by Leslie North
“Mom, I don’t think she is,” Philip said quietly.
“But how could you get pregnant? You’re not even seeing anyone.”
“It wasn’t an immaculate conception,” Mila intoned. “Besides, I am seeing someone.” She shoved a forkful of salad into her mouth. She figured she could fudge the truth slightly for today. Just to get through this awkward conversation alive and in one piece on the other side. “You just didn’t know about him.”
“My God,” her father said, looking across the table at his wife. “We’re going to be grandparents.”
“Holy shit! Congratulations, little sis. I’ll drink your wine.” Philip grabbed her untouched prosecco and lifted it along with his own glass. “This is the real thing we should be toasting to.”
Her mother didn’t lift her glass, her green eyes sharpening to hard gemstones. “So is your business stable? Do you have enough monthly income to support yourself and a child?”
“I won’t be doing this all alone,” Mila reminded her mom, “but yes. It’s getting there.”
“Getting there.” Her mother frowned, forking some chicken onto her plate. “Not what we like to hear.”
Her father sighed, clearing his throat. “And who is the father of our grandchild-to-be?”
At least she could count on her father to ask the right question, even if he didn’t seem to be more than mildly excited. “You don’t know him.”
“Will we ever?” Mila’s mom asked.
“Yes, you will. Someday. When the time is right.” Mila offered a tight smile.
“And what does that mean?” Her mother pushed salad around on her plate. “Is the right time before or after the baby is born?”
“I guess we’ll have to figure that out,” Mila said, her cheeks quivering from the strain of holding this façade without losing her temper or bursting into tears. Pregnancy hormones sucked. She was doing well though—even with the bursts of emotion she’d been suffering from, she was handling this conversation better than she could have planned for. That, at least, deserved a gold star.
“What does he do?” her father asked.
Mila’s stomach pitched to her feet. Here was the hurdle—even though everything before this also qualified as an obstacle. “He runs his own business.”
“Oh? In what field?”
There was no way to avoid it. She shoved more salad into her mouth. “Tech.”
Her father cleared his throat. A heated look passed between her parents.
“So you’ve chosen the most unreliable of men,” her mother muttered, stabbing at the chicken on her plate.
“Mother,” Mila began.
“I’m just shocked that you think it’s a good idea to get involved with the type of people who only care about their own golden parachutes,” her mother went on. Mila sighed testily. Here it was. The same reference to the same incident that had left the bad taste in her parents’ mouths for the past ten years. Her mother’s brother had lost a hefty sum of money from investing in a tech friend’s startup, and the whole family had been sour on tech guys ever since.
“If you’re lucky, he’ll cut you a check before he disappears,” her father added.
“It’s really nice of you both to judge him before you even know his name. God forbid you withhold judgment until you’ve actually seen him in the flesh, or anything like that.” Mila stabbed at her food, her lips slowly forming a scowl.
Philip at least looked a little sympathetic from across the table. “So, are you excited to be a mom?”
“Thank you, Philip, for being the only compassionate family member at this table,” Mila said. “Yes, I’m excited to be a mom, so that I can raise my child completely differently.”
Her mother was unruffled. “All children say that. Honey, why don’t you move back in? We have plenty of room here for you and your unborn baby. Even when the baby is born—he or she can have a nursery! You hardly have room for a crib in your shoebox of an apartment, let alone toys, which the child will obviously be needing.”
Mila sighed, resting her temple against her fingertips. “No thanks. I think I can manage. Besides, I wouldn’t expect you two to be responsible for everything. I have a partner who is perfectly capable of that.”
Her mother frowned, doubt written across her face. Frustration bubbled over inside her, and Mila slammed her cloth napkin onto the table.
“What is it, Mom? Do you have some other revelation about a man you’ve never met? Go on. I’d love to hear it.”
The anger flowing through her was real. Frighteningly real. It wasn’t just that her parents were judging a man they’d never met. It was the fact that they hadn’t even once said ‘congratulations,’ or ‘how exciting,’ or ‘wow this is great.’
And they never would. Not because they didn’t love her or because they weren’t prepared to love their grandchild—but because it was more important to them to try to control the situation rather than make any real effort to support her decisions. They’d always been that way. Maybe under normal circumstances, she’d be more able to bite back the emotions or just write off their reactions as well-intentioned, if misguided.
But now? With this little life inside her? All bets were off.
“You know what? I think I’m going to leave.” She pushed to standing, abandoning her barely-touched plate of food. “I don’t want to deal with any more of this negativity. I already know that you two don’t think I’m capable of doing anything on my own, and honestly, I’m sick of hearing it. So goodbye.”
As Mila stomped through the kitchen to grab her purse and phone, her mother sighed dramatically, like Mila was being the unreasonable one. Which she was, a little. But she was pregnant and this was emotional and hard. It was hard to tone down the overreacting because of the hormones, but even harder because she’d been dealing with this shit her entire life.
“Honey, we’re trying to help you,” she insisted. “We love you. We all do. And that’s why we want things to be as comfortable and secure for you as they can be.”
“Well, how about you help me by not openly criticizing every single decision I make in life?” Mila slung her purse over her shoulder, pausing at the hallway to look at her family one last time. Philip had his face in his hands—he was often caught in the middle of blow-outs between Mila and their parents, but she knew that ultimately, he’d be on her side in this one. “Now you have two options: support me in this pregnancy, or don’t. But if you choose to support me, then I don’t want to hear anything else about how ill-equipped I am to handle this.”
Mila stormed down the hallway, tears pressing at her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of them—they’d take it as more evidence that she wasn’t able to handle this and needed them to jump in and “save” her from herself. The pregnancy reveal had gone even worse than expected, but deep in her heart, she knew there wasn’t a scenario involving the announcement that would have gone well.
She allowed the tears to flow as she drove home, and by the time she reached the parking lot of her apartment, she was craving the warm comfort of Grayson’s embrace.
It seemed too soon to be reaching back out, but after last night, things had shifted between them. She could feel it. Grayson had to feel it too.
So she brought out her phone and sent him a quick message: “Any plans for tonight? I could use some company.”
His response came as she trudged to the third floor of her building. “Working now…but I can def stop by later. Looking forward to it.”
See? She told the mental replica of her mother. Grayson is a good man. He’s supportive. He’s here for me, for the pregnancy.
She hoped that all the ways she’d described Grayson to her family would prove to be correct.
Not just so they’d believe her and see that she could handle her own life…but because if Grayson turned out to be as bad as their worst fears, Mila didn’t know what she’d do with herself.
15
Grayson’s phone rang at six p.m. when he was knee-
deep in IPO prep work.
His gut reaction was to ignore the call. After all, he wanted to be out of here at a decent time so he could head to Mila’s house and possibly, hopefully, spend another night blissed out in her bed. But he made the mistake of glancing at his phone while it buzzed, and he saw that one of his biggest investors, Patrick Finch, was calling.
“Patrick,” Grayson said after swiping to answer the call. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Patrick’s rich laugh filled his ear. “Just thought I’d give you a call and touch base. It’s been a while. And on a Sunday evening, I figured this was my best shot at reaching you.”
“Believe it or not, I’m still at the office.”
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit. How goes everything?”
Grayson drew a deep breath. Patrick was more than just a longtime investor; he was also a mentor. Patrick was one of the big names in this region, practically a celebrity in the tech world for his longevity and continued relevance.
Grayson explained some of the issues he’d been having with the app over the last few weeks, from a technical perspective. “More than that,” he went on, “I’m just trying to stay positive about the IPO. I want the other investors to believe in my vision, and its potential for profitability. I’ve been busting my ass to show the top-line growth of Finlay Technologies.”
Patrick grunted his agreement. “Of course. And you’ve done wonderful things with the business thus far. But you can’t forget that any app that’s hot today could go cold tomorrow. Don’t get so wrapped up in what you’re currently unveiling that you forget the need to always have something new in the pipeline. The job gets harder now, not easier. I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t remind you of this.”
Patrick went on to tell him an extremely detailed story of a fellow tech friend who’d been readying his business for an IPO on the strength of a popular web platform when a rival suddenly took off, seizing all the market share. His company went bankrupt. “I don’t think this will happen to you,” Patrick said. “But you need to be aware of the outcome at every turn. You’re bringing your business up to a different level.”
The two of them chatted about different aspects of the IPO—what to expect, other potential pitfalls, how the changes would impact the rest of the company staff—and by the time they hung up, Grayson felt equal parts anxious and emboldened.
The time was coming. Everything he’d been working toward was getting ready to explode in one grand and mesmerizing fireworks display. Once this final challenge wrapped up, the social proof would be set. Finlay Technologies would be on everyone’s lips mere weeks before the IPO. And then, once half of his company was in the hands of his investors, the real expansion magic could begin.
And he’d officially be married to his company. For the rest of his life.
So what do you plan to do about Mila?
His shoulders sagged and he pushed away from his desk to take a breather. His mentor had reminded him of that dark and pressing truth that lurked around every corner. The only way his business would be able to continue this kind of exponential growth would be by constantly growing, constantly innovating—always making sure that the popular programs were managed and maintained while new programs were generated, tested, and perfected. He wasn’t building car engines or washing machines here. No one needed his apps in order to get through their day. He had to keep his finger on the pulse of the market to always make sure he was delivering what his customers wanted. And that meant no distractions. He couldn’t afford to have everything collapse around him. Not when he had an unborn baby to support.
His company needed every ounce of his attention. Not just today, or tomorrow, but daily, for the next few years. Finlay Technologies going public was only the first step in this journey of market expansion. It would require constant attention and innovation thereafter.
Grayson heaved a sigh, rubbing at his face. He’d been getting caught in a silly fantasy with Mila. With chemistry like theirs, and the way she made him feel, nobody could blame him. If he had even slightly more free time in the foreseeable future, he was sure he’d be all over Mila, every day of the week.
But as it stood, his business came first. He’d make sure Mila and the baby had everything they needed. That just couldn’t include him.
He swiped his phone on, navigating to his messages. He stared at the thread with Mila for a few moments, mulling over what he wanted to write. And then he typed out a message that stung.
“Mila…sorry…lots of work stuff still going on. Not going to be able to make it over tonight. I’ll see you at the next challenge.”
Once he hit the SEND button, he stared at the words materializing on the screen. Every bit of him wanted to take it back. Saying they’d see each other at the challenge was a line in the sand. The next challenge wasn’t until that Friday, five days away.
Even though it hurt now, it was the right choice. He was sure that Mila would agree. After all, what use would he be to her if he was in financial ruin and unable to help pay for their child? Wouldn’t she rather have a successful Grayson that couldn’t be there often, but had all the money she and their baby would ever need?
It just made good sense. He wouldn’t invest energy in a relationship with Mila that wouldn’t, and couldn’t, go anywhere.
There was just one problem.
Why did he feel so miserable? Wasn’t succeeding at everything he’d ever wanted for himself supposed to make him happy?
16
At just an hour into the final challenge at the opera house, Mila felt like she’d been on her feet for days.
It was the endless stream of spectators that did it. Now that this challenge was officially HUGE, everybody and their brother had come out to try to glimpse the new stars in action. To share how much they’d loved the challenge, or to snag pictures with Mila and Grayson so that they could appear under the #FashionChallenge too.
It was exhausting in the best way, because all of this hullabaloo translated to exposure.
The past week at the boutique had been record-breaking. Finally, the customers were pouring in. She’d even hired an additional employee to help close the store each night, since Mila could barely stay awake past seven p.m. most days. If sales continued like this beyond the scope of the challenge, then she wouldn’t have to worry about a thing—except possibly hiring even more employees.
Grayson slung his arm around her for the tenth time that evening as they posed for yet another picture. Being near him after nearly a week apart left her spinning and woozy. She’d been trying not to take his absence personally. After all, he had an entire business to run, and a lot of stress with the upcoming IPO. But still, she felt like something had shifted between them. Like he’d forced more distance between them, right when things had been getting cozy and sweet.
With all these new fans clamoring for attention, it was impossible to talk about it. Mila was happy to know that both she and Grayson looked amazing, and she was eager to see her first ever opera. But desperation thrummed through her at the same time. She found herself wanting to throw her arms around Grayson and demand that he open up to her.
“Is our social media penance over yet?” Grayson joked as the next set of fans approached them for a photo. The photographer had cordoned off a line for the fans.
“It has to be over soon; the opera starts in fifteen minutes,” she murmured under her breath as two wide-eyed and bubbly ladies flanked them.
“I am sooo in love with you guys,” the first one said.
“I can’t wait to use the app!” the other one said. “When will it be released?”
Grayson launched into his smooth business mode, which made Mila grin through the photos. After a few more rounds, Grayson himself nixed the rest of the line and said they’d be around after the opera for more. He took Mila by the hand and led her toward the grand staircase.
“It’s time for our VIP box,” he said, sending her a heated glance over his shoulder. “Where we ca
n address very important things that have popped up.” It was hard to ignore the thrill of excitement his words inspired. The implicit sexual promise in his words was reassuring, too. Because it told her that their distance this past week was due to work issues. That was all. It didn’t mean they weren’t growing closer, or that he might not be feeling the same way as her. It was simple logistics.
She’d repeated that to herself so often she was beginning to feel crazy. She needed to have the conversation with him and be done with it.
“Have you ever been in one of these boxes before?” Grayson asked as he led her down the wide second-floor hallway, headed for the staircase to the next story.
“I’ve never even been to the opera before, much less inside a box.”
He snorted. “Well, they’re pretty great. Minibars and everything. Not that you’ll be partaking, of course. But it’s the thought that counts.”
She snickered, swatting his chest as he led them to the next floor up and toward a secluded hallway that was protected by an usher. He immediately waved them past, Grayson leading the way to their private viewing box.
“Here it is,” he said, pushing past heavy red curtains and into their own plush seating area. It was less of a box and more of an opera-style cubicle. Lushly padded with four enormous oversized chairs and a couch looking directly at the stage in front of them, this box had to have the best seats in the house.
“Holy shit,” Mila whispered, sinking into the velvety red chaise longue.
“I know. It’s pretty swank. And the best part is…” Grayson strutted up to the edge of the box, which had a high, gold-gilded railing. “Nobody can see into the box beyond these first chairs.”
She joined him at the railing, overlooking the bustling opera house below. “What do you mean?”
“Look at all the other VIP boxes.” He pointed them out along the periphery of the hall. “The ones to our sides you can’t see into at all, because of the walls. But the ones off to the sides of the opera house are naturally blockaded by these front chairs. So what happens on the couch…”