by Elise Faber
It had all been so good, until it hadn’t been. “You wanted to make it up to me?”
“I did,” he said again.
“But—” I shook my head.
“That doesn’t fit into the image of the asshole who strode out of your apartment without a second glance?”
“Not really, no.”
“Well, it doesn’t fit into my image of myself either,” he said.
Damn.
I’d been so prepared to hate Jordan after our night together, and he was making it really hard to hang onto those feelings.
“So I think it might be best to table all serious discussion and focus on getting to know each other a little better.” He squeezed my fingers. “What do you think?”
“I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
Eight
Jordan stood next to Abigail, prepared to catch her if they had a repeat of their last experience on her stairs.
She squinted up at him, rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, you know. Now that I know what’s going on with my blood sugar, I’ll just be a little more careful about eating.”
“Okay,” he said, not disagreeing with her, but also not moving from his position behind her. So what if his arms were out and ready to catch?
Abby snorted. “Men are impossible.”
“One might make a case—”
“Shh,” she said. “I’d stop right there, if I were you.”
“Oh?” he asked, all innocence. “So I shouldn’t say that women are impossible too?”
“Definitely not,” she said, then laughed. “Even if it is very true.”
They reached the final few steps and approached her apartment door. Jordan thought she was beautiful in the evening light. The sun made all the different shades in her hair stand out. He wanted to study it, search out each individual color.
He also had entirely too much time on his hands now that he’d sold the business.
Abby put in the code on the keypad, and he did a very good job of pretending not to watch, all while memorizing the four-digit password.
She opened the door then rotated so she was facing him, blocking the entrance to her apartment. “You don’t have to come in.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Honestly?” she asked.
He nodded despite knowing that she was about to give him his walking papers.
“No.”
The word made him rock back on his heels. “Really?”
She huffed and turned her back on him, tossing over her shoulder as she walked inside, “Don’t make me regret being honest. Close the door,” she added when he stood frozen. “You can pick which side of it you want to be on.”
“Smartass.”
“You know it.” But she blew out a breath when he’d closed and locked the door. “I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but nice and patient today.”
“Why do I feel there should be an emphasis on today?”
“It’s not you—” She shook her head. “Not entirely you, anyway. I’ve had a shitty couple of weeks and this . . .” Her chin dropped to her chest and she sighed deeply. “What the fuck am I going to do with a baby?”
Jordan felt his heart skip a beat. “So you’re going to have it?”
If there were wrong words to say, those were the ones.
“It?” Her eyes closed. She sighed and lifted her gaze to mine. “It.” Any warmth in her expression had vanished.
“I didn’t—”
She walked to the door, opened it. “Out. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you with it.”
“Abby.” He crossed to her. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t want to pressure—”
“Get out.”
“I’m not—”
“Get out!” she yelled, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and just that quickly Jordan snapped.
Crying on cue. Throwing temper tantrums. Manipulating the facts to get something from him.
He’d seen this all before. He’d been through this too many times to count.
He’d just thought that Abby might have been different.
He should have known better.
“Is it even mine?” he hissed, eyeing the worn furniture, the small space. It had seemed cozy and warm all those weeks before. Now he saw it for what it really was.
A play for more.
Abigail gasped. “You—you fucking jerk.”
“Now you don’t have a job? Oh, and no insurance, too?” He laughed, and if it was bitter, it was because he’d been through this dog and pony show before. He’d seen his father deal with it, had been a victim of the scheme himself.
Lying about being on birth control.
How could he have been so fucking stupid?
His father had fallen for that trick on more than one occasion.
And now, apparently so had he.
Or maybe—
“Are you even pregnant?”
Her jaw dropped open, right on cue. The perfect actress. “You saw—”
“How much did you pay them? God, you had me fooled.” He shook his head, forcing away his blip of regret when hurt slid across her face. This was all an act.
And not even a very good one.
“When did you find out I’d sold InDTech? That my bank account is overflowing?”
That’s what she wanted. To pretend to be wholesome as she weaseled her way in.
He pulled out his wallet. Opened the leather case.
“You’re unbelievable. I don’t want anything from you,” she snapped. “Except—” Her breath hitched when he extracted a wad of bills and thrust them into her hands.
She fumbled to take the pile, and his anger was confirmed.
“Except money,” he spat.
Abigail carefully stacked the hundreds, putting them into a neat pile that she then lifted up to him. “Nothing,” she said softly. “Except for you to get the hell out of my apartment, and never bother me again.”
“I should have figured that wasn’t enough for you.” He shook his head and walked over the threshold. “Consider it a down payment for carrying my baby.”
The door slammed closed, barely missing his head.
Nine
I sank to the hardwood floor in a daze.
What the hell had just happened?
One second Jordan had been sweet, attentive even, the next he was a raging asshole.
Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, much?
Or maybe it was more Banner-Hulk, since my insides felt smashed to pieces.
Pregnant. I was pregnant, and the father thought I was trying to trap him.
I’d barely had an hour to come to grips with the fact that a tiny person was growing inside me and my baby daddy—who I barely knew—had accused me of being a gold digger.
What level of fucked up was that?
If he only knew who my father was, that notion would be laughable.
“Too bad laughter isn’t high on my emotions right about now.” I pushed to my feet and when I felt a little dizzy, I forced myself into the kitchen for a snack.
I’d grown up with nannies, a private chef, tutors galore. I’d had a designer wardrobe and any toy I’d ever expressed half an interest in.
But none of that had brought me happiness.
Or parents who wanted to be in my life.
I had a trust fund that ended in a line of zeroes longer than my arm. But I didn’t touch the money. I didn’t have to.
I made my own way.
And if it was a little—okay, a hell of a lot—leaner than my childhood, then that was just fine with me.
I had Seraphina and my other friends. I had my job . . . well, I used to have my job. I had my books, and I had rum and Coke.
Which I couldn’t have right now.
I sighed.
“Well, baby,” I said, and cupped my stomach, wondering if the little raspberry could hear me, “you’ve made me puke more times today than I’ve done in the last decade, you’ve taken my rum and Coke, a
nd made me expose my lady bits to the world for what I suspect is not the last time. What do you say we take it to the bedroom for an early bedtime?”
I could really use a book, a bath, and cuddly pajamas.
Everything else could hold until the morning.
“He said what to you?” Seraphina all but shrieked into the phone the next morning. I hadn’t wanted to ruin my friend’s day like Jordan and the pesky hospital visit had ruined mine, so I’d called her as she drove to work the following day.
I winced and held my cell away from my ear. “I know. It was pretty awful.”
“Who in their right mind would think you would be a gold digger?” she declared. “He’s a moron.”
“Well, that’s obvious,” I muttered, switching her to speakerphone as I pulled out my laptop. “All of that drama aside, I guess the question really is what I should do now.”
“You need a job.”
I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “With good health insurance.”
“You know.” Her voice was careful. “I’m sure your dad’s company could use a graphic designer.”
“We’ve been through this before.” I sighed. “I don’t want to be that person. And if my dad truly wanted me he would ask.”
“He did ask.”
“No, he offered me a fluff position with no real responsibility,” I reminded her. “I’m happy to work my way through the ranks, but I refuse to be a puppet that no one respects. Plus, I don’t think after our last interactions I’ll be ready to work for him in any real capacity for a good long time.”
My father wanted me to work for him. That I could understand. But he didn’t want me to take over the reins.
No, that particular honor would go to my brother.
Me, he just wanted under his thumb.
Which was why he’d bought Frank and Susan’s company, effectively putting me out of my job.
It was also why he’d bought the building I was currently living in.
And why he’d had his business manager send me a letter stating he was raising the rent . . . to double my current rate. Oh! But my father happened to have a guest house available on his property and surprise, surprise, it was the monthly amount I was presently paying.
So, yeah no, I didn’t exactly feel peachy about working for my dear old dad.
He had a vision of what my life should look like and when that didn’t align with mine, he forced it anyway.
“I don’t blame you,” Seraphina said. “Just with everything going on—the baby, the job hunt—keep it in your back pocket in case you end up needing something fast.”
I sighed. “You’re right. Unfortunately.”
“They don’t call me The Brain for nothing.”
“I don’t think that’s what they call you.” I snorted and lay back against the pillows in my bed, tugging the blanket up to expose my feet to the cool air.
She psshed, and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “I need to get into work.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you?”
“Shush you and rest up. Apply for some jobs. You’ll find something in no time.”
“Hope so.”
“Know so.”
“Love you.”
“Love you more,” Seraphina said and hung up.
I sniffed, wallowing for one more minute about my circumstances before opening my laptop and pulling up a job search site.
“Anything close,” I murmured as I began typing. I couldn’t afford to be picky at this point in my life.
I sent my resume off to a minimum of twenty HR departments and five recruiters. I updated my professional profile on social media sites, threw together a quick website, hoping to drum up some freelance design work, and then spent a few hours searching for new apartments.
Two bedrooms.
Now, that was a trip down crazy lane.
With a sigh, I closed my laptop and sat up. I had snack wrappers littered all over my bedspread. It was my attempt at staving off the hypoglycemia as I worked, but the trash combined with bedhead, last night’s jammies, and not having bothered with a shower, made me feel like I was one step away from eating bon bons and watching soaps.
I gathered the trash and went into the bathroom, cranking on the shower as I brushed my teeth and wrestled my hair into a ponytail.
I couldn’t be bothered with an hour spent blow-drying my mop today.
Especially since I had absolutely zero need to look good for anyone.
When the shower was hot enough, I stepped in and rinsed off, shaving my legs and armpits. I used my expensive body wash, the one that reminded me of my father’s rose gardens and the few happy memories from my childhood.
I’d loved to get lost among the flowers, a book in hand, wandering through the maze of planter beds. In the spring, color had exploded around me, a fairy-tale world straight out of a kids’ movie. In the winter, the bare vines had looked almost menacing, a villain come to life.
I’d held tight to the escape from reality. In fact, I’d reveled in the chance to get lost in my imagination. Especially when everything else in my life was so cold and artificial.
Calculated.
A battleground.
With me in the middle.
I didn’t want that for my baby.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about that. Jordan was long gone. My little raspberry and I didn’t need the drama he’d no doubt bring to our lives.
It would be easier without him.
Nodding in agreement with myself—don’t judge—I turned off the faucet and dried off.
Since I had no plans of leaving my apartment, I pulled on a pair of sweats and a “Taco Cat spelled backward is still Taco Cat” T-shirt. I only bothered with a bra because my nipples were so sensitive that I’d probably poke out an eye if I didn’t. Fuzzy red and green striped socks completed the ensemble.
I was a mess and that was totally fine because I was all by myself—
I shrieked and stumbled back against the wall, rattling the framed picture of Seraphina and me wine-tasting. I’d, of course, hated all the wine. Which was really not the point at all, I thought as I straightened the photograph and took a deep breath. The important part of the current situation was that my living room was full of suits.
And one of the suits was Jordan.
“Glad you could join us,” he said coldly, eyes surveying me from head to toe in one slow glare.
I lifted my chin, the blatant dismissal I found on Jordan’s face giving me the strength to ignore my uneasiness with the current situation taking place in my living room. “I wasn’t planning on ever seeing you again, so consider yourself lucky to be in my apartment. How’d you get in?”
“You should be more careful about who you let see the code.”
Perfect.
“Or maybe you should go fu—”
“Careful,” Jordan said.
I sighed and leaned back against the wall. “What happened to you?” I asked softly. “For a moment, I thought we might have some fun together, get to know one another. Since, you know, we apparently made a baby together.” I pointed to the room full of suits. Not one of them who’d deemed to take a seat on my couch.
They probably thought the used piece of furniture was beneath them.
I smirked, thinking that Jordan hadn’t seemed to mind it during our night together.
“Apparently is the key word,” he said.
Sighing, I pushed off the wall, feeling the rough abrasion of plaster against my fingertips before I strode into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. I took the prenatal vitamin the doctor had given me and chased it with a few crackers to prevent any nausea.
Less puking was a good thing.
The sound of a throat clearing didn’t draw my gaze.
Or, I didn’t let it. I was very aware of Jordan standing a few feet away in my kitchen, very aware that the suits were there for a display of strength and to intimidate me.
But I was the daughter of Bernie
-freaking-Roberts. I didn’t get intimidated. Not by a couple of junior lawyers who were in my apartment for show.
“One partner, one business manager, two lawyers who barely passed the bar, and one egotistical asshole of a baby daddy,” I said, placing my glass carefully in the sink and turning to face Jordan.
“Did I forget anyone?”
He just stared at me.
I shrugged. “No? Okay then.” I walked out of the kitchen and into my bedroom.
“Where—?”
I closed the door, cutting off the rest of his question and picked up my cell, dialing a number I didn’t want to call, but one I knew I needed to.
“Bec? Can you come to my apartment?” I asked. “I’ve got an issue.”
Her voice was crystal clear in my ear, a sharp New England accent with a side of no bullshit allowed. “What is it?”
“Suits. A baby daddy trying to intimidate me.”
“Assholes. I’ll be there in fifteen.” Then, “You’re pregnant?”
“Just found out yesterday,” I assured her.
I could picture Bec’s red lips pursing. “Okay, fine. Was going to give you shit for not telling me, honey. You know I’m prime godmother material.”
I laughed, already feeling less on edge just knowing my friend, who also happened to be a hotshot lawyer, was on her way. “Godmother? Maybe minus the cursing.”
“That’s an important part of a child’s education.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.” A pause, then beeping followed by the rumble of an engine. “I’m on the road. You just ignore those asswads and let me do my thing.”
“I can do that.”
“Good.”
She hung up and I sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to swap my fuzzy socks for a pair that matched my fancy outfit. Or at least a pair that didn’t clash so horribly.
Then I went into the bathroom and calmed my mop of hair down, wrestling it into containment.
Also known as a bun.
When I came out of the bathroom, Jordan was standing across the hallway, arms crossed.
“We need to talk.”
“Technically, I’d say we didn’t need to, but I think in this you’re right.”
