long that I almost forgot how it felt to receive a real motherly hug. Complete with the tenderness moms are built with. It reminded me of my own mother. When I was young, she would chase me around the house, telling me she needed a hug or the world was going to explode. I would laugh so hard, squealing as I ducked under chairs or ran up and down the hallway. She would quickly run out of steam, her legs giving out on her. I would always come back, pretending she caught me, and fall into her lap. The quiet moments we would share as I let her cradle me, whispering sweet things to me, her love, her promise to always watch over me. Because one day, she said, she would have to go away. It was a few years before I finally understood what she meant. It made me wish I’d known then what I know now. I would have run straight to her, instead of away, every single time.
Virginia stated that Ram was busy taking Dani to lunch, and Reagan was stuck on a call. She invited me to sit with her while she chatted with her eldest. I wanted to object, but she was holding a really tempting bag of sweets, and I really needed in that bag.
It turned out to be amazing. She hadn’t been telling a lie when she’d said she was a great cook. She went into detail about how she got into cooking, and I pretended I was having allergy issues when my eyes started to water. I felt so horrible for her. For Roman. It also made me think of some moments—ones buried in my past—of my mom before she died.
Virginia saw the sadness building in my eyes and laid her small hand over mine. She quickly changed the subject after that, for which I was thankful. She went on to explain that all the ingredients in her treats were organic, with no caffeine or synthetic sugars. Safe for all kinds of tummies. I silently thanked her, not needing a replay of this morning.
The more I sat and listened, the more I fell in love with her. I think it was because she reminded me so much of Mom. Her cheeriness, her love for her children. She told a story of when Roman was just a little kid, being fascinated with all things little. The neighbor boy’s family had just had a baby, so the boy spent a lot of time over at the Holloway’s to give the parents a breather. Since Roman was barely four years old and didn’t understand what the big fuss was, he insisted his mom take him over there so he could find out why his friend William couldn’t go home. Roman didn’t understand that William’s parents weren’t kicking him out. But, as Virginia explained, he was a kid and this was how he understood things at the time.
So Roman stomped over next door with Virginia behind him, wanting answers, only to have Carolyn, the mother, answer the door holding a three-week-old baby. Roman was in awe. He didn’t quite understand where the little girl came from, just that she was super tiny. He had asked to pet her, which made Carolyn laugh, and she allowed. He asked its name, which was Violet, and what it ate. The mother said she ate formula right now because she was so small, but as she grew up she would eat vegetables, just like he did. Roman, of course, gagged saying he didn’t eat vegetables. They “were stinky.” He went on, asking the million other questions a four-year-old could come up with and finally, after answering all of them as best as she could, she invited little Roman in and asked him if he would like to hold Violet. And he did.
Virginia explained that it took Roman a good ten minutes to get comfortable enough to hold her, but when he finally did, he was absolutely fascinated. He asked more questions and received more answers. Close to two hours had passed before they returned home. Roman came home with a mind full of knowledge, and the first thing he wanted to know was if he could have a baby brother or sister for his birthday, if he was a good boy.
Virginia went on to say that she took Roman over to the neighbors’ house almost every day to visit. He was always asking to hold Violet and wanted to help feed her. He even changed a few diapers. Little did Roman know that Virginia and Jacob were already pregnant with their second child, Ramsey.
And when Ram came along, Roman immediately began his big-brother training on his little brother and spent less time with Violet. But, to this day, they all still keep in touch. And continue to tease Roman about his parental urges, even at age four.
The story was sweet and touching. I kept stealing glances at Roman while his mother spoke. His small nods and chuckles as he, too, recalled the memory. I wondered about the irony of the story. Thirty years later, and he’s about to have a Violet of his own.
Or a mini Roman.
Our chat wrapped up quickly after that when Roman’s phone began buzzing with alerts of an upcoming conference call. Virginia and I hugged goodbye, and Roman had to all but peel me off her. Then she left, telling us she would see us for dinner.
Which leads me to my current situation, in a pile of clothes I need to burn, and me debating on cancelling. The sound of banging on my door has my eyes darting to the clock to see it’s already six.
“Fuck. Shit, fuck.” I stand, looking around my room. What a disaster. The knocking on the door starts again, and I yell, “I’ll be right there. Calm your tits,” and groan, knowing I can’t go in my underwear and bra.
Then it hits me.
“God, I can’t believe this.”
I go to Dani’s drawer, which I gave her to put anything she wants to leave here.
And I grab for a pair of her goddamn leggings.
“Here, let me get that for you,” Roman says as he steps in front of me to open the car door.
Curious, I ask, “Whose car is this?” I know it’s not his, since I remember the day he bought his fancy Beamer. He came over shortly after, happy as a kid in a candy store with his recent purchase. He smiled broadly as he dangled the keys in front of me, telling me that he was going to fuck me senseless, then take me for the smoothest ride of my life. Of course we never made it past the fuck-me-senseless part.
“It’s mine. Watch your step.”
I would have if he hadn’t thrown me off with his reply. I turn, confusion surely etched across my face. “What do you mean it’s yours? You own two cars now?”
“Just one. I traded in the Z4.”
I falter as he takes my hand and helps me into the Range Rover. I turn again. “What? Why? You loved that car? This is a downgrade. A…a…”
“A family car?” Roman finishes my sentence on a smile.
My mouth parts in shock. The meaning behind his smile slowly hits me. Heavy inside my heart. “Family?” I draw a deep breath. “Roman, you loved that car.” My voice is just above a whisper.
He leans in, dropping a gentle kiss to the top of my nose.
“And I believe I will love this family more.”
Jesus,
they live in a fucking mansion! I gape at the beautiful house coming into view as we pull up the long driveway. Virginia is already waiting for us, waving as she sees the Range Rover pull in front.
Roman helps me out but is pushed out of the way so Virginia can offer me a hug. She grabs my hand and guides me into the house, Roman chuckling as he trails behind us.
“Dear, I hope you’re hungry. I made a feast.”
Just then my stomach grumbles. Embarrassed, I throw my hands over my belly. “Wow, I guess I am,” I softly chuckle.
Virginia leads us inside—the house resembles a Holloway Family museum. The walls are bright and filled with family photos and crafts. I slow my pace to take a look at some drawings by Reagan and Ram and even some football photos of Roman.
“Wow, you had longer hair?” I ask Roman, who’s standing next to me observing the wall as well.
“Let’s just say it was a phase,” he says with a laugh, pulling me away so that I’m unable to get a better look at the rest.
“Hey, I was looking at those!” I whine as he tucks me into his side, bending to drop a kiss to the top of my head.
“Yes, that’s what I was afraid of. I need to get you to like me first. Having collateral against me, such as those awful photos, isn’t safe when I’m not fully on your good side.”
I elbow him in the ribs, and he chuckles.
We make our way through the largest kitchen ever and into the dining room, where I see so much food, I swear to God, I think drool immediately drips from my mouth.
“Wow, who else is coming?” I ask, staring at an amount of food that’s fit for an army.
“I told you she likes to cook.”
Virginia just sighs, pulling her seat out as we all sit. “You can never be too sure how hungry your guests will be. Especially my baby boy. He can eat.” She turns to me and winks.
The entire dinner is filled with more stories and laughter. However, there is a lot of silence from me, since I’m too busy stuffing my face. Holy cow, they weren’t lying when they said she could cook. I want to stuff food in my purse to take home, but then I snap out of my insane plan because I’m pretty sure she would just offer me a goodie bag to go.
Hate 2 Lovers Page 5
