by R. R. Banks
Vincent and Olivia get up from their stools and start out of the bar. I down the final swallow of the martini and set the glass on the bar, tossing a few bills beside it. As they leave, I follow. I'm going to keep my eye on them tonight. Vincent didn't know what he was saying. This isn't over by a long shot. I won't let it end like this.
Olivia
The sound of a blaring alarm clock prods at my brain but it sounds like it's coming through a fog. Another sound joins it. The high buzzing seems to shake my acing eyeballs. Finally, it cracks through and dissipates my sleep until I'm almost conscious. I feel groggy, like my head is full of cotton. Usually, I'm a morning person, unafraid of being up before the sun. I groan as I feel bright beams of daylight hit my face as they slice through the open curtains. I always close the curtains at night. Why are they open? Sitting up, I dare to try to open my eyes. For a moment, I'm disoriented. My surroundings are unfamiliar, and I can't remember why I'm here or where here is.
Then it hits me. I'm in a hotel. I've come to the conference with Vincent to be his personal assistant and I slept through my alarm. That's probably him calling me wondering where I am. Panic shoots through me and I try to hop out of the bed, but the combination of my stiff movements and sheets tangled around me entrap me. The phone buzzes again and I realize my phone doesn't make that sound. A groan startles me and I look across the wide king-sized bed to see Vincent sprawled on his stomach.
What is going on?
He isn't wearing a shirt. There's a sour taste in my mouth and a vague memory of going to the bar the night before comes back.
Oh, no. Did we?
I hazard a glance down and notice I'm still fully dressed. Thank goodness. But why is he in bed with me? Am I even in my room?
The phone starts a new wave of buzzing and Vincent groans again, this time rolling over and slamming his hand down on the nightstand to grab the apparently angry little device.
"What?" he barks into it. "Oh. Oh, shit. What time is it? Oh, fuck. I'm sorry. Yeah, go in without me. Find out if you can record it. I'll get there as fast as I can. Where's Olivia."
"Right here," I say.
He flips over sharply to look at me.
"What are you doing here?" he asks. He glances at the phone still pressed to his ear. "Not you, Laurel. Olivia. She's in my room. I don't know. Go. I'll be there soon."
He ends the call and drops the phone to the bed.
"Good morning," I say. "I think. What's wrong with my head?"
I reach up to rub my eyes.
"If it feels anything like mine, then we have a raging bitch of a hangover," he says. "What in the living hell did we do last night?"
I flatten my hands against my face to try to rub myself awake and feel something scratch my skin. Pulling my hands away, I look down and notice a slim band around my finger. That finger. Slowly, I turn the band around to reveal the massive princess-cut diamond that had just scratched the shit out of me.
"I'm not sure, but what do you think the chances are that it has something to do with that?"
I point at the ring. Taking a closer look, I notice there's another band tucked up against it, designed to nestle into it when worn together.
Vincent scoots closer on the bed to look at the ring and then looks at me.
"Why are you wearing that?"
My eyes drop to his hand pressed to the mattress beside me and I notice a slight flash in the sunlight.
"I don't know, but it looks like you have the match."
Vincent picks up his hand and stares at the ring.
"What the fuck?" He looks behind him at the clock. "We're really late. We've already missed the first two sessions of the morning. We have to get to the keynote address." He climbs out of bed and immediately grabs his head. "How much did I drink last night?"
I'm somewhat wobbly as I climb out of the bed and take a few steps toward the bathroom.
"About as much as me, I would guess. I don't know. You're pretty big. Probably more than me."
"Do you even have clothes in here?" he asks.
I glance down at my suitcase where it's still lying on the floor in the position it landed after I kicked it yesterday.
"This is my room," I say. "The question is do you have clothes here?"
"Shit. I'm going to my room to take a shower. Get ready. We have to be downstairs in fifteen minutes."
I don't feel like I'm going to get fully cognizant of reality in the next fifteen minutes, much less be able to look like a professional personal assistant here to personally assist a billionaire with whatever it is this conference is about. I should probably have read the orientation folder better. This is not like me. I look down at the rings on my hand again.
This is definitely not like me.
I get in the shower and turn the water several degrees colder than I usually would in hopes it will wake me up fully. Getting through it as quickly as I can, I'm climbing out when I hear my phone ring. I rush to the room, rubbing my hair with a towel, and look for my phone. I can hear it, but I can't see it. The phone keeps ringing. How is it, that in my hotel room, Vincent's phone was conveniently placed on the nightstand, but mine's apparently hiding? How is it not on its little charging port like it is every single night of my life?
What happened last night?
There is a brief silence as the phone goes to voicemail, then the ringing starts over again. I don't have time for this. I drop to my knees and start crawling around the carpet, looking for the phone. The room door opens just as I wrap my hand around the device where it's tucked under the chair in the corner.
"It has not been fifteen minutes," I snap into the phone before noticing Vincent standing across the bed from me, not on his phone.
"Olivia?" Gigi's voice comes over the line.
"What are you doing?" Vincent asks.
"Hi," I say to either one of them who wants to accept it.
"Somebody wants to say good morning," Gigi says.
"Mama!"
My son's sweet voice makes tears spring to my eyes.
"Hi, baby boy," I say. "How are you?"
"Is that Aaron?"
My eyes snap to Vincent, and he looks back at me with an equal level of surprise and confusion in his eyes like he has no idea why he just asked that question.
"Mama?"
"Did you have a good night?" I ask. "Did you read your stories? I miss you."
"Gigi stories," he says.
"Gigi read you stories? That's wonderful."
I'm still staring at Vincent. I get to my feet, and his eyes widen.
I'm naked.
"Oh, god," I say, reaching for the blanket at the end of the bed so I can cover myself
"Olivia? What's wrong?"
Gigi has taken the phone back. My brain is spinning.
"Hi, Gigi. I'm sorry, but I really have to get going. There's an important meeting in just a few minutes."
"I understand. I just wanted to ask you why you messaged me a blurry picture of your hand last night."
"My hand?"
I'm trying to wrap the blanket around myself like a tunic and dig through my suitcase for clothes with one hand. The slacks and sweater come out wrinkled and I grimace. There definitely isn't time to steam them.
"You did say business casual, right?" I ask Vincent.
He nods.
"For the day meetings."
I look at the clothes again. These wrinkles are a bit beyond casual, but they're going to have to do.
"Yes," Gigi says. "You sent me a really blurry picture of your hand in the middle of the night. No explanation. Just your hand. Then a few minutes later you sent a message asking me to print it out for the scrapbook."
I'm just getting more confused.
"I have no idea," I answer honestly. "I'll have to call you back. Love you both."
Not wanting to hear anything else that might just make this morning more dizzying, I end the call and toss the phone onto the bed.
"You know about Aaron?" I ask. "How d
o you know about Aaron?"
I sit at the edge of the bed and try to navigate wriggling into my panties and slacks from under the blanket.
"I've seen you naked, Olivia."
Vincent
"Damn it."
Hearing a salty mouth on sweet Olivia is adorable as hell, but now is not the time to be charmed by her. She grabs the handful of clothes from beside her and stalks into the bathroom. Leaving the door partially open, she calls out to me while getting the rest of the way dressed.
"You know about Aaron?" she asks again. "When did you find out about him?"
My mind churns, trying to figure out how I came up with the name. It had just popped out of my mouth when I saw her on the phone like my brain had gone on autopilot to compensate for the parts still floating around in liquor from last night.
"I don't know," I say. "Who is he?"
Olivia stays silent and comes out a few minutes later, having put her hair up and makeup on in half the time it would have taken me to put my socks on in this state. My phone rings before she can say anything further.
"Where are you?" Laurel hisses at me. "I am not cut out for entertaining the parade of boring ass men who are the only people seated with me."
"Yes, you are," I say.
I hang up the phone, but it rings again immediately.
"I'm coming," I say. "Just hold on a little longer."
"We really should get going. This isn't a great start to the conference," Olivia says as she stuffs her feet into a pair of sensible nude heels and grabs her purse.
She opens it and I notice it has an impressive assortment of office supplies tucked inside.
"What is all that stuff?" I ask as we make our way to the door.
"So I can take notes."
"Why do you have a stapler?"
"In case I need to staple the notes. What's the first session we're attending?"
We ride the elevator in surreal silence. The doors open, and we step out onto the main conference floor, hoping to be able to blend in so no one will notice we've missed the rest of the morning already. She seems capable of just treating all this like a glitch and going forward with the day as planned. I guess that's a good attribute for a personal assistant. Not so good for the woman wearing an unexplained wedding set who I woke up with this morning.
I'm going to need some more explanation. And who the hell is Aaron?
We make it into the meeting hall and sneak into our reserved seats next to a fiercely glowering Laurel seconds before the speaker steps up to the podium. Laurel says something to me, but the applause from the audience drowns it out. That's probably for the best. Olivia pulls out her notebook and a pen, then sets a dainty pair of pink reading glasses on the bridge of her nose.
She wears pink reading glasses. Could she get any fucking cuter?
She takes notes furiously throughout all the speeches. I'm fairly certain she transcribed every single word spoken. The last speaker is wrapping up his speech and he grins widely.
"Now I have a big announcement to make. As many of you know, I've been building my company for almost 50 years. I've loved it and am very proud of what I've accomplished, but I am also a bit tired." A smattering of polite laughter ripples through the audience. "So today I'm excited to announce I am officially transferring primary control of Gere Corporation to Henry Gere, my son."
A light bursts in my brain and I feel my heart thud heavily in my chest. My eyes snap to Olivia.
"He's my son," I whisper harshly. "Aaron is my son."
Olivia goes pale and the word she's writing becomes notably shaky. She looks at me, her mouth moving, but no sounds coming out.
"Vincent, when this meeting is over—" Laurel starts.
"Come with me," I say and grab Olivia by the hand.
"What are you doing?" Laurel hisses.
I pull Olivia out of the meeting, ignoring the snide comment the speaker makes as we go.
What is going on?
Chapter Twenty-One
Olivia
Shit damn fucking hell damn shit fuck. Booger.
That was better.
Well, maybe not that last one.
"Olivia, what's going on?" Vincent demands as he finally lets go of my hand once we’re standing several feet away from the meeting room.
I don't answer, but stalk toward the elevator. I don't feel the need for witnesses to this conversation. Vincent follows me and as soon as the elevator door closes, I see the reflection of him turn to glare at me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
"How could you not tell me?" he asks.
The elevator stops at the next floor and the doors slide open to let a small group of people in. I take the opportunity to shift to the side a few steps, so they can stand between us. I still feel Vincent staring at me, but at least the added company gives me a few minutes of reprieve to get my thoughts together. Not that I really think I have much of a chance of doing that. How did he find out about Aaron? If I ever decided to do it, that was supposed to be a carefully planned out and orchestrated conversation, not a sudden realization surrounded by several hundred strangers in a business conference. We get to our floor of the hotel, and Vincent and I step out. The other people who got into the elevator with us exchange glances and I wonder what they think we are arguing about. Somehow, I don't think they would ever even get close if they tried to guess.
I head toward my room and Vincent follows. Part of me kind of hoped he would just veer off into his room, so I could bury my head under the pillow and pretend none of this was happening. I had become masterful at that particular technique in the last couple of years. Instead, he snatches the key card from my hand after only my third failed attempt at unlocking the door and stomps inside. I close the door and turn to face him. Vincent is standing in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips as he glares at me.
"My son? I have a son?"
There's no getting out of this. I should have known that eventually, it was all going to catch up with me. I just wish I had a better contingency plan in place.
"Yes," I say, throwing up my hands and then letting them drop to my sides. "You do. We do." he doesn't look like he has a response prepared, so I keep going. "His birthday is in May. He was seven pounds, eleven-point-eight ounces. Nineteen inches long. He was born at two thirteen in the afternoon."
I rattle off as many details about my son's birth as I can, not knowing what else he wants me to say.
"You were pregnant when I saw you with Philip?"
There was something almost animal-like about the tone in his voice when he asks the question.
"Yes," I admit. "But I didn't know yet. Really. I didn't find out until two months later."
"How could you not tell me? Why didn't you tell me as soon as you found out you were pregnant?"
He's far angrier than I ever would have expected him to be when he found out. I'm surprised by the response, but I also feel guiltier than I ever have.
"I didn't know how you would react," I say. "We didn't exactly part on the best terms. Besides, I had no idea how to get in touch with you even if I did decide to tell you. I didn't even know your last name. The only thing I could have done was get back on a plane and show up at the resort. Then what was I supposed to do? Just walk around and hope I found you so I could yell 'surprise, you knocked me up the one time we had sex'?"
"We used a condom," he says.
"I'm well aware of that. As is my OBGYN, who gave me a lovely and enlightening lecture about the effectiveness of condoms when I showed up at her office three months pregnant."
"Regardless, you could have tried. You could have come up with some way to let me know I was a father. My child has existed on this earth for almost two years, and I had no fucking idea."
Sudden clarity hit me. I was so wrapped up in thinking about how he could respond negatively to the pregnancy, I never stopped to think about how he might feel if he found out about the baby. Now as I look into his eyes and see the fury and sadness, I think ab
out how precious Aaron is to me. While it would have been extremely difficult for me to miss the birth process, I can't imagine how devastated I would be to find out I had missed his entire life.
"I'm so sorry, Vincent. I thought I was doing the right thing."
"I can almost understand you not telling me when you were pregnant or even right after he was born. It was wrong, but I can try to see it from your perspective. You were already going through enough at the time and didn't want to drag me into it, too. But what about this week? When you got to the office and realized you'd be working for me, how could you not tell me?"
"I was going to," I stammer. "I did tell you, eventually."
"Eventually," he scoffs. "Instead of telling me while you were sitting in my office talking about the mess your family is in, or in the two days after that while you were getting ready for this conference, or even during the hours we were sitting on that plane coming here, you waited. You waited until you got blitzed out of your fucking mind and didn't know what you were saying to tell me that I have a child."
Tears are starting to form in my eyes, but I try not to show them. Vincent's words are angry, but his tone is getting sadder the more he speaks.
"I'm sorry," I say. "That's all I can say. It's not enough, I know. There's nothing that will ever be enough, but it's all I have right now. I was so devastated when I got back from the island. I felt completely broken. Then I found out I was pregnant, and I didn't know what to do. I decided to disappear, and, yes, I acknowledge that wasn't the right choice. But you have to understand. Within just a couple of months of me finding out about the baby, everything with my family completely fell apart. I didn't have anything to feel secure about. It seemed like the whole world was closing in on me and all I could do was focus on taking care of the baby, and hoping I could hold on tight enough to get through. Last night, yeah, I was a mess. Too much is happening too fast, and I don't know how to deal with any of it. Everything and everyone else is going off the deep end, so why should I keep trying so hard to hold everything together? So, I didn't. I didn't hold it together. I went out and I got drunk for the first time in my life. I am so sorry that meant pulling you down with me."
